Page 32 of The Dark Will Fall (Twilight Lake #5)

Shay Mac Eoin

He had never felt so helpless, wishing he could step into a Silver and arrive at Maeve’s feet.

He had felt her wake, if that was the right word for it.

One moment, the world had felt empty. His chest was a desolate and barren wasteland, his heartbeat thumped against his ribs without the comforting echo of Maeve’s heart cradling his.

But he felt it, like a rope set ablaze.

Their bond was awake.

Days had passed, and he had waited for Maeve to return, but Shay quickly realized that his life was not like the stories his mother told him.

Nymphs liked their tales more than anything.

Wherever Maeve was, he had no way to reach her. He only knew she was in the Aos Sí. She could have been back in Balor’s grasp, trussed up in Cruinn for all he knew.

The thought did not help him sleep more easily.

The water glimmered with the dull orange glow, a sliver of sunlight, and nothing more. The stars seemed to dissolve in its presence, though the moon never left the sky.

Shay turned away from the beach, rubbing his tired eyes.

He would walk through the sick tent once more, he decided, before breakfast. He didn’t have to look far to find Rainn, sitting at the end of a row of Mer. A frown set on his boyish face, a feature that was quickly becoming permanent.

“Any changes?” Shay asked, pulling up a stool.

Rainn barely glanced at him. “None have woken, if that’s what you mean.”

“Your bond?” Shay pressed.

“It's growing stronger.” Rainn rubbed his head. “My Selkie skin is attached to Maeve; its magic follows her, and I can usually get a sense of her, but perhaps I am too far from her.”

“Your skin traveled with Maeve to the Dark Sea.” Shay pointed out.

Rainn’s jaw hardened. “Perhaps she is further than the Dark Sea. Perhaps further than the Night Court.”

Shay didn’t like that idea very much.

“Fifth bed from the end.” Rainn jerked his chin further down the two.

“Hmm?” Shay turned to follow his gaze.

“Liam Cruinn,” Rainn stated plainly, as if the matter was of little importance.

Shay felt a surge of anger, and his braids began to rattle. “How long has he been here?”

“He’s not awake.” Rainn shrugged.

“That’s beside the point.” Shay bit out. “That little shite is Elaine Cruinn’s son . He was in Cruinn when Maeve was tortured by Balor. He helped her push Maeve onto the throne.”

“You want to smother him in his sleep?” Rainn’s eyes flicked up to meet his. His voice was devoid of emotion.

Shay squinted. “If Balor attacked Cruinn, why did her son end up in the fray?”

“I thought the same thing.” Rainn gave him a listless smile.

Shay regarded him more closely. “You have the energy of a sea sponge today.”

Rainn clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but said nothing.

Shay placed his hand on his bicep. “I am here, you know. To listen, to vent. Fecking hell, if you want to get the blades out and spar, I’ll do it.”

Rainn’s lip twitched with a smile that didn’t truly form. “My mother always says that I’m hideously impatient.”

“I’d be inclined to agree,” Shay murmured.

“Maeve is in the Aos Sí,” Rainn continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I want her home. Hale. Safe.”

“Tormalugh is on his way here,” Shay assured him. “There are rituals that can be done. Spells. Using our bonds, we should be able to find her. She isn’t lost.”

Rainn murmured, agreeing.

“You should sleep,” Shay told him.

The single ball of faelight, clinging to the ceiling of the tent, snuffed out. The wind whistled through the gaps in the door of the tent, ruffling the leather.

One of the Mer sat up.

A youngling with burns over her face. Her skin melted, like the wax of a candle.

Despite the injury, the child showed no reaction. Though Shay had healed her internal injuries, he hadn’t been able to do much else while balancing the dozens of other Mer, unconscious in the meeting tent.

Shay stood up, his stool falling to the floor. They both rushed down the aisle, carefully avoiding any of the patients in the crowded tent. Shay dropped to his knees and reached for the little girl.

Her eyes were black.

Mer came in all manner of sizes, but their creed had eyes like the land-fae. A dot of black, surrounded by color.

The little girl opened her mouth, revealing black, stained teeth. Her tongue, coated in a strange, thick iccor, unrolled past her lips.

She said nothing.

“You’re safe,” Rainn told her. “Can you tell us your name?”

Shay reached out, placing a hand on hers. His healing ability slipped under her skin, but he wrenched his hand back and quickly as he was able.

She was a shell.

He didn’t know how he hadn’t spotted it before.

Fully awake, looking at him, but not a thought in her head. As if her mind was unconscious, though her body was awake.

The little girl looked down at her hand, the movement slow and creaky, her body like an old, stiff door.

Rainn leaped up the moment the little girl burst into action, grabbing and clawing for Shay. Black saliva poured from her lips and eyes.

He didn’t have a weapon, save for the small dagger on his hip that he used to peel fruit or cut a bandage. He reached for the tiny blade, scoring her fingers as she attacked—but the youngling didn’t notice.

“Who can animate the dead?” Rainn grabbed Shay’s shoulders and pulled him away from the feral child.

Shay ducked a blow and stabbed the tiny knife between the youngling’s ribcage. The child fell, a puppet with its strings cut. Shay eyed the little blade and tried to decide if he could pull it free.

“The Whispering Pass.” Shay reminded him. “We need to check the bodies for evidence of Weaving. Wire, rope, anything that can hold Undine magic.”

“There’s nothing.” Rainn flung out his arms. The Selkie had been in the sick tent just as much as he had, and Shay knew he was right. All of the unconscious Mer were dressed in blankets and little else.

Further down the tent, another Mer stirred awake.

“I need a fecking sword,” Rainn grumbled.

Shay agreed.

They had almost forgotten about Arden, the siren determined to pace the shores of the village and grumble.

The winged warrior took that moment to burst through the tent flaps, bringing several of the younger male Nymphs who had taken to following the siren, in hopes of hearing unfamiliar stories.

“Arden!” Shay barked, pointing at the Mer nearest the door. An elderly male, already crawling to his feet, dripping black saliva as he went. “They’re possessed!”

“Possessed?” Arden shouted back.

“Fecking kill it!” Rainn replied, just as several more sleeping bodies seemed to stir. “And can someone get me a fecking sword?!”

They made a pyre away from the village and burned the bodies when it became apparent that those possessed by black tears did not turn to foam.

Night fell, but the light of the bonfire rose high. The smell of flesh melting had a way of turning the stomach.

None of the Nymphs would sleep that night. Every tent in the village was lit up from the inside by the glow of faelight.

The armory had been completely raided. The artifacts were hidden away as they prepared for another attack.

Liam Cruinn was the only survivor of those pulled from the water.

The strongest Nymphs took turns watching the sleeping Undine, waiting to see if the black tears had also affected him.

Shay, Rainn, and Arden met on the beach, their faces bathed in the flickering light of the torches.

It went without saying that Balor of the Deep had made another move.

“First the Sirens,” Shay rubbed his hand down his face, feeling his braids curl in frustration. “Now, the Mer.”

Arden eyed the water, his face impassive. “The fact that Balor is in possession of my mother grows more worrying every day. Nuada will not bend, but if Balor finds a way to harness her magic...” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“We can’t let that happen.” Rainn agreed, nodding fervently. “It's time we took this fight to Balor.”

“Will the Selkies fight?” Shay narrowed his eyes. “My creed cannot breathe water. I am days away from sending the Nymphs across the border. To Day and the Summer Court.”

Arden rolled his shoulders, and though his wings were hidden behind a glamour, Shay saw the edges of the golden appendages. “Do it.” He told Shay. “I have lost good Fae. Innocent younglings, because of Balor. Send your Nymphs as far from this shore as you can.”

Shay’s nostrils flared, and dozens of thoughts flitted through his mind. Most of all, Arden was right, and he had been putting off the inevitable.

Shay Mac Eoin was the last of the Mac Eoins.

The only Nymph on the shores of the Twilight Lake that could breathe the water.

His creed had formed trade agreements with the lake; they lived and fished on its shore.

Their way of life was steeped in tradition and lore—of tales they told around the fire, of the gods and their magic.

“You are their chieftain—” Rainn put his hand on Shay’s shoulder.

Shay pulled away. “I am not.” He reminded him. “I will not take the title until I have beget a child to continue my bloodline.”

“The Nymphs will leave if you bid them to,” Arden said.

Shay knew he was right.

“Tormalugh is on his way here,” Rainn assured the group. “Balor killed Belisama with iron. Maeve—”

“Are you waiting for her?” Arden’s eyes darkened. “Is the reason we are standing around speaking of action but doing nothing because you are waiting for Belisama’s spawn?”

“Do not speak of her that way.” Rainn’s face cleared of all expression.

Shay held up his hands. “It does us no good to argue. Truth be told, I am frightened of confronting Balor.”

Rainn pulled his bottom lip between his sharp canine teeth. “Selkies are immune to most magics, but she can enchant. Beguile. Who’s to say that we storm Cruinn, and Balor twists our minds until we attack each other?”

“Not to mention the scores of Undine that don’t know her true nature. The Weavers, the órán Sídhe, and the Troid Sídhe.” Shay rattled off on his fingers.

Arden growled in frustration. “Fear will not free the lake.”