by A. E. Lowan
“Isn’t that the entire reason we’re here? To push through their lines and take the rift?”
“No, we’re here to distract. Without Midir that army will fall apart.” Erik sighed. “Etienne’s pinned down. I’m not going to tell him no. Nothing kills like hopelessness. If he can hold out for a little while I can get people up to him… it’ll just take a while longer than I’d like.”
That sounded insane, but Cian could not think of a counter argument besides the single frantic thought scrambling through his mind: Etienne needed him!
He turned back to the battlefield, the soft grass ground down into blood and mud, a wall of struggling bodies between him and the sleek black tower. Movement caught his frantic attention and he saw Corinne, the Lion Queen, pacing in sleek-furred half-form among the wounded, guarding her healers, the lions’ Doc included, with her fierce amber-eyed gaze on the battle. If her Santiago was pinned down in there, would she stay put?
Cian didn’t think so.
Brian’s voice carried from Erik’s shoulder mic to Cian’s sensitive ears. “We’re nearly through the utility door. According to the planning commission we’re about to break into the sub-basement.”
“Great. Keep us informed and good luck.”
Cian felt some of the knot in his chest loosen. Winter’s team was still okay. Now all he had to do was-
Brilliant light pierced the night, brighter than any dawn, and knights in glittering golden armor poured forth riding gleaming white horses. They crashed fresh against the tiring tide of Midir’s forces and pushed them back, greeted by cheers from Ceallach’s Darkling Throng.
Cian cheered with them, one eye still on the black tower. Anluan had finally come.
He watched as his uncle arrived, meeting up with the Unseelie king, his golden armor glowing softly in the darkness. Erik moved to join them. Anluan’s helmed head turned and briefly took in Cian standing there, and then motioned for a small coterie of knights in his retinue to move forward. The Shining King spoke in low tones to one of the knights and then they bowed and broke away as a unit to approach Cian. They dismounted and bowed as one. “Our liege entrusts you to our care,” said the tallest of them. “How may we serve you, my prince?”
Cian froze… and then glanced at Erik, who was deep in conversation with the two faerie kings. “You’re here to protect me? I need inside the tower.” He turned and ran for one of the new breaks, hoping… praying… not particularly caring that the knights were behind him. He needed to get to Etienne and this was his only chance.
The tall knight caught up with him, looking pained. “My prince, this was not our king’s intent.”
Cian moved faster. “That break there, and then through those broken doors.”
The knight cursed softly and drew his weapon. “As you wish, my lord.”
Cian heard another knight mutter, “Well, we’re not going to be bored,” just as they broke through the small gap, weapons striking at them from both sides – and then they were through and crossing the threshold of the tower. He looked up. The fourteenth floor. Etienne just needed to hold on, just for a few more minutes.
Just hold on.
Where the fuck was Erik’s backup?
Etienne crouched by the bathroom door listening hard for the final attack on their position. The nuckalevee’s dying screams had brought a torrent of Midir’s forces down on their heads and the fighting had been brutal, leaving what was left of their team wounded, exhausted, caked in blood, and pinned down in a bathroom mere yards from the nuckalevee’s remains and the stairwell door.
“I don’t want to die here.” Rocio, their last vampire, coughed blood. He’d bled out so badly he no longer had control of his fangs and his deep brown eyes were glazed with shock and pain.
Lana finished a neat line of stitching, closing the last of the wounds that had laid his belly open. “You won’t die here. You’re going to die over there, in the stairwell, fighting for honor and glory.”
“And saving the world.” Chuck held the blood-soaked remains of Lana’s sleeve to his face, trying to staunch the flow from the ruin of his right eye. “Can’t forget saving the world.”
Etienne gave him a small smile. “Hell yeah, we’re saving the world.” Just as soon as Erik kept his promise.
Scoithín sat apart from the small group, cradling his longsword. Blood glittered against the matte black of the Unseelie’s armor and he glowered from beneath his heavy helm. On his back Keeper still rested, and Etienne knew the truth. Their only hope lay in delivering this champion to Midir’s presence. Not with Erik. Erik was good and honorable, but the battle raged between them. The second team wasn’t coming.
They were on their own.
Sounds carried from outside the bathroom and Etienne tensed. They were getting ready to attack. He met Lana’s gaze and gave her a miniscule nod. It was time. They would fight for the stairwell. The stairwell gave them options that dying in the bathroom did not. “Scoithín, you take point. Chuck, I’m going to need you to help Rocio to the stairs. Lana and I will bring up the sides and cover the two of you.”
Scoithín gave the human and the vampire a scathing look. “Leave them. They are of no further use to us.”
“Not happening.” Etienne’s tone left no room for argument.
“I’m not carrying them.”
The look Etienne turned on the champion was a thing of pure ice. “I didn’t ask you to. Do your job. Take point. Use Keeper on Midir. That’s all.”
Scoithín stood to his full height, towering over Etienne in his crouch, his gauntleted hands trembling with rage around the hilt of his sword.
Etienne raised an auburn brow but did not rise. “Take it up with your king, champion.”
Scoithín’s jaw tightened, but he stepped back. “When this is over, you and I will have a reckoning.”
“I daresay we will.” Etienne rose, then, and straightened his jacket over Agmundr. Seven bullets, and one now had Scoithín’s name written on it.
But for the moment they had other problems. Lana helped Rocio and Chuck lean on each other before checking her weapons one last time. Scoithín held his sword and stared at the door as if he could see through it. Etienne crouched low and opened it a crack…
Heading towards them was a blood-spattered company of golden knights in heavy armor, swords drawn and blooded, led by a tall knight in matte-black. This lot were new, and alone. No others remained on the floor.
He, Lana, and Scoithín against an entire coterie of sidhe knights… Etienne was hard pressed to see how they were going to get to the stairwell alive. Maybe they could sneak past through the fabric labyrinth?
One of the golden knights stopped to deliver a death blow to one of Midir’s fae soldiers and Etienne’s heart skipped. Were these Anluan’s knights? If he was mistaken they were all dead.
The one in black turned and seemed to look right at Etienne and his heart skipped again, this time with fear… until the knight removed his helmet, revealing a tumble of loosely braided red-gold hair.
Cian.
Etienne surged through the bathroom door, relief and anger warring through his chest.
Cian looked about ready to cry as tension drained from his beautiful face. “Etienne!”
Etienne clasped his hand over the back of Cian’s neck and hugged him as tightly as he could in armor, holding the boy close for several long moments, realizing that he had not known if he would ever see him again. He turned his head a little, their breath mingling for a moment… and then he took Cian by the shoulders and gave him a small shake. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Cian shivered under his hands, his cheeks flushed, but after a moment he found his voice. “Saving you?”
Etienne frowned and looked to the golden knights. “Get him out of here. Now!”
The tallest of the knights shook his head. “We don’t work for you, Queen’s Son.”
Lana made an exasperated noise. “For fuck’s sake, Etienne. We need them. We still have a
job to do, dipshit.”
One of the other knights looked amused. “Nice company you’re keeping there, Summer’s Get.”
Lana put a hand on her hip. “Blow me, Goldenrod.”
“Maybe later, Darkling.”
She snorted. “In your dreams.”
“The good ones, may-”
“Seriously?” Cian broke into their banter. “We have to find Senán and Midir. We don’t have time to screw around.”
Etienne crossed his arms. “You’re not going any-”
“Stuff it. I am rescuing my friend, by myself if I have to.” With that Cian stalked towards the stairwell.
Chuck grinned. “I like him.”
Lana smirked. “So does Etienne. That’s the problem.”
“Less talking, more killing,” Etienne snarled.
Lana laughed. “Who’s a testy bastard?”
Etienne flipped her off and made to catch up with Cian and his knights.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Winter studied the wards on the door to the rift room, a small frown on her face. They were works of art, but looking closely she could see that they had been cast in a hasty fashion. They adhered to the door, and only the door.
This she could handle.
She dug into her overstuffed bag and pulled out a squirt bottle with two chambers. “Everyone step back. This potion is highly corrosive.” Brian, Jessie, and the two sidhe knights Ceallach had sent to accompany them moved back down the curved hallway. Winter held up the bottle and paused before turning to the knights. “Gentlemen, would you please move back to the entrance? I don’t want to risk this spray coming anywhere near those magical explosives.”
The two knights gave her a small bow and moved as one around the curve of the wall and out of sight.
Winter cast a protective barrier in between herself and the door and felt Jessie do the same for herself and Brian behind her. She then poked a small hole and pushed the nozzle of the bottle through it and squeezed the handle. The two halves of the potion, inert in their separate chambers, combined in a fine, orange mist and coated the wards and the door beneath, dripping along the lines of the matrix like dew on a spider’s web.
Dew that dissolved whatever it touched.
The wards softened and buckled, the potion negating the magic within the strands and melting them into nothing. A hole opened in the door itself, the potion eating through paint and steel, until at last the corrosive potion was exhausted and Winter could have slipped through the steaming hole that remained. Instead she turned the doorknob, confident now that there were no remaining wards.
On the other side, waiting in the darkness, was the sidhe lord with the beautiful eyes, his sword drawn, his expression both puzzled and amused.
The color drained from her lips.
A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Lady Mulcahy, so nice of you to come to my lord’s coronation.”
Winter rallied. “I’m afraid you are mistaken. There will be no coronation today.” She glanced at the rift, so close to exploding, and back to him. Nine glyphs in the seal… They had some time, yet, before midnight, before the rift blew, they had planned this insertion with time in mind, but still, it was possible he could hold them in a stalemate until it was too late. If he was down here alone to guard it, he must be either truly powerful or truly cunning. Either way, they had to get him out of the way. “I don’t believe we were properly introduced.”
“My apologies, my lady. I am Aodhán… Ah, nice to see you again, miss.” His cornflower blue eyes, so familiar, were looking past Winter to Jessie, now in the doorway. “That was a clever trick with the pot, before. You’ll notice there are none down here.”
Brian came to stand behind Winter and Jessie in the wide doorway, watching Aodhán carefully.
The sidhe lord returned his look with one of keen interest. “And who might you be, Hero?”
Brian settled his hand on Courage’s hilt, more as a warning than as a gesture of aggression. “Just Brian MacDowell.”
Those lovely eyes fell to the sword, gold flecks catching the light from their faerie lanterns. “Where did you get your friend, Brian MacDowell?”
“She was a gift from King Ceallach.”
Aodhán arched one black eyebrow. “Really? What do you know of Ceallach?”
Jessie pushed herself a step into the room. “He’s the guy who’s gonna mess up your boss’s big day.”
Aodhán turned, looking in the direction of the battle, suddenly, subtly, rattled. “Ceallach is here?”
Jessie grinned. “Yep. Kicking invading army ass right now. I’m sure he’d love to meet you. We should totally introduce you.” She leaned backwards and called down the hall. “Hey, Legolas, Thranduil, come meet the guy I was telling you about!”
Jessie had been calling the knights Tolkien names all night and Winter was grateful the two had been playing along. The one dubbed Legolas arrived at the door first. “The sidhe lord?” He took a look at Aodhán and gasped before looking to his counterpart and dropping to one knee. “My prince?”
Thranduil was on his knee a rabbit’s heartbeat behind him. “Prince Aodhán. Son of Ceallach, Son of Deirdre.”
Winter’s heart leapt to her throat. Was this the Unseelie betrayal that Etienne had worried about? If this was indeed the dead prince, what did that mean for her, Jessie, and Brian? What did it mean for the entire city? Surely Ceallach could be convinced to change sides on the word of his missing son.
Brian stepped in front of Winter and Jessie and drew Courage. “Excuse me, guys, you’re supposed to be guarding Winter from him, not handing her to him, remember?”
Thranduil looked briefly at Legolas and then turned to Aodhán. “My prince, how did you come to be here? You have long been feared dead.”
Aodhán’s cornflower blue eyes, now that Winter could see the connection so like his mother’s, flickered from side to side as he thought furiously. “And… I’d like to stay that way. For a bit longer.”
Legolas looked scandalized. “But, my lord, your father…”
“Has mourned me for five hundred years. Another few won’t lessen his grief. Besides, he seems to have his hands full tonight. I think I should leave him to his work and bid you all a good evening.” He moved backwards towards the door on the other side of the room. “Lady Mulcahy, it has proved interesting to meet you. Miss, I’d concentrate your charges on the pillars along the railing. They’re load bearing. Brian MacDowell, I will see you, and your new friend, another time.” With that he pulled the door open and jumped through, slamming it shut behind him.
Legolas rushed to reopen the door, but by the time he opened it and looked up and down the curved hallway there was nothing to be seen.
Brian still stood with Courage bare in his hand, but she was pointed at the floor. “So, are we still good? Your king’s instructions would override a prince’s, right?”
Thranduil nodded, ignoring the bared blade. “Indeed. Let’s get these explosives set.”
Jessie giggled with destructive glee and helped him with his pack. “Let’s do this thing!”
Winter watched the door Aodhán had disappeared through for a long moment, half expecting him to reappear, but when that did not happen she pulled out a large chunk of spell chalk and finally turned to the massive rift.
Nine glyphs in the seal.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
They made it to the penthouse apartment with little resistance, Midir’s remaining forces seemingly called to deal with the new threat Anluan’s army presented. Cian had used some of his healing magic to make Rocio and Chuck more comfortable, but without Winter’s expert guidance a full repair would have to wait.
The large, open space was decorated in sleek black and metal, with racks of weapons lining the walls, all of it looking the worse for wear. The October wind whistled through multiple cracks in the windows. The floor was littered with weapons and broken housewares. Etienne briefly noted the empty brackets above the stark black fireplace and kne
w that Midir was carrying Grief tonight.
A ball of wild magic hurtled towards them, forcing them all to dive out of the way. “Go away!” The voice was ragged and high-pitched, hanging by a fraying thread of madness.
Lana peered up from behind the couch, looking both exasperated and alarmed. “And that would be Senán.”
Cian crouched beneath the table with two of the knights. “Midir did this to him,” he said, defending his friend. “He’s been throwing magic since I was here last.”
Rocio had his arm wrapped around his waist. The dive to the floor had not done him any favors. “Shouldn’t he be running out of juice, by now, then?”
Etienne shook his head, kneeling on the floor. “He’s a sidhe prince and will someday be capable of creating an entire faerie realm from his will alone.” As would Cian, Etienne believed, no matter how weak his father, Eoin, may have been thought. “He has a lot of ‘juice.’”
“Get out!”
Cian crept out from under the table. “Senán! It’s me, Cian!”
The voice developed a distinctive whine. “I don’t know you!” A yellow sphere of magic shot through the wall and shattered the dish cabinet behind them.
Lana’s jaw clenched and Etienne heard her mutter, “God, I hate that sound.” She stood up, checked her dagger sheaths, and stepped out from behind the couch. “I’ve got this shit.” She walked towards the hallway. “Jeremy, babe? It’s Lana. Can you hear me?”
“L… Lana?” The door at the end of the hall opened and what must have been Senán emerged, hunched over, the whites of his gray eyes showing. Etienne could not help but stare. They really did look alike, but for the differences of a thousand years and nearly a foot of height. They both favored their mother.
Lana held her arms out to Senán. “It’s me, babe. I’m here to help you.”
The boy’s face crumpled and he crept towards Lana like a frightened child. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I think I’m going crazy.”
