Page 14 of Through the Veil (Endangered Fae #2)

Chapter ten

Outbreak

D iego opened his eyes to the morning sun filtering through willow leaves and Finn snuggled against him, fast asleep.

He gazed at the handsome face resting on his shoulder, this frustrating troublemaker who had swept into his quiet, miserably lonely life and turned it upside-down, and heat pooled around his heart.

His troublemaker, his Finn…at last he felt whole again.

Finn appeared whole as well, the delicate shell of his right ear unblemished and perfect, all traces of the lightning strike melted away as he slept.

And now what? He hoped Danu and Balor were negotiating peacefully, that they worked through some solution that was best for both their people, but from what he had seen so far, he thought it might be a bit much to hope for.

The Fomorian king wanted back what he felt rightfully his; the sidhe Queen wanted to keep all the fae safe from the evils of the human world. Where a compromise lay, he had no idea.

With a sharp intake of breath, Finn snapped his eyes open.

“I’m sorry, carino, did I wa—”

Finn’s hand clamped over his mouth. He whispered, “Hush. Can you shield us, love? Keep them from hearing us?”

“Keep who from hearing us?” Diego whispered when Finn took his hand away.

“The damn—”

“Fionnachd! I know you are near!” a voice called nearby. Sionnach’s head thrust through the willow branches. “Oh, there you are. Good morning!”

“Too late,” Finn grumbled and hid his face against Diego’s neck. “Go away, little fox. You interrupt my morning nap.”

Sionnach made a show of sniffing the air. “I think I may be interrupting more than napping.”

“Perhaps you are. Now go away. Tell Balor I have done what I promised, and will do no more.”

“Fionnachd.” The grin fell from Sionnach’s face. “It is not Himself who asks for you, but Nathair. He asks if you will come. Faolchú is failing.”

Finn sat up, scrubbing his hands back through his hair. “Bloody hells…he was sitting up yesterday morning. Taking breakfast. Laughing. How is this?”

“I wish I could say.” Sionnach twisted his tail in his hands. “It is not so today.”

“Faolchú’s sick, too?” Diego’s mind turned things over in ways he liked less and less. “That’s why Finn was there instead?”

“Yes. Balor made threats and promises and flung rocks at my head until I agreed to take his place,” Finn muttered into his hands. Then his head shot up. “What do you mean ‘too’?”

Before Diego could answer, another voice cut across their conversation, a rich, melodic baritone. “Diego! Diego are you there?” Angus’ blond head poked through the willow branches opposite Sionnach. “Ah, I thought I heard you here.”

Sionnach’s hands stilled on his tail, and a little twitch curled his lips before he dropped his gaze to his paws. “Angus.”

“Sionnach.” The one word conveyed so much longing, Diego felt his cock stir.

Those two pig-headed rulers have kept them apart, too. Hell only knows how long, poor things. Diego cleared his throat. “Did you need me for something?”

“Yes.” Angus tore his attention away from the lovely fox-fae, his brow crinkled in concern. “Lugh calls for you. Bellows for you, if truth be told. He is…in terrible pain.”

A low growl rumbled from someone, and it took Diego a moment to realize the growl was Finn’s.

“Diego stays with me,” Finn snarled. “He will not be taken from my sight again.”

“And Finn has said he will go to Faolchú’s side.” Sionnach raised his chin, eyes glinting.

“I said no such thing, little fox.”

“Then come with him to see Lugh.” Angus pressed his momentary advantage. “He needs—”

Finn stabbed a finger at Angus’ chest, snarling directly into his face. “I have had quite enough of being shoved about by those who think themselves my betters. You will both leave us in peace, and I will decide what is to be done.”

The peaceful morning dissolved into a shouting match with all three snapping and snarling, past hurts dredged up, old insults recalled. Diego rolled his eyes. Nice to see him stand up for me, but he could ask what I want…

His irritation cut off when a thin cry of anguish pierced his mind, the mental voice achingly familiar.

“Croi?”

“Taliesin, please…”

A soft whir of wings sounded outside the willow’s shelter. Diego shoved through the branches in time to see Croi land awkwardly, burdened by the body in her arms. All the color had drained from Scath, leaving him a deathly ivory. His wings drooped and he huddled in Croi’s arms, whimpering.

“What happened?” Diego stroked the now-ivory hair back.

“He fell.” Croi’s voice trembled. “We flew to the thicket, where the berries grow. And he fell, his wings unable to hold him. He hurts so.”

“I know, pequena , I feel it. Give him to me. Maybe I can help like I did Lugh.” Diego gathered the pixie to him, not surprised that he weighed no more than an overstuffed briefcase. The shouting continued unabated behind him, and he had had enough.

He shoved his way back through the leaves with Croi stuck tight to his side.

“Shut the hell up, all of you! Good God! This isn’t about any of you or about territorial male imperatives.

Look at poor little Scath! While you and your rulers argue and sulk and threaten, your people are getting sick, and I don’t see anyone doing a damn thing about it!

All the centuries behind you, all the mysteries of the universe at your fingertips, and you have no sense ! None of you!”

Sionnach at least looked ashamed. Finn chewed his lower lip, eyes still glazed with anger. Angus managed a good impression of a hungry fish.

“This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to carry Scath, and we’re going to go see Faolchú since it sounds like he’s in worse shape.

” Diego shot Angus a quelling look when he raised a hand to speak.

“Chill. You take Sionnach and go tell them to bring Lugh to me. That way, everyone gets taken care of, and my Finn doesn’t get all bent out of shape. ”

Angus stiffened. “None of the sidhe have entered the Fomor caverns for centuries.”

“Perhaps…” Sionnach reached out to take Angus’ hand, twining their fingers together. “Perhaps it is past time, then.”

“All right, I was wrong,” Diego said. “One of you does have some sense.”

Angus lifted their joined hands to brush his lips over Sionnach’s knuckles. “I will see if Lugh is willing.”

Sionnach closed his eyes with a sigh. Then his breath caught, and he collapsed as if someone had cut a string holding him up. Angus caught him, reflexes too fast to follow, and eased him to the ground.

“You always did make my head spin, Angus Far-Seer,” Sionnach said when he opened his eyes, his silver voice wavering. “But this is taking it just a mite too far, don’t you think?”

“Don’t jest, dearheart, not now,” Angus admonished softly. “Are you hurt?”

“No, simply dizzy. And my head aches.”

“On second thought, give him to Finn,” Diego said. “We’d better take him with us, too.”

“But I’m not ill,” Sionnach insisted. “I must be overtired.” He made a brave attempt to stand but cried out in pain when his knees buckled. “I can’t be ill.”

“Why not?” Diego asked.

“Because I am the herald.”

Obviously that meant something to the fae—their expressions were uniformly distressed—but this was not the time to unravel the significance of ceremonial positions. “Sorry, bud, you obviously are sick.”

Angus swept his Fomorian counterpart up and handed him into Finn’s arms. “Diego will look after you.” He leaned in to brush a soft kiss over Sionnach’s lips. “I will come soon.”

A vision of Angus lying somewhere helpless and alone ambushed Diego. “You sure you’ll make it back?”

The look Angus shot him screamed offense. “I will fulfill my duties to my last breath. Your request will be delivered.” He stepped away from them, shifted to eagle and leaped into the sky on a rush of powerful golden wings.

They made a strange little troupe, a naked human carrying one féileacán and supporting another, and a naked pooka carrying a lovely, lithe fae with a bushy red tail.

“Diego…” Finn began as the ground rose and the caverns hove into sight.

“I’m not angry with you, mi vida . I’m sorry I snapped.”

“I know.” Finn shot him a shy smile and cleared his throat. “It was…exciting to see you so, ah, confident, though.”

“Was it?” Diego chuckled despite his worry. “You like being yelled at and ordered around?”

“Not…as such. But it did make my blood run hot to see you so masterful.”

So Finn enjoyed it when he played Alpha sometimes, not that big a surprise after his reaction to their little conquest scenario the evening before.

A beautiful Fomorian female met them at the entrance, her human shape clothed only in her sleek, black fur, her pointed ears swiveling atop her head.

“It is you.” She addressed Diego in a rich, purring alto. “At the ford, I was uncertain.”

“And who do you think I am, ma’am?”

The answer, by now, was expected. “You are Taliesin.”

“So I hear.”

“Welcome home.” She leaned over Scath and rubbed her cheek, as soft as any Persian’s, against Diego’s. “Come. Perhaps you might ease Faolchú where I cannot.”

As they followed her, Diego dropped back to whisper to Finn, “Who is she?”

“That is Eithne, Balor’s daughter. You were lovers long ago.”

Diego missed a step and Croi had to steady him. “ Dios . Please don’t tell me I have fae children.”

“No. Never fear, my heart. Eithne does not cling to her lovers. And she has only one child. Lugh.”

Fae genetics would have given poor old Gregor Mendel a fit. Cat Fomorian plus sidhe equals bull didn’t make a lot of logical sense. A more important thought hit him and he hurried to catch up to her.

“Eithne, they’re bringing Lugh. I don’t know if anyone told you. He’s been sick, too.”

“I thought he might have fallen ill.” Her voice wavered on a sigh. “When you took his place, I knew. But to bring him here might be unwise. His grandfather holds his grudges long and hard.”

Diego dredged through his recollections of ancient Irish literature. Oh, yes. Lugh had, in some versions of the stories, put out Balor’s deadly eye on the battlefield, either with a spear or sling. Human versions, though, usually included Balor’s death, and so were less than reliable.

“He might be pissed, but I think it’s time for everyone to pack the old issues away. You’ve got boys keeling over right and left on both sides of the fence. Time for a truce in the face of what could be a pandemic for all of you.”

She tipped her head in acknowledgment. “Perhaps when he sees his herald ill, his ire will abate.”

“I’m not ill, healer!” Sionnach protested, though he shivered hard enough to make his sharp teeth chatter.

“Stubborn,” Finn muttered.

A murmur of voices drifted down the narrow corridor to them.

The murmur grew to a hum of echoing conversation, and when they turned the last corner, Diego gasped.

Before him lay the most enormous cavern he had ever seen.

The caves he’d visited years before in Puerto Rico, las Cavernas de Camuy , were rabbit holes in comparison.

Shining stalactites grew down to meet their stalagmite brethren, forming graceful, undulating pillars, as if Gaudi had decided to build a vast underground cathedral.

The walls’ phosphorescence gave off enough light to make out shapes nearby, but darkness shrouded the far end of the cavern.

Out of the gloom roared a terrifying voice, deeper than the lowest notes on a pipe organ, rough and dangerous. “Who has brought a human to my domain?”

“Father, open your eye,” Eithne shot back, unafraid when everyone else in the cavern had shrunk back to the walls. “This is no mere human. Our Druid-Bard has returned to us.”

“Taliesin?” The deep voice quieted. “Is it you, boy?”

“You could’ve warned me,” Diego whispered to Finn, then turned to the darkness where he knew Balor sat, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I have to believe it is, majestad . I came with Finn to see your ailing champion. And brought your herald back home, since he’s come down with whatever it is, too. ”

Balor remained silent for so long, Diego was certain there would be another explosion. Instead, a soft chuckle came from the darkness, one that grew into a mighty roar of laughter. “Taliesin! Of course! I knew Fionnachd could never have pierced the Veil on his own!”

Beside him, Finn bristled and Diego shot him a quelling look. “Hush, mi vida. Pack the ego away.”

“And the little ones?”

It took a moment for Diego to realize Balor meant the féileacán. “He fell ill suddenly this morning. She seems fine so far.”

“Then it has begun. As was foreseen. I am too late.” Balor came forward into the light, and Diego fought the urge to run.

Carajo, that’s the biggest, ugliest, meanest looking fae I’ve ever seen. He gulped a deep breath and croaked out, “What’s too late, majestad ?”

“It is the end. We are dying.”