Page 11 of Through the Veil (Endangered Fae #2)

Chapter eight

Cian’s Ford

“ Y ou will wear it,” Balor growled. “It’s tradition.”

Finn turned the enormous obsidian helmet over in his hands. Carved of a single piece of smooth stone, it even had the bad form to be topped by branching antlers. “But it’s bloody heavy, and how in blazes am I supposed to see?”

Wrapped in blankets and propped up against the wall, Faolchú made a derisive sound. “If you don’t wear it, you idiot, you risk brain injury and allow him to force his way into your mind,” the ailing champion whispered. “Do you wish to have visions of being eaten alive by wolf spiders distract you?”

“Is that any way to speak to someone who has taken such good care of you?” Finn asked in a pained voice.

Faolchú bared his sharp teeth in a wolf grin.

“Your pardon. I only wish to have my nursemaid returned in one piece.” Still weak as a new duckling, he had at least improved enough to take an interest in proceedings.

“Put it on, Fionnachd. You’ll find you see well enough, and it is not eyesight you will need. ”

“Is there, perhaps, a helm that’s a mite lighter?” Finn tried again to hand it back to Balor.

“There are, but they are not made for what you need.” Balor crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at him. “The stone was shot through with spells during its carving. As long as it is on your head, it will keep any opponent, no matter how strong, out of your mind.”

“And the dragon hide? Truly, I will suffocate.”

“It’s to protect your hide, dear pooka,” Faolchú insisted. “Lugh’s imagination is limited. Press him, and he’ll throw lightning spears.”

“Ah.” Finn shuddered. “Perhaps I could just speak with him? Or go to Herself? She did always have a soft spot for me.”

“Challenge has been issued. It must be met. You have given your promise, Fionnachd,” Balor insisted.

“Promises. Yes. Seems to have become a bad habit of mine. Bloody nuisance.”

Diego shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I put on. One look and they’ll know it’s not you.”

“True.” Lugh eased down onto the nearest rock. He tired easily, though the attacks held off as long as he rested and Diego stayed nearby. “But you will make Faolchú wonder who he faces. That bit of doubt is to your advantage.”

“And it’s your helmet and armor. It’ll never fit.”

“Magical armor, little man. I forged it myself. It has enough sense to mold to its wearer.”

“Oh.” Diego stared at the silver, winged helm. “Is it okay to say I’m scared out of my mind?”

Lugh squeezed his arm. “A bit of fear keeps you sharp.”

“Are you ever? Afraid?”

“Yes.” Lugh held his gaze, dark eyes filled with worry. “I have never been more afraid than now. For my people, for my life, for both our worlds.”

“I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve brought all this with me.”

“The storm was brewing ere you came, Diego.” Lugh shook him gently. “You merely arrived on the first thunderclap.”

Lugh helped him with the armor, a bodysuit of silver overlapping plates lined in the lambskin-soft, lightweight cloth that seemed ubiquitous among the sidhe .

It laced up the front from crotch to throat in an arrangement he might have found delightfully kinky under different circumstances. At that moment, it simply felt odd.

“I look like some weird species of flying fish, don’t I?” he said dryly as Lugh settled the helmet on his head.

“No, you look like the Queen’s Champion. Stop deriding yourself.”

A sharp blow to the side of Diego’s head sent him staggering.

“Get your head out of your ass!” the now familiar, rasping voice demanded.

“Leave off, Morri. He needs encouragement, not to have his ears boxed,” Lugh said with a weary sigh.

“No, he needs you to stop coddling him! You treat him too gently because you want to fuck him!” Morrigan’s sharp teeth clicked together in her exasperation.

She turned on Diego and seized his chin in her claws to yank his head around.

He stared into fathomless eyes, cold silver, like a grackle’s.

“But I have no interest in your body. Only as a vessel for magic. You have power in your blood the likes of which I can only dream on. And all you do is whine. You’re afraid.

You don’t want to harm anyone. You want to go home.

You can’t, you can’t, you can’t. Pah! You are Taliesin!

Remember that and be the warrior bard you were meant to be! ”

Diego shivered hard and closed his eyes, unable to meet hers any longer.

“Let him go,” Lugh snarled and rose from his rock.

“No.” Diego held out a hand. “No. She’s right.

You need me, and I’ve just been feeling sorry for myself.

You’ve taught me everything you could in a few days’ time.

It’s a hell of a lot more than I could do before I came here.

I have the lightning as a last resort. I just have to stand on my own now. ”

“Then do it,” Morrigan rasped softly.

“Yes, ma’am.” Diego gave her what he hoped was a brave smile.

She released him with a sharp laugh. “There, Shining One! Now he is ready!”

Lugh snorted in answer and gave the silver laces at Diego’s throat a last tug.

“Keep the helm on, no matter what happens. The silver and the spells will keep him out of your mind. Remember that Faolchú favors the flows in the earth and water. Expect the river to rise against you and the ground to tilt beneath you.”

“Got it. Floods and earthquakes. Great. So long as there are no plagues of locusts and frogs, I shouldn’t have any trouble at all.” When both Lugh and Morrigan opened their mouths to speak, Diego raised a hand. “Joke. It was a joke.”

“Humans have a strange sense of humor.” Morrigan shook her head.

“Hmm, true,” Lugh agreed. “Much of the time, I have no inkling what he’s saying.”

Danu’s court gathered near the edge of the trees, at a spot where a wide, lazy river meandered through the forest. Movement on the far bank heralded the arrival of the Fomorians, but both parties stayed back, waiting. An air of ceremony hung about the whole arrangement.

Sionnach finally emerged from the trees on the Fomorian side, and Angus, the queen’s herald, golden-eyed and flaxen-haired, stepped forward on the sidhe’s bank.

Angus filled his lungs and shouted toward the opposite bank. “Challenge has been issued.”

“And answered,” Sionnach’s voice floated to them across the water.

“Your champion cowers in the underbrush,” Angus sneered. “He has the courage of thistledown and the strength of a snail too long in the sun.”

Diego moved to step forward to prevent humiliating his hosts, but Lugh stopped him, a hand on his shoulder. “Patience. It is traditional. Do not disgrace Angus by interrupting.”

“I see no sign of yours,” Sionnach flung back. “He is as brave as any tadpole and as powerful as rose petals on the water.”

This continued for some minutes, the insults to honor and courage becoming ever more poetic, until Sionnach flung up his hands in concession, laughing. “Your tongue is as golden as ever, Angus Far-Seer. May your champion be worthy of you today.”

Angus swept him a graceful bow. “You are a true poet, Sionnach Silver-Tongue. May yours prove brave and true.” He straightened and raised his arms. “Let the champions come forth, and let no fae break oath when it is done.”

On that last word, he rose onto the balls of his feet, his body glowing golden as his limbs melted and reshaped.

A golden eagle rose into the air on powerful wings where Angus had stood, and this seemed the signal to begin.

Both sides surged forward, the sidhe shifting to their animal forms, the Fomorians roaring and howling as they came.

Lugh walked beside Diego as the bull, powerful muscles bunching and flexing under gleaming black hide.

Who all the others were, he couldn’t be certain, since he had been watching Angus transform when they all shifted.

A brown bear, larger than any Kodiak, ambled nearby.

A raven flew circles overhead with the eagle.

Stags, wolves, foxes, badgers, songbirds and raptors all surrounded him.

Neither side made any move to cross the river, though there was a great deal of threatening noise and posturing.

“Go forward, Diego.” The bull’s great head nudged him. “To the water’s edge. Faolchú will do the same.”

“Lugh…”

“All will be well, little man. If it reaches a point where you cannot continue, the match will stop.”

“Comforting,” Diego muttered, and lowered the visor on his helm as he walked toward the bank on shaking legs.

The Fomorian champion mirrored his actions—a tall, lean figure dressed in black, crowned by an ominous, horned helmet.

Behind him, Diego heard Lugh’s puzzled murmur. “That is not Faolchú.”

Finn hesitated in his march to the bank and turned to pretty Sionnach. “Unless he has lost considerable mass in my absence, that is not Lugh.”

“Courage,” Sionnach said gently. “It can only mean that Lugh is unable to take his rightful place today, like our Faolchú. They have no one stronger to take his place. You will be victorious, Fionnachd.”

“You suggest that Lugh is ill as well? A champions’ plague?” Finn shook his head and realized what a bad idea this was in his ridiculously heavy helmet.

“I couldn’t say.” Sionnach shot him a wink and a grin. “But you may have a kiss after you win.”

“Ah, well, something to look forward to, at least.” Finn watched the sidhe champion advance slowly, his steps as hesitant as Finn’s own. Something familiar struck him in those movements, something…but he could not place it. The things I do for you, Diego. But I will see you soon.

Not Faolchú. Wonderful . All the advice Diego had been given about strategy and defense had just been rendered useless with those anxious words. The Fomorian who faced him didn’t seem any more eager, his steps down the bank cautious and slow. All right, so we’re both scared.