Page 3 of The Dark Will Fall (Twilight Lake #5)

Tormalugh Shadowhock

The thunder of their hooves could not be softened, even by the spongy bracken of the forest floor, as the horde of Kelpies raced through the trees, unable to find a straight path.

Each of the equine fae continued, unwilling to sleep, to eat, or even speak more than a nicker of warning for a low-hanging branch—as if frightened the Dark King himself would rise up from the dead leaves, and shackle their hocks the minute they stopped to rest.

Tor didn’t know the forest well.

He was barely out of his juvenile years himself—he had not trekked the Night Court, save for the shores of the Twilight Lake.

Kelpies were faster in water, but there was no water between the lake and the Dark Sea. Only a dried-up river bed, where the two water-bodies once connected, had long since broken apart.

The days melted into one another. They ate snow from the ground, but didn’t dare stop for longer than that.

Tor was not unused to responsibility, though he had always chafed at the shackles of his noble status. He was King of the Reeds. His parents had not long passed, following each other to the Tuatha Dé Danann in the height of the war.

Kelpies were long-lived, immortal, save for the kiss of iron. Tor never thought he would be King. He hadn’t entertained the notion.

Younglings always thought their parents would live forever, until they didn’t.

The war beneath the waves had ravaged the Kelpies. Before the Mad Queen had passed, the Reeds had been reserved for the royal family and the inner court. The surrounding towns and villages had housed the majority of their creed.

King Irvine had poisoned them all. Those who sought refuge in the Reeds had survived.

Tor had a responsibility to his Creed.

He had a responsibility to all of the Kelpies that Maeve had freed from the Dark King’s clutches.

Twenty more mouths to feed might have been a burden, but if the freed Kelpies were strong enough to make the journey to the Twilight Lake, they would be strong enough to protect it.

The air changed, as the mossy scent cleared away, and he could smell the salty water. Finally, the Twilight Lake was close enough that he could feel the tumultuous water. Kelpies felt the emotions of sentient beings, and the water often took on the feelings of those who resided within.

Tormalugh slowed to a stop, his legs aching and the sweat on his back foamy. He exhaled a breath from his long equine nose and tossed the mane from his eyes.

There was one male who had kept pace with him the entire journey. In fact, it was the same male who had come close second in the Dark King’s farce of a race. Both times.

The male was older than him, with a single silver streak in his long mane, and scars at the corner of his lips from an ill-fitting bridle. His eyes were dark, aware, in a way that spoke of vigilance and mistrust—though the males’ emotions were closed off to him.

Tor padded the ground, indicating that their troupe should stop. He sent out a flash of emotion, of safety, home, and rest.

The male exhaled an exasperated huff from his long nose and stamped the ground once.

A resounding no.

A moment later, the other Kelpies broke through the trees, sending damp leaves into the air as they skidded to a stop.

Tor sent another flash of emotions, but the other Kelpies didn’t react. Perhaps they had shielded themselves.

Shaking off his equine body, despite the danger, Tor pulled himself back into his two-legged form.

His leather tunic and hunting leggings were as dark as his coat had been. Tor’s unruly black hair was stringy with sweat. He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand as he turned to address the herd.

He didn’t know if they were shielded or simply unable to communicate the way Kelpies did when in their equine form—but he had to trust they shared a common language.

“We are almost to the Twilight Lake,” Tor called out, addressing the crowd.

The large male stepped forward, dipping his head in challenge. Tor ignored him and kept his attention on the crowd.

“You will be safe in the Reeds if you choose to come with me. This I swear. If not, we will part ways here, and you are free to continue on to the Day Court.” Tor put his closed fists on his hips. “I am the King of the Reeds, and I endeavor to keep you as safe as I can.”

The large male’s eyes narrowed.

The rest of the herd skittered from one foot to the other, their fear obvious despite the shield in place. The rest of the Kelpies watched the scarred male, their leader.

Tor did not care. They had no reason to trust him; he had been in the Dark King’s stable for a day. He could only imagine the traumas they had all experienced together.

The air was heavy. Waiting.

The large male dipped his head in agreement.

The tension disappeared as if it had never existed. The air shimmered around the large male, and where a dark horse had once stood, an unfamiliar fae took its place.

The male was older than Tor, though not by much. They shared the same dark hair, though the stranger had a single silver strand that his equine form shared. The scars tilted his lips into a peculiar kind of smile.

“My name is Rían.” The impassive male declared. “My herd will follow you to your lake.”