Page 31 of The Dark Will Fall (Twilight Lake #5)

Maeve Cruinn

We didn’t dare sleep, though every step was a labor that I did not want to repeat. The trees grew restless as we trouped away from the soothsayer’s house—determined, more than ever, to find Lugh.

The forest had other ideas.

The path changed so slightly that it was easy to miss. One moment, hidden behind brambles and undergrowth, the next, neat rows of cobblestones—the kind built by Fae hands.

The flowers, more vibrant than I had ever seen, flourished on either side of the path. The trees fell away. A town sat yards from the treeline. Cottages claimed by ivy. Blue frigid sky, trees heavy with blossoms.

“The Spring Court,” Cormac whispered in awe.

“The Seelie Court.” I nodded. “Who rules the Spring Court?”

“Absolutely no idea.” He shrugged, urging us both forward. “The Mer are not often invited to meetings between monarchs. Even if I hold the title of King of the Mer, it’s of little value. You can’t swing a catfish without hitting a self-proclaimed king or queen these days.”

I snickered. “You’re right about that.”

We passed a row of cottages as we followed the path through the town. The streets were silent, despite the sun shining overhead.

“Where is everyone?” I whispered, brushing my fingertips over the rough, painted brick of the nearest house.

Cormac craned his neck. “Music.” He pointed further down the cobbled street.

I realized he was right. The jaunty tune of a fiddle, coupled with a pleasant singing voice. Clapping and cheers.

Further down the cobblestone road, the narrow path and close buildings expanded into a town square. A long pole, covered in ribbons, extended to the sky. The air smelled of fragrant flowers and honeyed wine.

A female Sídhe, with pointed ears and sparkling eyes, skipped over. A necklace made of flowers in her hands. “Happy Tulip Festival! Merry meet, and praise be to Brígid!”

I tipped my head, allowing the stranger to place the flowers around my neck. “Merry met,” I mumbled.

The stranger danced away.

A server walked past, with a tray filled with glasses. Cormac plucked one from their tray and took a swig of pink sparkling wine.

“A Tulip Festival?” He raised a brow, eying the delicate glass in his hand. “What the feck is a Tulip?”

I eyed the painted banner stretched between two buildings. “I think it’s a flower.”

“Celebrating a flower?” Cormac scoffed.

“It’s outside of the usual calendar, but where’s the harm?” I reached up and snagged a glass as another server went past. I supped the wine, feeling the liquid bubble on my tongue. It tasted like berries, but not a kind I had ever tasted before. Tart and sweet.

A group of younglings, each dressed like a flower, formed a circle around the pole in the middle of the square. They took up a ribbon and bowed to each other. The music started anew, and they began to skip.

Ushered by the crowd, Cormac and I meandered further into the square. My stomach rumbled, and I found myself drifting towards the food tables. The roasted pig, slowly spinning above a fire. It’s glistening juices dripping onto the coals with a hiss.

I reached for an apple from the nearest table, overburdened with fruit and baked goods.

Someone stilled my hand and offered an apologetic smile. “Those are for Lugh.” The Sídhe whispered. “The offering.”

“The offering?” Cormac crossed his arms over his chest.

The stranger must have misunderstood Cormac’s reply, because the Fae paled. “I can get you something else—” he rushed to say.

Cormac held up a hand. “Does Lugh come to this town?”

The Fae’s eyes darted to the woods. “Our town sits in the shadow of his castle.” He kept his voice low. “One of his wolves will come for the offering.” The Fae took that moment to pretend someone on the other side of the square had called him.

Cormac and I exchanged glances.

“Not even time for a single dance.” Cormac grinned.

“As if you can dance, you giant fish.”

We didn’t have to wait long before the forest decided to have more fun with us. We stayed on the edge of the trees until we spotted one of Lugh’s wolves, a basket in its teeth, and followed the beast through the trees.

We did our best to keep up, but the wolf soon disappeared. Though our presence had not gone unnoticed.

The stalking began at a distance. A glance and a glint of silver fur from the corner of my eye.

Cormac and I had no desire to fight the beasts. Dadga’s staff reminded me of the Kraken’s eye. I knew what could happen if I gave in to the magic. Every stolen glance at Cormac, to check he was still at my side and not spirited away to the Aos Sí, was proof of that.

It took too long to realize we were being herded .

Though Cormac eyed me as if to say ‘no shit, princess’ when I whispered the thought.

Maybe it was the tiredness speaking, or simply the desire to play out the god's plan. Still, neither of us showed any sign of objection, as more and more wolves poured out of the trees and ushered us down an overgrown path.

“This forest feels like a Gairid path,” I whispered, remembering the doorways between the Skala Beach and the Nymph Village. Pockets of reality that bent to hasten a journey, based on the desire to move quickly.

Cormac nodded his agreement and kept his voice low. “The wolves are herding us.”

“Cethlenn mentioned the Wild Hunt, but fae-hounds ride with the Huntsman—not wolves.” I chewed my bottom lip.

“Wolf-Kin.” Cormac clipped. “These are Wild Fae.”

Beyond the flash of fur or a glowing eye in the distance, the beasts were near silent.

Finally, the forest grew sick of us, spitting us out further down the road. I tripped over a root, hidden by the undergrowth, and Cormac caught my elbow.

The trees ended unceremoniously, as if they had been ordered to lie flat. One moment, amidst an ancient forest, and the next, surrounded by a sprawling lawn—grass cut curiously low, as if it were frightened to grow more than an inch.

The wind tumbled over the grass, ruffling the blades, an ocean of green. The air smelled like lilacs and wet fur.

Cethlenn had told us that Lugh would not make a weapon.

But I had to try.

I couldn’t return to the Twilight Lake empty-handed.

We ventured further into the grass, the lawn too exposed; the wolves, hidden at the treeline, watched our journey.

A strange castle rose up from beyond a mound.

Towers extended to the clouds, moving as if the ground and the sky were one and the same.

The buildings twisted, moving in circles with repetitive ticking noises.

Staircases rotated between each tower. Made of brick, shimmering metal, and limestone, cobbled together into thousands of moving parts.

Some monolithic and others no bigger than my hand.

The front door was virtually unusable, located at the top of a marble staircase that circled around the arch before slotting into place on the ground, waiting for us to walk through.

“My father once brought home a device from the land,” Cormac said, eying the oscillating castle. “He called it a clock and said it was used to tell time.”

“Tell time?” I echoed.

“Landfae like to name the hours in the day. They count them, so they might know when to eat and sleep.” His voice was absent-minded as he studied the castle as if it would upend itself and roll away. “This castle looks like a clock.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” I frowned.

“We should hurry before the door decides to do another circuit.” Cormac had already begun up the steps, without waiting for me to follow.

The wolves stepped away from the treeline, forming a haunting audience as we rushed up the steps. Cormac opened the door and found little resistance, though it didn’t seem attached to the rest of the castle.

Despite the nonsensical nature of the front door, with nothing behind it, the door opened to an expansive foyer. The cogs began to rotate as I jumped through, leaving me with the sensation that although my feet were on the ground, they shouldn’t have been.

I exhaled a shaky breath. “Do you think this is the right place?”

Cormac held onto my arm to steady me. “Well, even if it isn’t, those wolves really wanted us here, and I don’t tend to argue with Wild Fae.”

I snorted a laugh. “You do nothing but argue with Rainn. And Tormalugh, for that matter.”

Cormac rubbed his chin. “You’re the only one allowed to call him that, you know. If I used his full name, he’d fillet me.”

“You’d deserve it,” I told him. “I don’t know how you’re all friends, you needle each other something awful!”

“Almost like siblings.” Cormac shot me a smile. A rare one without a hint of arrogance. “Though I can’t speak for the others, considering how much they fuck each other.”

I slapped his arm. “Cormac—"

“One big happy dysfunctional family!”

My nose wrinkled. “For Belisama’s sake! You’re rotten!”

Whatever childish conversation we carried, died as heavy footsteps echoed from the top of the foyer staircase.

I should have been more attentive, but my nerves and exhaustion were too heavy to ignore.

The entrance hall was coated in a fine layer of dust, broken only by a path made by wolf paws, disturbing the grime.

Our host stopped at the top of the stairs, leaning on his fist as he stood, studying us.

His red hair was tied back with a ribbon, and he wore a blood-red huntsman jacket with more buttons than made sense.

His trousers were pristine white; despite the neglected surroundings, not a speck was on them.

I did not know if the Sídhe in front of us was a god, only that he appeared to be a huntsman by profession. The kind of Landfae that sometimes stumbled too far away from the Day Court with their fae hounds and mounts. A rare sight indeed.

Cethlenn had said that Lugh controlled the Wild Hunt, though the myths often spoke differently. The Wild Hunt was something feared even by the most ancient of the Sídhe.

The Huntsman looked down his nose at us, his eyes narrowed as he tried to decipher if we were truly there or not.

“We were told Lugh the Craftsman lives here,” Cormac called out. “Cethlenn sent us.”

I didn’t see the huntsman move. One moment, the imposing figure stood at the top of the steps; the next, his neck was craned over Cormac’s shoulder as he studied the Mer unnervingly close.

Cormac jumped and let out a squeak, before clearing his throat and brushing his hands down the front of his chest—still bare save for his purse filled with the hag's fingers.

The huntsman showed no reaction to Cormac. He blinked and cocked his head to look at me.

He studied me for a long moment.

“Cethlenn?” The huntsman’s voice was husky with disuse.

“The soothsayer. In the woods.” I knitted my fingers together.

The huntsman nodded a few times, eyes blank. “Yes, yes.” He murmured to himself. “She has been most helpful, unless she is feeling decidedly unhelpful.”

“The soothsayer said you were Lugh,” I explained delicately. “She said you defeated Balor. With a weapon you forged of your own blood.”

“Did I?” The Huntsman’s brow furrowed. “Well, she would know. Wouldn’t she?”

“I suppose so,” I replied. “Could make us a weapon?”

“Oh dear.” The huntsman shook his head and stepped away. “Have you seen my hounds? They must be around here somewhere.”

Cormac met my eyes; his expression told me everything I needed to know. He thought Lugh was bonkers.

“Cethlenn said that you made a weapon of your own blood, a-a-and—” I tripped over my own words.

I just wanted to go home. I wanted to see my mates again.

I wanted to be safe and warm and away from all the strange gods and unfamiliar surroundings.

I wanted to be away from the iron in Cormac’s pack, which made my nostrils burn.

The Huntsman regarded me closely, his gaze softening. “I cannot make weapons, God-Child. I no longer have the power. I am no longer a craftsman but a huntsman.”

“I see.” My voice was thick with unshed tears.

“I can send you home, if you’d like.” The huntsman eyed me like a youngling, though I supposed I was to him. “I’m very good at stitching two places together, you see.”

“You can’t make the weapon?” Cormac piped up.

The Huntsman ignored him, bending down to look me in the eye. “Who do you belong to, God-Child? Shall I send you back to your parents?”

I shook my head and wiped my cheek with the back of my hand, feeling every inch the youngling he spoke to me as. “I’d like to go home to my lake,” I told him. “Balor is there, and I have to stop her before she releases the Fomorians.”

Lugh shuddered. “I never understand Balor’s obsession with the Domhain. Deals and bargains for a throne of dust.”

“What if I made a bargain?” I whispered, holding out the Dagda’s staff. “What if I gave you this?”

The huntsman laughed.

Cormac’s expression cleared strangely.

“No.” Lugh tsked, though he did not elaborate. “Go back to the door and think of the place you want to go most. It will take you there.” He turned on his heel and disappeared into thin air, without saying goodbye.

The foyer seemed colder and much less welcoming. The shadows grew deeper, longer, as if watching us with bated breath. Outside of the castle, a singular wolf howled.

“We can’t go home with nothing.” I knitted my fingers together.

“We have knowledge. That’s better than nothing.” Cormac’s brow was etched in a frown, halfway between deep thoughts and anger. “A weapon made of Balor’s blood. If Lugh can’t help, we’ll just have to find a way to bleed the bastard dry.”

I scoffed. “If we can get close enough.”

Cormac ignored my scorn, muttering as we walked together to the door. “I’ve seen you wield water like a blade. You held the Dark King’s blood still inside his body. I’m certain you could fashion a blade from Balor’s blood. We just have to spill it.”

The gilded door waited. Lugh had said it would lead us where we wanted to go.

Home .

“Tarsainn?” My hand hesitated to reach for the handle.

“Too many meetings and advisors.” Cormac winced. “We’d never get out of the city without the entire stronghold offering an opinion on the merits of defeating Balor.”

“The Skala Beach?” I offered.

“Too many magical protections.”

“Well, where do you think we should go?” I snapped, pinching my brow. “We can’t just land in Elaine’s suite and start swinging a trident.”

Cormac had the nerve to look contrite.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “That was your plan, wasn’t it?”

“The Nymph Village,” Cormac suggested. “We don’t know if Balor will sense us in the water.”

I steeled myself, taking a deep breath as I reached for the door handle, keeping the firm image of the Nymph village in my mind.

Of Shay’s color-changing eyes and living braids. His burnished skin and plush lips. The roar of the bonfires, the smell of roasting meat, and leather tents.

The door swung open, but it was impossible to see to the other side.

Cormac held out his hand. “Together?”

“Together.” I nodded.