by Anya Bast
Aislinn took slow, measured steps toward Aodh, hoping Niall might be able to perform some kind of last-minute miracle. Closer and closer she inched. In an abrupt move, the Shadow King thrust Bella to the side—she tripped and fell to the floor—and grabbed Aislinn, pressing the knife to her throat.
Bella ripped the gag from her throat and the blindfold from her eyes. “Aislinn, don’t do this.”
“Too late,” the Shadow King snarled. “Already done.”
Malice overcame Bella’s beautiful face. “I have cursed you and cursed you, Aodh. I’ve brought all the dark magick I have to call down on your head. There’s no way you’re leaving this room alive.”
He laughed. “I think you overestimate your powers, pretty.”
“No, she’s right. You’re dead,” said Gabriel. His voice was made of menace and his fists were at his sides, bloodless. “Harm Aislinn and I’ll rip you apart. We all will. No matter what, you’re not leaving this room alive.”
“Wrong. She dies, the sluagh disappear, and you’re all goblin food. The end.”
The blade sank into her skin and she winced, even though she’d given herself a pep talk about being brave. Pain lanced through her and hot blood welled, trickling down her skin.
“Aislinn,” said Gabriel. So much emotion was embedded in the utterance of her name that she could almost imagine he loved her. She met his gaze and held it, wanting his face to be the last one she saw.
“Aeric the Blacksmith, don’t you find it ironic that I’m going to kill her with a charmed blade forged by you?” Aodh said with a note of pure joy in his voice. He thought he’d won . . . and maybe he had.
“Only half as ironic as when Gabriel hacks you to pieces with this one.” Aeric tossed his bloodied battle-ax to Gabriel.
Holding weapons in each hand, smeared with blood, and with a brutal expression on his face, Gabriel looked ready to take on the Shadow King and the whole goblin army by himself.
“I’m going to cut deep,” Aodh whispered into her ear. “Through tendon and muscle. I’m going to do it slow so your boyfriend can watch. I’m going to slice right through your windpipe all the way back to your neck bone if I can. It would make me happy to nearly decapitate you.”
The knife bit deeper.
Ah, Danu, she didn’t want to die. Not yet. Aislinn threw chance to the wind and cast a wish into the Netherworld. “Papa!”
The Shadow King stilled the knife at her throat, perhaps confused by the emotion-laced entreaty she’d yelled loud enough to carry to the Netherworld.
Her father shimmered into view right in front of them. The confusion on his face swiftly turned to absolute rage as he took in the scene. Normally no spirit but the sluagh could affect the physical environment. Normally. A spirit who’d amassed enough emotion could throw things, kick things, destroy things, and could even kill.
Aislinn was banking on the strength of her papa’s love.
All the events smashed together so fast it was as if they happened at the same time.
“Corporeal!” she yelled.
Her father went corporeal, yanked the Shadow King’s arm away from her throat, and then winked out of existence. Aislinn brought her elbow back hard into Aodh’s solar plexus. The knife flew from his hand and slid across the floor under an armoire.
Then Gabriel was on him. They battled, Aodh kicking both weapons from Gabriel’s hands. Gabriel backhanded him and Aodh stumbled. Gabriel leapt on him, pushing him onto the floor, punching him over and over as if he could kill him with his bare hands. Aislinn crab-walked backward in the face of Gabriel’s all-consuming rage, then slumped down, her fingers going to the wounds on her throat.
Bella uneasily scrambled to her side, her wrists still cuffed in front of her. “Are you all right?”
Aislinn nodded, touching her throat. “Go! Go to Ronan.” Bella kissed her temple and awkwardly stood, then raced to one of the back bedrooms of the apartment.
“Goblins, to me!” the Shadow King yelled just before Gabriel punched him again.
Oh, that was not good.
Almost immediately, goblins found a way past the sluagh and streamed into the room. Niall and the host turned and hefted their weapons, cutting down the flow of gibbering monsters as they poured through the doorway.
Barthe ambled toward Gabriel, growling low in his throat. Aislinn spotted the Shadow King’s fighting staff in the corner, the long, cool length of polished wood and smooth crystal knob glowing with possibility. She leapt to her feet, grabbed it, and swung at Barthe with everything she had. It hit the creature’s stomach and made him oof, but it didn’t stop him. He just yanked it from her hands and tossed it aside, then picked Gabriel up with a low growl and tossed him after it.
Gabriel fell heavily to the floor, slid, grabbed the fighting stick, and jumped back up to his feet, just as the Shadow King rose from the floor—his nose and mouth bloodied from Gabriel’s fists.
Barthe tried to stalk past him toward Gabriel, but the Shadow King put a hand to his pet’s chest. “No. I want Gabriel.” He jerked a chin toward Aislinn. “Take care of her,” he finished, as though she was just an afterthought and not the purpose of the entire kerfuffle.
And an afterthought she would be in only moments.
Barthe advanced on her just as the Shadow King sprang at Gabriel. She edged her way backward into the living room, casting her gaze about for some kind of weapon to use on the Unseelie creature. If she couldn’t find anything, she was a goner.
“Aislinn!” Gabriel called right before the Shadow King’s foot smashed into the side of his head, making him oof and stagger to the side. Before Aodh attacked again, he tossed her dagger. He must have scooped it from the floor where she’d dropped it.
She caught the weapon and turned toward Barthe, brandishing the blood-covered edge of the blade. It only made Barthe emit a low gravelly sound that might have been a laugh. The creature came closer, moving slowly and smiling to reveal sharp white teeth. He knew she was trapped and no match for him.
Behind Barthe, she watched Gabriel recover and engage the Shadow King again. They were a flurry of arms, fists, legs, and feet. They fought each other like they’d done it before, maybe in a practice ring. Now it was deadly serious. Blow for blow, the Shadow King tried to push Gabriel toward the fighting near the door—within reach of the goblins—while Gabriel tried to push the Shadow King away. They were matched well, each anticipating and blocking the other’s moves. A former friendship gone violent.
Barthe gave another low laugh that raised all the hair on the back of her neck. She edged her way around a chair. He was stalking her and enjoying the hell out of it.
By the doorway, Niall yelled out a stream of Old Maejian as he and the host slashed and cut through the goblins that spilled through the doorway. Something around her in the air trembled, pulsed. Niall excitedly yelled out another stream.
Tremble. Pulse.
Then nothing.
Niall gave a loud bellow of anger and attacked the goblins with a new vengeance. At the same time, Gabriel landed a good kick to the Shadow King’s head that sent him sprawling.
And that was when Barthe rushed her.
She’d been in the process of inching around the couch in the living room. With a swiftness and agility she’d never expected the lumbering creature to possess, he leapt over the obstacle separating them, grabbed her by the throat with one huge, hairy hand, and sent her crashing down onto the coffee table.
Immediately she plunged her dagger hilt-deep into his side. Barthe roared in pain, his back arching and his head snapping back, but he didn’t let go of her throat. She tried to pull the blade free and stab him again, but the creature’s hide was too thick. The weapon seemed cemented in his flesh.
Letting go of the blood-slick grip of the dagger, Aislinn clawed at the thick fingers around her throat. Terror poured through her, made her icy and still. Her airway cut off, she gasped for breath and flailed against the enormous strength of the beast pinning her down.
She was going to die.
The thought cut through the frenzied panic that consumed her. If she couldn’t find a way to release herself from Barthe’s grip now, she was dead.
Blindly she groped for something—anything—on the coffee table to use as a weapon. Her fingers closed around an object that felt like a rock or maybe a paperweight and she smashed it against Barthe’s head with every ounce of strength she possessed.
Barthe grunted and rolled away, falling to the floor. Dragging precious mouthfuls of air into her lungs and coughing, she pushed up, touching her ravaged throat. Barthe growled at her, his lips peeling back away from his teeth. Then Bella was there, behind Barthe. Her cuffs were gone and she had an iron fire poker in her hands, which she hefted over her head and brought down against his skull over and over until the creature lay still.
“Bella!” Aislinn whispered through her ravaged throat, rising shakily to her feet.
Bella dropped the fire poker, stepped over Barthe, and enveloped Aislinn in her arms. “Aislinn,” she whispered through her tears. “Danu, you scared me.”
Something around them popped, snapped, and then exploded, making Aislinn’s ears ring. The sound of the battle at the doorway intensified and the sluagh poured in. Niall slumped against a wall, streaked with goblin blood, now finally at ease after breaking the barrier.
Still half embracing Bella, Aislinn’s gaze met the Shadow King’s across the room. Her eyes were narrow and as cold as she could make them. His eyes, wide, set in an angry face, revealed the fear he felt at the approach of the sluagh.
“Good-bye, father,” she whispered a moment before the sluagh descended on him, covering him over and forcing him down and out of sight, like a pack of wild dogs devouring prey. Then the sluagh were gone.
The Shadow King lay still and pale on the marble floor of the foyer, his soul ripped away.
“A little help!” yelled Aeric at the door. They were still fighting the goblins with all they had and now lacked the aid of the sluagh to thin the ranks.
The amulet that had been only a tattoo on the Shadow King’s skin before had now manifested as a physical object to lie around his neck. Gabriel reached down, yanked the amulet from the Shadow King’s throat, and tossed it across the room at Aislinn.
As she caught it, he bowed deeply. “My queen.”
A shiver of dread went through her, but she would deal with that in a moment or so. She slipped the heavy chain over her head and felt the cold weight of the amulet settle against her skin. It adhered to her and sank into her flesh slowly, the metal weight dissolving into her skin and becoming part of her. The jewelry definitely hadn’t rejected her. Her gorge rose, bitter at the back of her throat. Bella grabbed her hand to steady her as the tattoo of the amulet imprinted into her flesh, in tones of silver and black.
A moment later, magick poured through her, making her limbs tingle and giving her body a momentary sensation of levity. She gasped at the alien power curling through her, but pushed her reaction to the oddness away. There was no time for self-indulgence now.
“Goblins, cease battle immediately.” The words came out as loud as she could broadcast them. She had no idea how to command the goblins. She could only hope it was inherent, like her ability to order the sluagh, given to her by the power of the Shadow Amulet.
Oh, gods, she now commanded the sluagh and the goblins. The full impact of those truths hit her like a punch to the solar plexus.
The goblins all stopped fighting. The sounds of battle died away, leaving only the moaning of the injured and dying.
The host all dropped their weapons, sighed, and slumped with relief. All of them were covered in blood and goblin gore, but none of them seemed to have sustained major injury. Since they’d been defending a small opening, they’d had the advantage over the goblins. Many of the monsters lay dead on the floor of the foyer, unable to mount an effective attack while battling their way past the sluagh in the corridor and then trying to force their way into the room.
Aislinn gazed down at the dead and dying goblins, sadness filling her heart.
The sluagh were commanded and enslaved because it was their punishment, prescribed by whatever forces ruled the Netherworld. They’d committed terrible crimes during their lives and now paid the price for their actions. The Shadow King had now joined their ranks. But the goblins, ugly and naturally vicious though they were, were innocents. Commanded to fight by the power of the Shadow King—or Shadow Queen—they had no choice but to risk their lives and, in some cases, die. Aodh would never have even thought about the rights of the goblins. They had just been a tool to him, a way to keep his throne safe from all comers.
And that was Aislinn’s first clue that she was in trouble as the new royal of the Unseelie Court.
Aislinn brushed the tattoo of the amulet, wishing she’d thrown it into the fire instead of putting it on. She didn’t want this, didn’t want this responsibility. “Goblins, collect your dead and injured. Take them home. Your fighting here is finished.” Her voice was heavy, sad. The goblins immediately moved to do her bidding.
“You’re the best person for this job because you don’t want it.” Gabriel’s voice. He’d come to stand near her. His gaze searched hers. Blood and sweat marked him from head to toe. His clothing was ripped and his chest still heaved from the battle. “Don’t you see that, Aislinn?”
How could he know what she’d been thinking? Was her expression really that transparent?
“He’s right,” said Bella. “You’ll rule this court in the way it should be ruled.”
Aislinn shook her head. “No. I’m not ruthless enough. I’m not tough enough to hold this throne. I should pick another to rule and give up the amulet.” She wasn’t exactly sure how to do that short of dying, but there had to be a way.
“No!”Aeric roared from near the doorway, his massive chest heaving with passion. He crossed the floor swiftly toward her. “You are the rightful heir to the throne. You have the blood, not to mention the amulet. If you even hint to the Unseelie that you’re uncertain of your rule or that you want to hand off power to someone else, we’ll have an all-out war and you won’t be able to stop that one with a few well-chosen commands. Many people will die. I remember the fae wars of the 1600s. No one wants to relive those.”
He was right. She knew he was right. It was important for her to take control of the throne as was her right as the biological daughter of the former king. For a while she’d been a bastard Unseelie princess.
But now she was a queen.
Aislinn gasped, remembering. “Ronan!” Her gaze flew to Bella.
Bella glanced at a doorway to the bedroom she’d run into earlier. “He’s okay, just drugged up. He’s falling in and out of awareness right now. It will take some time for it to wear off.” She gave a tight smile. “He’s going to be mad he missed the fight.”
Aislinn reached out and traced the side of one of the wounds on Bella’s throat. “I don’t think that’s what he’ll be angry about.”
Bella took her hand and squeezed. “We’ll be here to help you. All of us in this room.” Her gaze touched everyone. “You can trust us to support you.”
“I don’t want this,” she said softly, lowering her hand, “but what I want has become irrelevant.”
“Now you’re starting to think like a queen,” said Gabriel.
Her gaze rose and met his. He smiled sadly at her and she had another odd impression that he really cared about her. Or was it perhaps her newfound status as queen he cared about?
The words Kendal had screamed at her the day he’d dumped her in front of the Seelie court filled her mind. I never loved you. I only used you.
No. She shook her head and blinked. Those thoughts needed to give way to more pressing concerns. She was a queen now and personal concerns needed to take a backseat.
Aislinn blinked and brushed her fingers over the tattoo of the amulet. It was now a part of her being, and it felt heavier by the moment.
TWENTY-THREE
GABRIEL reached out and brushed his finger over the tooled red leather cover of the Book of Bindings. He’d found it in the dungeon, still in Aislinn’s suitcase, secreted away on a musty shelf. Apparently Aodh had never even known what he’d had.
He’d delivered it to Aislinn, now fully ensconced as the new Shadow Queen, in her quarters.
After the battle in the Shadow King’s apartment, he and the host had carried out the Shadow King’s body for all to see. Aislinn had steeled herself, straightened her spine, and forced all trace of uncertainty and dread from her body language and walked beside them out into the square wearing the tattooed amulet proudly on her skin, revealed to all by the torn and bloodied neckline of her clothing.
The action had clearly proclaimed to all who saw them that the power had been passed from one royal to another. The word had passed quickly, like wildfire, through the Black Tower. They had a new queen; she wore the amulet, and she possessed O’Dubhuir blood.
All of them had bent their knee to her, every last Unseelie in the shadowed part of Piefferburg Square, and Aislinn had barely flinched.
A week had now passed and Aislinn was still settling into her new role. To all but those closest to her, she exuded a countenance of perfect control and power. Only those nearest her sometimes saw her mask slip or glimpsed how her hands trembled. She seemed miserable under the burden of her new status.
Gabriel ached for her—ached that the weight on her slim shoulders was so heavy to bear. Wished he could take it from her and transfer it to someone else.
But he’d settle for a smile.
Or a moan of pleasure.
He’d given her room to breathe. He hadn’t pushed her in any way, only offered himself to her in whatever supportive role she wanted to place him in. But he wanted her. He missed the scent of her skin and its silky softness. He wanted to part her thighs and slide deep within her, to regain some of the closeness they’d shared when they’d been on the run.
