by A. E. Lowan
Etienne sat up and rolled Cian onto his back, terrified of the answer. Cian was new to his abilities and Winter was still training him. But the boy took a deep breath and Etienne’s eyes teared with relief. One hand found red-gold hair and stroked it back from his face with tender fingers. Dear boy.
Then he went up on his knees and picked Cian up in his arms. They still had business to attend to. Midir needed to be dealt with, and the rift needed to be closed. He carried Cian down from the roof.
Etienne came out carrying Cian just as Winter was trying to talk her way onto the team headed back into the building. He looked up and gave Winter a weary smile and her heart squeezed with happiness even as her eyes took in his blood-covered clothes and Cian’s unconscious form. What had happened up there?
Etienne brought Cian to her where she stood with Erik, Brian, Jessie, Lana, and Ceallach’s knights. “Winter, he’s breathing but not moving.”
Lana looked astonished and mouthed, “How?”
Etienne’s expression as he looked down at Cian mingled pride, love, and loss. “He’s a grandson of Dagda.”
Ceallach arrived without fanfare and walked right up to Midir, kicking the bound prince in the face. “Hello, brother. I have some games for us to play together.” He gestured to his guards. “Take him.”
“Wait.” Midir’s voice was choked with blood. “Wizard.”
Winter turned toward the rasping voice. Midir the Proud was on his knees between two of Ceallach's sidhe, Keeper still binding him. She pulled her eyes from the grisly sight of the blade erupting from his shuddering chest, wrists bound at its tip, and looked instead at the blood running freely from one corner of his mouth, at his pain glazed eyes. She looked inside herself for pity and found none. “My lord?” she questioned, her voice cold.
“I told you that opposing me would be a mistake.”
She looked to where Etienne was standing strong, holding Cian. “Etienne is going to live.” She looked back, meeting those ice blue eyes, arrogant even in the face of defeat. “Senán has been returned to his parents’ care. And you are going to enjoy your brother's hospitality. Your plan has failed. I fail to see my mistake.”
Midir opened his mouth to speak and choked on his blood. Agony tore across his elegant face as the coughing took him, leaving him gasping for air.
Winter waited while he struggled, then lost patience. She wanted to see the sealed rift buried and was in no mood to indulge her fallen enemy. She looked at Ceallach’s soldiers and motioned for them to take him.
“Wait,” he croaked. The knights hesitated at the word of such a mighty prince, even with their king present, and he again met Winter’s eyes. “Your world is doomed. I was the only hope you had of salvation, and you squandered it.” Anger flared in his eyes. “Enjoy your precious realm, for however long you have it.”
The memory of her father's body falling boneless to the ground flashed through her mind, her guilt at leaving him like she had, and she met Midir’s anger with her cold rage. She was exhausted and in no mood to believe the lies of her father’s murderer, so she bent closer to his face. “And you… you enjoy the full depth of your failure. Your years of preparation, of building, of slaughtering my family to clear the way for your conquest of my city... it was all for nothing.”
Confusion flashed through Midir’s eyes. “What are you talking about?”
His response stoked the icy fire of her rage, and she shook with the force of it. She spoke through clenched teeth. “You murdered my father.”
He frowned… and then his eyes widened. A grin spread across his face. He barked a laugh that turned into a spasm of choked coughing.
“What? What are you laughing at?” Winter stepped back as droplets of blood speckled her face.
The great prince got his breathing back under control, blood running down his chin, cruel mirth filling his eyes. “You, wizard child.” He turned to the knights. “Now, you may take me away.” He gave her a courtly, mocking nod as Ceallach’s sidhe hauled him away.
Winter stood there wide-eyed, her heart pounding, her whole body shaking, and watched them. The rain began to fall again, cold on her flushed cheeks. She didn’t understand. What did that mean?
Erik found her standing there and wrapped his bandaged and bloody arms around her. “I've got you, little girl. I’ve got you.”
She pressed her face against his shirt and let her tears join the raindrops.
Ceallach watched for several long moments, ignoring the rain, and then cleared his throat as Anluan approached. “I am sorry to break into your mourning, but we still have business to attend to.”
Winter nodded and stepped away from Erik, letting him brush the tears from her face. “I understand. I’m sorry.”
Ceallach reached out and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be. You have much to mourn. And the time for it is fast approaching.”
Winter nodded again and turned to where Etienne waited patiently with Cian.
“Can you rouse him?”
Winter laid her hand on Cian’s forehead. “He’s exhausted his energy. Honestly, he’s not in real danger.” Thank goodness. He really could have hurt himself, but she could feel no magical injuries. “He may sleep for a few days, but what he needs is magic.”
Ceallach stepped forward. “Perhaps I can help.”
Anluan frowned. “Don’t touch my nephew, Darkling Brother.”
Ceallach looked annoyed. “He needs my help.”
Anluan gestured grandly. “I’m all the help he needs. Stand aside, Etienne.”
Etienne’s hold on Cian tightened. “That’s never going to happen. Nice of you to finally show up, by the way.”
Anluan drew his sword. “I was tired of you long ago, Queen’s Son.”
Ceallach blocked Anluan’s sword with his own. “Etienne Knight is under my protection, brother. You will not have him or the boy.” He reached back with his free hand and let power flow into Cian.
Cian took on a soft glow for a moment and his eyes opened. He glanced at Ceallach and Anluan, but a radiant smile spread across his face as his gaze fell on Etienne. “You’re alive!”
Etienne set Cian on his feet but kept his hands on his shoulders. “Thanks to you.”
Anluan made a rude noise, and Winter had to fight the urge to hit him with her bag. “This is all very touching, but dawn is coming and we all need to be gone before it does, the better to avoid human eyes. Cian, you are coming home.”
Cian backed away slightly behind Etienne. “No, I’m not.”
“You are of my house and you will obey.”
Ceallach smirked. “I’m not sure you have the right to command a faerie king, brother.”
“He’s not a king.”
“He is, just a young one. Do you want to go home with your uncle, Cian?”
Cian looked from Etienne to Winter, and her heart soared. “That’s not my home. This is.”
Ceallach made a mocking version of Anluan’s grand gesture. “Sorry, Anluan. Looks like you’ll need a new ornament.”
The golden king snarled and stalked off.
Ceallach watched him go, pleasure plain on his face, and then he turned to Lana. “You betrayed my wife’s trust and stole my sword. I’m not sure Deirdre will have you back.”
Lana, still voiceless, bowed low.
He smiled. “But I will. Come along, Lana. Let’s discuss you and my guard. I could use a rebel with more courage than brains.”
Lana rose from her bow, beaming, and followed her lord.
Jessie watched them go, a bit wistful. “I’m glad you’re staying and all. You are staying, right? But can we please blow up this building and go home?”
Cian looked from Winter to Etienne again. “Are we staying?”
Winter could not help the bright smile that took over her face. “Yes. Please.”
Etienne brushed his hand over Winter’s and gave Cian a one-armed hug. “Yes, we’re staying.”
Jessie whooped, hugging Brian. “Aweso
me! Boom now?”
They got out of range and Winter triggered the magical explosives in the basement, the building coming down in an impressive display of magic and pyrotechnics. Winter watched with a certain degree of pleasure that was a balm to even her exhausted body. She smiled at Etienne and Cian as the last of the dust settled. “Let’s go home.”
EPILOGUES
“Midir lost his bid for power.” Aodhán stepped through the bedroom doorway in socked feet, loosening his collar. A thin wail rose from the nursery, rising and falling in a weak rhythm. He started moving that way.
“I do not smell the blood of your enemies.”
He turned to face the bed. Perched atop and swathed in a luxurious red kimono sat a dainty, sweet-faced girl. Her legs peeked out, flashing tiny bare feet and calves, and hair like a black silken river flowed thick to pool at last on the bamboo floor beside the tall bed. One side of the kimono was open to breastfeed the robust baby boy who clutched at her with a little fist. She smiled down at him indulgently, her delicate hand brushing over his thick mop of black curls. A perfect vision of a Japanese Madonna and Child. Then, Himiko raised her dark, phoenix eyes to Aodhán, and arched one raven brow. He felt the weight of millennia in her gaze, but after five centuries he was used to it. “No, you don't.” He shrugged out of his shirt and continued toward the crying in the nursery.
“Since when does Aodhán of Unseelie flee the field of battle?” she asked, her tone mocking. The large gray wolf curled up at the foot of the bed woke at her taunt and turned curious blue eyes toward Aodhán.
Aodhán sighed. Why did she have to make everything a pissing contest? But, he knew the answer to that. It was just part of her charm. “When his father suddenly takes the field.” He turned to face her again. “I'm not ready to reveal myself, yet.”
She rolled her eyes and tucked her finger into the baby’s mouth to try to get him to detach. “And what of Carrick? What of your son's future kingdom?” The boy released, leaving four tiny holes around her dainty nipple which sealed up before she finished switching sides. “That was the plan. Help that megalomaniac, and then snatch his new kingdom out from under him.”
“Plans change. You taught me that, my love.”
She made a small, thoughtful noise.
He started moving again.
“So, then, with your brother dead, why won’t you reveal yourself to your father?”
His eyes widened a bit in exasperation, but he was faced away from her. When he turned back, his expression was bland. “Midir complicated things for me. Had he succeeded in carving out his faerie realm here, I could have claimed to my father that I was taking vengeance for Ciaran’s murder, in spite of Ciaran’s own role in my supposed demise.”
She nodded. She had been the one to save his life, after all.
“However, with Midir defeated by other hands, I cannot afford to be associated with him. Though I was well within rights to exact vengeance on my brother for my attempted murder, Midir’s cruelty to my mother is unforgivable. I have to distance myself from him and bide my time, now.” He kept moving, the crying pulling him forward.
The nursery was entirely blue and green. A boy’s place. Rich wooden furniture was crowded with stuffed animals and small toy weapons that Carrick was still too little to play with. Soon, though. He was a big boy and growing fast. Two cribs sat in the room - one in the center of the room, the place with the best flow of energy, and one shoved off to the side and out of the way. Aodhán gritted his teeth and made his way over to the second crib, the source of the pitiful cries. No matter how many times he rearranged the nursery, she just put it back like this while he was gone. In the crib lay a much smaller baby, arms and legs thin and frail, black hair wispy, eyes swollen red from crying and huge in her thin face. While Carrick would have been standing in his wobbly fashion, clinging to the side of his crib to demand his infant due, Keiko lacked the strength to sit up. Aodhán reached down and picked up the delicate baby, Carrick’s twin, and cradled her close to the bare skin of his chest. He rocked her and gently stroked her back, but her distress would not be soothed.
She was starving.
He emerged from the nursery with Keiko tucked tight against him. “Himiko, how long has she been crying?” he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.
Himiko looked up in irritation at the increased noise level and waved a negligent hand. “It woke poor Carrick up. He was very distressed.” She cast an annoyed look at the frail girl and returned to stroking her son’s back as he fed.
Aodhán hesitated, but Keiko’s cries and failure to thrive pushed him yet again to desperation. “Himiko… my love… please, just this once…”
Himiko looked at him quizzically and then her eyes widened slightly as she understood his meaning. Her face hardened, her dark eyes turned to ice. “You wanted her. You feed her,” she said, her voice deepening with cold warning.
Aodhán stepped back and bowed slightly, his starving daughter wailing in his arms. In her mortal life, Himiko had prided herself on only bearing boys. When she had realized last year that she was carrying twins, she had told everyone who would listen she was bearing twin princes. After all, vampire queens only bore princes. Carrick had been born first and she had exalted. And then the midwife had presented her with Keiko. Himiko had taken the newborn and thrown her across the room in disgust. Only Aodhán’s sidhe reflexes had saved her. Then Himiko had refused to feed her.
He left the bedroom he shared with Himiko, carrying his tiny daughter, frustration and fear grinding away at him. A vampire child needed the milk and blood of his… or her… mother for the first few years to survive. Himiko refused to touch the child, had barely named her. Keiko basically meant “girl child.” He had chosen the kanji to mean “blessing,” but she would not know that for many years to come - if she survived to learn to write her own name.
Feeding her was one of the few things they came close to fighting about - close, because Aodhán feared Himiko taking her legendary temper out on the baby. Himiko could kill her in anger and then blame him for enflaming her. He had no doubt she would. Only love for him kept her from killing the girl in cold blood - Himiko in a rage was capable of anything. In cold blood, Himiko had already abandoned Keiko to an orphanage once. Fortunately, Aodhán found out and had been able to retrieve her.
He carried the wailing baby through the large, traditionally Japanese-style house, bouncing her slightly in a futile attempt at soothing her. Keiko cried most of the time she did not sleep, and Aodhán could not blame her. Fortunately for the little girl’s survival, Himiko tended to tune out the constant thin cries. Carrick, however, found it distressing when his twin was unhappy. Sometimes Aodhán thought the boy fed and grew for the two of them.
“Aodhán.”
Aodhán stopped at the sound of the voice like soft thunder. In the doorway was easily the largest mortal he had ever had occasion to know, and the man may have some Jack-in-Irons out massed. Grizzly Mountain stood well over seven feet tall, a wall of solid copper-skinned muscle peering down at him from behind the frame of his bedroom door. “Good morning, Mountain.” Originally from the Tanana people of Alaska, Mountain had found his way into Himiko’s household the century before.
Mountain nodded, his dark eyes solemn, as usual. “The little girl is hungry.” He reached out a massive hand and brushed his fingers over her thin hair. Aodhán let him. Mountain may be a ferocious warrior but he would never harm Keiko. “May I help?”
Aodhán nearly closed his eyes with relief. He had hoped Mountain would offer, but he could not ask. The bear king belonged to Himiko. It was not the first time Mountain would feed Keiko, rich feedings which Aodhán knew helped his daughter, though even the blood of a king could not come close to taking the place of her mother. But it was something they did in secret - if Himiko found out one of her kings was feeding her unwanted child she would forbid it. He nodded, a grateful smile on his face, and glanced up and down the hallway before stepping into Mountain�
�s room.
What had she just seen? Lelia crouched near the wall as the black tower fell, her eyes wide. The occasional car… the occasional police car drove by, and no one else seemed to notice the battle. The knights in armor. The… monsters!
Why?
She wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t crazy! Lelia felt tears pooling yet again. All she knew for certain was that she was in trouble and it was Jeremy Moore’s fault. She had come here to see his father, to tell him what Jeremy had done to her, to settle this once and for all, but there he was, being dragged away. She rested her hand on her pregnant belly. She needed help but forced herself to walk away before they dragged her away, too.
What was she going to do now?
In the dark of his makeshift shelter tucked against the base of one of the wharves, Stephen suddenly stopped strumming his guitar and looked skyward. Ever so slightly, fates were shifting, realigning… Winter Mulcahy had made the first binding, forging the ties of her new family. Good. It was one step closer and just in time, too. For one such as he who faced eternity, time was becoming frighteningly short. Smiling grimly, Stephen returned to his music, picking up the tune where he had left off.
Frighteningly short, indeed.
A TASTE OF TIES OF BLOOD AND BONE: THE SECOND BOOK OF BINDING
(Coming Winter 2018)
The headlights carved out his path through the moonless night up the I-5 through Washington State, the tires gripping the road remarkably well at a hundred and thirty miles per hour. Alerich came up behind a truck and a semi just as one was moving to pass the other and floored the gas, darting between the other vehicles like they were standing still. His passenger gripped the bar and made a small squeaking noise. All he had to remember was to stay on the right.
Bloody Americans. Madness.
Moments later another sports car shot around the slower truck, engine screaming, and a voice sounded in Alerich’s Bluetooth earpiece. “Rick, suicide is not going to get you out of marrying Celia.”
