by Skye Horn
Kieran’s face burned so hot that even his ears felt as if they were on fire, but he spun to his left, swinging the sword with him, and struck out toward her again, this time making contact with her blade. She was strong for her size, surprising Kieran yet again. When he struck, she stepped back once to keep steady, but otherwise hardly flinched. Kieran went in for a kick toward her stomach before she could swing at him, but she jumped back out of the way, somehow managing not to drop the bag she carried in the process.
It amazed him how quick she was, even with the extra weight.
“Nice sword,” Kieran growled, striking again. This time he ducked as she countered his attack with one of her own, feeling the rush of wind above his head as her sword slashed past.
His words seemed to infuriate her even more, though. She charged forward again with a quick melee of attacks he wasn’t expecting—faking right, then heading left with the tip of the sword aimed for his side—but he was just able to block the attack. A breath later, her movements started again. They were flawless and he had a hard time stopping them. He’d spent a lot of his energy just getting into the castle, but Haven was at full power.
He summoned magic against her, conjuring up a wall of air between them like a shield, but it was weaker than before and she broke through. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, and he put all of his weight into bringing the sword down on her, over and over again, until she stepped away needing reprieve.
Their breathing turned heavy, and as dust flew up from under their feet, his lungs burned for air.
“I should kill you for what you did to Ethel!” Haven said, sword coming down on him again as he caught his breath. This time she hit her mark. Kieran cried out in pain as her blade sliced into his upper arm. There was a rush of warmth against his skin. He lifted his sword again and groaned as his vision blurred. He stumbled back, dizzying. Haven took that chance to pin him to the wall, knocking his sword to his feet. He could feel the blood dripping down his arm to his fingertips as she added, “But I won’t.”
Ethel. Her name pounded against his eardrums and he trembled, reaching for the moonflower nectar in his pocket. Two drops… That was all he needed to make the pain go away, but Haven wouldn’t let him make a move.
“Why won’t you kill me?” he asked, trying to stall so he could reach the nectar, but her arms remained pressed against him, moving to cut off his air by pushing against his windpipe. He coughed, lungs burning and chest constricting. He needed that nectar. Flashes of brown eyes flooded his thoughts telling him he deserved to die by Haven’s sword.
“Because for some reason, Aragon says you need to be alive.” Her lips were close to his ear. She reached down and wrapped her hand around his bleeding wound, squeezing until he couldn’t help but cry out. “But if you ever come after my friends again, I don’t care how important you are, I will kill you.”
She shoved his head against the wall with enough force to cause his entire world to spin, and then she disappeared through the blur of his vision. He reached out as if he could stop her, but he was seeing double. Groaning, he fought to keep himself upright. With his good arm, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the vial of moonflower nectar and dropping two drops onto his tongue.
Make it stop, he begged. The effects were immediate and euphoric. Although the nectar did nothing for his physical injuries, it allowed him to rein in the emotions that had been threatening his sanity.
He tugged his knees to his chest, resting his head in his hands with a slow inhale. The dusty air dried out his mouth, but he managed to get enough oxygen to his lungs to steady the dizziness Haven had inflicted on him. He listened closely for any sound of footsteps or a door, anything that told him Haven was still nearby, but all he heard was silence.
When he’d gathered himself, Kieran tore the sleeve of his tunic off and wrapped it around his injured arm. Biting down on his lip, he tied the material as tight as he could until the gush of blood stopped. He’d heal quickly, but that didn’t mean he could afford to lose blood in the middle of a battle.
Kieran pushed himself back off the ground, testing his balance. He didn’t want to admit it, but Haven had hurt him pretty badly with those last few blows and he was in no shape to run after her now, but if he went back to the throne room without her, the Goddess would be angry with him.
He was about to head in Haven’s direction when fate made his decision for him. A loud crash echoed from the direction they’d come from, followed by screams—Ainé’s screams.
Kieran’s feet moved faster than his mind could keep up with. He staggered back toward the throne room, keeping one hand on the wall to keep himself upright. His wings brushed roughly against the stones, as if he couldn’t get enough control over their position to fold them against himself. He winced each time a feather caught in a crack.
He and Haven had not gotten far into the corridor, so he made it back to the throne room quickly. Inside, Ainé was red-faced with fury, throwing things at King Aragon, who was on his knees, blood dripping from a fresh gash in his forehead. It stained his white hair bright red.
“Tell me where you’ve hidden it!” The Goddess’ voice echoed shrilly. Kieran stumbled around the throne toward the Goddess as quickly as he could, examining her from head to toe as if she were the one who might have been hurt.
“My queen—” Kieran said, but regretted it the moment her eyes cut to him.
They were pitch black like Morrigan’s.
He stumbled back a step and tripped on the stairs that led to the king’s throne, falling to the floor near Aragon. Kieran immediately dropped his eyes from Ainé’s, terrified.
“Where is the girl?” she demanded, rounding her anger on him. The king looked at him then, misty eyes watching Kieran for any type of reaction. He wasn’t sure what made him more uncomfortable, the Goddess’ ruthless glare or the king’s glazed gaze.
“I... I heard screaming…” Kieran said.
This time Ainé threw something at him. He ducked just in time to see a clay pot soar over his head.
“I… I’m s-sorry!” He heard the grovel in his own voice and for a second he was ashamed, but then another thought raced through his mind. Why was she angry with him? He’d come back to make sure she was okay. He’d wanted to protect her.
None of these thoughts were voiced.
“I’ll deal with you later,” she growled.
Kieran sank down further.
“What has she done to you, my boy?” Aragon sounded as if he hadn’t had water in days. His voice croaked with each word. “You are as different as they told me.”
Kieran dared himself to look at the old man. He’d spent many years training with Aragon’s army and had always been given a place in this court, but he’d also been sent on a fool’s mission as a messenger after the king felt Kieran had mistreated his goddaughter. Of course, things were different now—he was different. He’d earned a spot of importance with Ainé, a spot he was close to losing if he did not find a way to beg for her forgiveness.
This turn of thoughts made Kieran glare at the king. He didn’t want this reminder of who he’d been to look at him with pity. He wanted to show the king that he was the one in charge of his future now, not some vision or bond—just him.
He wasn’t just different now; he was better!
“Guards!” Ainé called out. The two Fae they’d left outside the throne room for watch hurried in. “Arrest this man for treason against his Goddess.”
The king spat blood at Ainé’s feet as he said, “You are no Goddess of mine.”
Kieran’s blade was drawn in less than a single breath, albeit with his left hand he had power behind his threat. He turned and placed the tip of it against the king’s neck with a low growl. The other two guards smirked at one another, seeming excited to see what the soulless lover boy would do to protect his queen. He’d heard their whispers, but why should he care? He knew he was Ainé’s favorite—at least before he’d lost Haven. That was all that m
attered to him.
“Lower your weapon, Kieran.” Ainé’s words were gentle, but Kieran hesitated, looking toward her with suspicion. Her eyes had returned to their normal color, and his rage faded away beneath her gaze.
He lowered his blade. “As you wish.”
She turned her attention back to the king as the guards lifted him to his feet, shackling his hands behind his back. The king’s blood-stained hair fell forward, framing his wrinkled face.
“Tell me the information I seek, or I’ll lock you in the dungeons for the rest of your short life!” Ainé said. “We saw the boy fleeing the castle earlier. My men have already been sent after him. He won’t make it to Gimmerwich before they catch him.”
Kieran pushed himself slowly to his feet and tucked his sword into its sheath. He eyed the king warily, not trusting him even with the magical restrictions on his wrists. Aragon had not stayed king this long because he was weak. Something felt too easy about this capture. It made Kieran’s stomach churn.
“If you think the boy has it, then why are you here questioning me?”
Kieran knew that Aragon’s smile was infuriating the Goddess, but she kept her composure this time, coming toward him. Kieran almost thought she was going to strike him down.
“You wish to know what I did to Kieran?” She smirked, leaning in against his ear. Kieran was still close enough to hear the sing-song tone of her voice as she said, “I removed the darkness my sister burned him with by virtue of his blood.”
Ainé spoke matter-of-factly but Kieran did not look back. He knew what had happened the day his soul bond with Thea had been broken. He’d felt the pain of that severed connection, but then he’d felt the release of a weight he’d carried for so long disappearing forever. He was no longer responsible for Thea or anyone else besides himself. He could serve Ainé freely without a burden of guilt.
The king’s sharp intake of breath was enough to draw Kieran’s attention back.
“No…” the king said, shaking his head back and forth. It was the first time he’d shown any sign of weakness since their arrival. Kieran cast a confused look between Ainé and his old friend, but she did not look ready to elaborate. “That would mean that—”
“Enough.” Ainé’s voice cut like a blade through the air, silencing the king as he lowered his head. “We are not here to talk about Kieran. We are here because you’ve been harboring traitors. I demand you tell me where to find Thea’s guards. I know they’ve headed into the forest with that Gimmerwich boy, but where are they?”
Kieran realized the boy the Goddess had seen fleeing must have been Declan, but Haven hadn’t been with him… she’d been here in the throne room… why?
“It is good to see you are not as all-powerful as we were told,” Aragon said. “You cannot find them yourself so you invade the kingdom of an old man like me.”
“You are a gifted old man,” Ainé said, pressing fingers to her temples in a way that Kieran had grown to learn meant she was losing patience. “But you are also a leader. Are these traitors’ lives worth more than your people’s? Is your duty to secrecy worth more?”
The king did not react. Instead, his face turned toward Kieran. “If you knew the truth you wouldn’t be here.”
The already tense muscles of Kieran’s wings tightened against his back as the Goddess lunged forward and slapped the king across the face leaving red gashes where her nails cut through his delicate skin. However, the king only continued to smile, spitting blood against the stone floor. “He will learn the truth eventually, and whatever spell you’ve put him under will not be strong enough to save you then.”
“Silence!” Ainé shrieked and the noise traveled up Kieran’s spine like lightning. “Take him to Ivandor and lock him in the dungeons! Perhaps a few days of darkness will loosen his lips.”
“Wait—” Kieran reached out, unsure what force propelled him to do so.
“Do not listen to his lies,” Ainé interrupted but her voice sounded frantic and Kieran’s mind was spinning. Why would she conceal a truth from him when he’d been nothing but loyal? Someone inside screamed that he’d been lied to before, but he fought that voice down. Ainé wouldn’t lie to him, and yet, he still found himself reaching for Aragon. The other two guards watched in confusion.
“But—”
“She’s with child!” the king spat out as Ainé screamed for the other two guards to take him away. They laced their arms through his and dragged him off, but he didn’t fight it. Instead, his eyes met Kieran’s as if they could see him through the blindness. “Thea is with child.”
And then the king was gone, towed away, with a knowing smile that made Kieran’s skin crawl.
“He’s a liar,” Ainé spoke quietly against Kieran’s ear. He wasn’t sure when she’d moved there, but now he felt her breath against his skin. The hair on the back of his neck rose in response, and his eyes closed as he fought the battle of control within himself.
Part of him clung to Ainé’s words, convincing himself that they were true to drown out the trepidation he was experiencing.
Thea is with child. The sentence overwhelmed him. He wanted to turn and run, or scream and fight. There was a battalion of soldiers out there fleeing for their lives that he could take his anger out on, but that was only if he believed Aragon was telling the truth. It made sense that the king would lie to him, to try and separate him from his Goddess and weaken them, but that didn’t explain her reaction.
His fingers curled into fists as the panic rose. The moonflower was supposed to keep these feelings away under control; it was supposed to help him stay in his right mind, but this new information was too much. He couldn’t breathe through it. It overwhelmed all of his senses.
“Kieran—” Ainé’s voice forced his eyes open. She stood in front of him now. Her breath tasted sweet on the space between them, and Kieran wished desperately to sink into it and away from the despair. Her eyes were full of kindness now, as if she were coaxing a child out of a nightmare.
Well, a nightmare was a great analogy for how he was feeling. He could only beg to wake up.
She’s with child.
“Look me in the eye and tell me he’s a liar,” Kieran said as bravely as he could, but he heard the tremble in his voice and saw the spark of fury in Ainé’s eyes flash and disappear within seconds.
It was enough, though. The king had planted a seed of doubt in him, and her silence had watered it. He knew now that his Goddess had lied to him about this—or at least concealed some part of the truth from him. But what reason did she have for not telling him? And how could he find out her reasons without losing her trust in him?
“I would never lie to you, Kieran. He is lying to turn you against me.”
Kieran didn’t let his reaction show. Instead, he snapped the mental wall he’d been trained to harness into place so Ainé could not touch his most inner thoughts again, and nodded his head. There was nothing he could do about the moonflower nectar affecting his emotions, nor did he want to do anything about that, but if he focused hard enough, he was able to hold onto his doubt—hold onto the strange sensation that if this was true, someone out there needed his protection. Ainé wanted Thea dead, and if she was with his child, he needed to make sure that the baby was safe before the Goddess got what she wanted.
“You believe me, don’t you?” Ainé asked with a feigned look of concern. He felt the trickle of magic probing his mind, recognizing for the first time just how much she’d been influencing his thoughts. Shouldn’t he have known that? He was trained to fight off such influences… and yet, he’d allowed it for this long, welcoming it even.
Not anymore.
“Of course, my queen, but it would not matter if she was. I live to serve you.”
It was the first lie he’d told to her, and he prayed she believed it as she searched his gaze. If she didn’t, he’d never be able to find out the truth. She’d given him everything he wanted, freedom to escape the grief and pain, but his father had left him
to fend for himself. He couldn’t do that to his own child; he wouldn’t.
The Goddess’ soft fingertips brushed against the back of his hand, guiding it to his pocket. There he felt the familiar shape of the vial of moonflower nectar. Without any real understanding of why, his trembling fingers wrapped around the small piece of glass, taking it from his pocket. The Goddess took it from him, uncorking the top and lifted it to his lips until the sweet nectar touched his tongue.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” Her voice sounded like an ensemble of the most beautiful music he’d ever listened to. He fought the effects of the nectar, feeling it working at the tendrils of his mind, trying to relax him. He didn’t want to be relaxed. For the first time in days, he wished he hadn’t taken the drops. He could recall how miserable he was before them, but thinking with a straight head was more important right now to him than anything else.
He knelt at her feet, kissing her bloodstained fingertips one by one. The confusion within him was enough to make him sick to his stomach, but he controlled his feelings with every ounce of training he could muster. “I think it is time we retrieved Thea from Blackmire.”
Ainé watched him with a lifted eyebrow, but he did not let his facade slip away from adoration as he traced a thumb along the back of her hand. She seemed to soften at this and reached her free hand to brush his hair away. A shiver traveled down his spine. “And how do you propose we do that? She’s well protected by my sister.”
“She will not allow Morrigan to kill me.”
At this Ainé’s laugh echoed against the walls. “You truly believe that after everything?”
Kieran wasn’t sure. He had already attempted to kill her, after all, and there was nothing stopping him from trying again.
Except the baby, he reminded himself. Perhaps this new information would convince Thea to hear him out.
If she truly carried his child—the thought sent a swirl of unwelcome emotion through him, making him dizzy.
King Aragon had been right. This truth had crept past whatever connection he shared with the Goddess, and despite his loyalty and hope for her success, he could not let her murder his child.
