Page 26 of The Deep End of Death (Twilight Lake #4)

Cormac had given us strict instructions, but his explanation left much to be desired.

Cillian Lane, the Siren who had run at the first sign of trouble back on the Dark Sea, was here, in Murk—and he wanted to help us.

It felt like a trap, but I couldn’t leave Shay to rot in the prison in an unfamiliar town. He was my mate, and it was my duty to protect him.

It was getting harder and harder to ignore the hissing stone in my pocket, begging for destruction. Telling me to raze Murk to the ground and push it into the sea. To allow the water to feast on the blood of the occupants of the lowly town and bask in my victory.

I knew the thoughts weren’t mine. The nasty urges were becoming easier to identify and separate from my own, though it was hard not to act when my ears rang from the screams and my scars ached as if fresh.

The bond in my chest grew tighter the closer we got to the prison, like the rope connecting an anchor to a ship. The bed at the House of Blissful Dreams had been comfortable, and the food was enough to sate my starving body, but even with a good night’s rest, I was exhausted.

I needed them all in my sight. Safe. Rainn, Tor, Shay, and even Cormac—which I hated to admit.

Rainn nudged my shoulder, his gaze questioning as my thoughts grew heavy. “Shay’s strong. He wouldn’t let a night in a dungeon break his spirit.”

I rubbed my chest as if feeling the bond between us. “I know. I can feel him. He’s hungry and tired, but he’s alive.”

Rainn cocked his head to the side. “You can feel him?”

“The brand,” I explained.

“Can you feel us that way?” Rainn asked.

I licked my bottom lip. “I suppose? Not as strongly, but I sense your emotions in a way. I can often tell what you’re thinking before you say it.”

“Doesn’t that come from knowing someone well?” Rainn’s brows lifted.

“I suppose.” I conceded his point. “It feels like more, somehow. Can you feel me?”

Rainn waggled his brow. “A man deserves his secrets.”

I rolled my eyes.

Tor stopped at the bottom of the steps, his hand clenching as he ached to reach for his blade. He looked up at the heavy wooden doors, his dark eyes fathomless. “I don’t like this.”

Rainn slung his arms over Tor’s shoulders, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “You’re a worrier.”

“This building screams. Fear, anger. Pain.” Tor ignored Rainn hanging from his shoulders. “This is going to end poorly.”

Cormac shifted from one foot to the other, his golden hair fixed in a tight braid that hung down his back, swinging with the movement. He knitted his fingers together, craning his neck to look down the street.

“Damn that Siren.” He murmured. “Late, if he’s coming at all.”

“Are you confident in Cillian Lane’s ability to help us storm this castle?” Rainn grinned, though I knew the expression hid his nerves. “One more blade might not help us through those doors before Shay is transferred to the Dark King’s custody.”

Footsteps echoed through the early morning mists, and we turned as one as the redheaded Siren appeared, dressed in night-black leathers, his hands in his pocket and his hair blowing in the wind.

“Your goal is to go to the Dark King, is it not?” Cillian did not smile as he approached.

“You desire to know what happened to Darragh Eoin.”

“How do you know that?” Tor’s eyes flashed yellow, and his shoulders seemed to grow in size as he put himself between Cillian and me.

Cillian Lane scoffed. “You seem to forget that I was tied in the ship’s brig, listening to your drama for feck knows how long.”

Tor’s lip curled, suitably chastised. “I don’t trust you.”

“You’d be a fool to.” Cillian allowed. “But I owe your Nymph a boon, and I’ve come to pay my debts before the gods decide to even the playing board.”

Whatever that meant.

“The plan?” Cormac stepped forward.

“We knock on the door,” Cillian stated simply, with a shrug.

“The door?” I piped up.

Cillian didn’t reply; instead, he strode between our group and began his ascent up the staircase, taking three steps at a time.

He moved like a man determined to meet his maker.

I had no idea why he would risk being imprisoned for a group of strangers simply because Shay had healed him in the ship’s dungeon—though maybe I didn’t understand.

After all, I had limited experience with debts, bargains, and boons.

The only bargain I had ever made had been with the Kraken. If Cillian’s debt to Shay felt anything like that shackle, I could understand his desire to be free from that constraint as soon as possible.

Rainn shot me a grin, reaching for the blade on his belt. He pulled the small knife free and handed it to me, hilt first. “Just in case.” He waggled his brows.

I took the knife. “You might regret giving me that in the future.”

“I count on it.” His grin widened.

“Rainn? Did you steal my knife?” Tor patted his belt.

“Feck!” Cormac growled, springing into action. “He’s reached the door!”

Startled, we took off at a run to catch up to the Siren.

Cillian Lane lifted his fist and knocked once.

A moment passed, and the door creaked open enough for a single person. My legs were too heavy, and my thighs burned as I took the steps two at a time. Cormac and Tor pulled ahead while Rainn kept pace with me.

“What is your business?” An ominous voice called through the door.

“I am Cillian Lane. I believe there is a bounty on my head.” Cillian declared, his hands on his hips and chest puffing like a youngling’s idea of what a hero should look like.

Cormac skidded to a stop as the steps ended, bumping into Cillian’s side. The Mer-King hunched over, wheezing. I would have joked about his stamina, but a Mer under the surface was an entirely different being.

The guards burst from the door, reaching out for Cillian en masse.

Cormac grabbed the redhead by the shoulders and pulled him back, away from the grasping hands of the armored guards. Cillian swung for the Mer, struggling in his grip.

“Let me go!” Cillian shouted, kicking his legs as Cormac dragged him away.

“Cillian Lane—you are wanted by the Dark King on behalf of the Night Court and the Unseelie Kingdom. Put your hands on your head and drop to your knees!”

“What the feck is the plan here?” I wheezed as I stopped on the top steps, watching the guards reach for Cillian Lane like armored children grasping for toys.

“He’s trying to get arrested.” Tor pointed out, gesturing to Cillian.

“Instead of freeing Shay Mac Eoin, we should get arrested with him?” I questioned, feeling like the world had gone mad.

“That would answer the question of an audience with the Dark King.” Tor rubbed his chin.

“Unless the Dark King kills us before we can ask our questions.” Rainn eyed the fighting. “Should we just dive in? Start throwing punches?”

Cillian danced between the guards. “Some help here!” He called out. “Tell that Merman to stop grabbing me!”

“Cormac!” I called out. “Hit one of the guards!”

Cormac did a double take as he wrestled with Cillian, pinning the redhead's arms behind his back. “Hit a guard?” He shouted back. “Are you fecking mad, Princess?”

“Just do it!” I snapped.

Cormac rolled his eyes, letting go of Cillian Lane. He swung a punch, hitting the side of the guard’s helmet. Cormac pulled his hand back, shaking it and cursing, before he kicked out and pushed the jailor to the floor, his arms whirling madly as if trying to knock down as many guards as possible.

Rainn let out a shriek of manic laughter and quickly danced up the steps.

Tor rolled his eyes and followed, reluctantly jumping into the skirmish.

My brow furrowed as I watched the Princelings fight the guards like younglings on the playground. I’d seen them fight; I knew they could. They’d each spent time on the front line in the Twilight Lake—granted, fighting above water was different than fighting below it.

Still, it was apparent they had no intention of hurting the guards.

When one of the guards landed on their back in front of me, I realized quickly that I had to make a move. I wouldn’t be arrested with them otherwise.

I winced with apology as I kicked the side of the fallen guard’s helmet, though the fae was long since unconscious.

When the ruckus died down finally, and the guards placed us all in cuffs, none of us put up a fight.

Cillian Lane shot Cormac a triumphant smirk. “Told you I’d help.” He declared.

Bound in silver cuffs, the guards wasted no time taking us all to the dungeons, though their behavior was most concerning.

When Shay had been arrested, the guards had been all too happy to use their blunt wooden swords to strike us, but as we were led through the guard post, it didn’t escape my notice that none of us had so much as a bruise.

The bond in my chest, tied directly to Shay Mac Eoin, grew taut the closer I got to the Nymph.

Though the guards, with their dented armor, seemed unmoving and unemotional at the prospect of new prisoners—several robed Fae were in a flurry as they watched us march through the guard tower.

One female in a black robe stared with narrow eyes before throwing her arms in the air and muttering about changing plans and summoning the Silvers.

Finally, we reached the iron bars at the back of the tower. The presence of the metal made me feel sick, not just physically but emotionally as well.

I had watched my mother wither away in the sick room that would eventually become my bed chambers as some kind of perverse punishment on Balor and Irvine’s behalf. I had believed that she had taken her own life, like the others, until Balor had confirmed otherwise.

Sídhe were sensitive to iron, and I was no exception. The metal’s presence in the Aos Sí defied logic, though I supposed poison mushrooms and sharp blades still existed, even with their capacity to kill.

Shay was alone in the cell, tucked in the corner, holding his stomach in pain.

Until that moment, I had believed he was alone but unharmed. Was Shay so prolific in hiding his emotions that he also managed to trick our bond?