“You can’t use magic in a troid, Elizabeth,” Finn shouted over the din of chanting Fae. His eyes tore right through me, and I shrank away from him, pulling my bound wrists to my chest.
“This is my fight, I can’t let you—”
Torc nodded at one of the púcas who raced to untie Finn. He grabbed him by one hand and raised his arm. “The Princess has a champion!”
The crowd cheered, their teeth gnashing, eyes red with bloodlust. The sound of the mob flooded my ears like someone had pulled me underwater, and my chest tightened, my throat so constricted, I couldn’t breathe.
“Please, Finn.” I reached out to him, blocking his path down to the baths. “Don’t do this.”
Finn’s eyes turned to two dark slits, the lines of his face turned down in a horrible frown. “Get out of my way, Elizabeth.”
I staggered back, punctured by the icicles in his voice. He slipped past me, and I shook myself awake.
“No!” I screamed.
Torc pulled me toward him with a belly laugh. “Oh, this should be good.”
“You fucking bastard,” I hissed, trying to break free from Torc’s grasp. The smell of alcohol on his breath made me want to heave, my stomach in knots as I helplessly watched Finn make his way down to the empty pool. He stripped off his coat and shirt, his raven tattoo a bright black stain against his hard chest. The black feathers seemed to ripple in the stage lights as he stretched out his arms and cocked his neck back and forth, his eyes never leaving Torc, who pulled me closer against him. He looked like a dark beast trapped in a crevice, waiting to consume anything that might fall to the depths below.
“And who is the champion for the Fir Bolgs?” Torc shouted over the jeers of the crowd.
The blond Fir Bolg glared at me, holding his wounded arm. He looked like he would give anything to oblige Torc of the troid, but he was clearly out of commission. Another Fir Bolg kept pointing to the pool below while Blondie shook his head with a snarl. The pounding in my chest slowed a bit, and I took a deep breath. Finn could take these guys in his sleep. It was going to be fine. He could do this.
“I’ll be the First Men’s champion,” a deep voice echoed through the baths. Standing on the edge of the pool stood Balar the Cyclops, his large brown eye glistening like a giant marble in his misshapen head.
My skin prickled, and a cold sweat trickled down my back.
“Jaysus.” Eamonn caught my gaze and then looked away, hiding his face in his arms with a groan.
Malachy stared straight ahead, his translucent eyes glazed over.
“No,” I breathed. “No, no, no.”
Torc threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, yes.”
Balar ground his fist into his other palm, his mouth widening in a horrible grin. “I’ll be the Fir Bolgs’ champion on one condition.” The monster leered at me, and bile stung in the back of my throat.
“And what is your condition, good sir?” Torc shouted across the baths.
“If I win, the Fir Bolgs grant me one night with the Princess. A Prima Nocta of sorts.” Balar ran his tongue across his scarred lips, saliva glistening on his sharp teeth.
The floor fell away from my feet, and I saw the whole scene from faraway. Blood roared in my ears, the crowd bursting into laughter and lewd whistles.
“Prima Nocta? Are you fucking kidding me?” I cried.
Balar blinked, his scaly eyelid stretched taught across his wide eye. I snapped to attention, struggling against Torc.
“No!” I screamed. “No, I won’t agree to this!”
Torc dug his arm around my throat, cutting off my air supply. “Fir Bolgs?” he bellowed. “Do you agree to this condition?”
The blond Fir Bolg nodded, his lip curling up in a sneer.
“Hold on!” Malachy’s voice boomed across the baths. “You can’t add the ante like that. We want a second condition, too!”
A few voices from the crowd shouted assent, and Torc grunted.
“You dearg-dubh and your dealings,” he barked. “What now?”
“The cyclops wins and he gets the Princess before the Fir Bolgs take her. But if Finn wins”—Malachy tilted his head toward Finn below—“you let us go free and you fight for us. You help us in our crusade.”
The crowd burst into confused murmurs, but then a lone voice shouted, “Yeah!” from far in the back and then more joined in, roaring and stamping their feet, eager to see the stakes raised.
“Feck no!” Torc shouted.
But the crowd booed him, shouting and chanting, “Break the contract!” At this point, Torc could have agreed to anything, as long as he didn’t prolong the troid any longer.
The Fir Bolg in the corner piped up, his blond hair straggled over his face. “You can’t do this, Torc!”
The púca turned to him, eyes flashing. “The fuck are you to tell me what to do?” He sneered at Malachy. “Fair enough,” Torc said.
The crowd exploded, and I cringed at the sound, cursing myself for pulling the pistol in the first place. If I hadn’t been so rash, we would just be in Fir Bolg custody. We could have escaped somehow. Now, I had pushed Finn into fighting a giant Cyclops for my honor and for this stupid mission. Everything had been shoved on his shoulders, and I tried to suppress the shaking panic racing through my veins. I had to focus, get out of these bonds. It was the only way out now.
Torc pushed me up to the edge of the mezzanine, the swirling iron pressing hard into my belly.
I sucked in my breath as Balar and Finn circled each other. Finn would tower over any normal-sized man, but against the Cyclops he looked almost child-like. I clenched my fists and closed my eyes. I had to focus on the gemel. I had to find a way to unlock the spell suppressing my powers.
“Let’s make it a fair fight, gentlemen,” Torc bellowed in my ear, breaking my concentration. “No magic!”
I don’t think either man heard Torc as they studied each other, the stage lights distorting their features. Finn’s eyes looked hollow, his body tense and ready. Balar gave him a wide grin as he raised his massive fists on guard.
“Are you ready?” Torc shouted over the cheering crowd.
“Yeah!” they howled back.
“I said, ARE YOU READY?” The cenn fine’s voice echoed through every corner of the baths.
I broke into a cold sweat, black spots eating away at my sight. I squirmed in Torc’s grip, needing space, oxygen, but the shape-shifter’s hand held fast to the boning in my corset. The crowd below churned with activity. Gold flashed and bookies took bets, shouting odds over the rustle of the mob as they pushed closer to the edge of the swimming pool. I had to concentrate, but I couldn’t look away.
Torc held up a hand and the crowd instantly silenced.
“TROID!” he cried, his voice lost in the wild cries of the Fae.
I closed my eyes, trying to calm the panic attack gripping my body. Torc shook me hard, pressing a knife to my throat.
“No hocus pocus, Princess,” he hissed in my ear. “I want you to watch Balar splatter his brains across my pool.”
“Finn can win this,” I snarled. “He’s the best fighter in an age. You’ll see.”
Balar circled Finn and threw out a couple of punches, measuring his reach. Finn ducked each one, his feet quick. Balar made a rude gesture with his tongue and fingers, and I heard him growl the word “princess” over the jeering Fae. Finn’s face flushed with rage, but he never lost focus, even as the monster swung again.
Finn ducked under the Cyclops’ club-like fist and sent a sharp blow right to Balar’s kidneys, a blow that would have incapacitated a normal man but had no effect on the towering creature. Balar grunted, swatting at Finn like a small rodent that had crawled up his massive leg.
Finn ducked the first punch, but my heart lurched as the second jab from the Cyclops sent him sprawling against the floor of the pool, the tiles shattering beneath him. His eyes glazed, and he stared up at the ceiling.
“Finn!” I screamed so hard my throat strained, turning to
gravel.
The sound of my voice snapped him back to reality, and he rolled to the side just as Balar smashed his giant foot against the ground. Shards of tile flew into the air, the chamber echoing with the sound of breaking concrete.
Torc laughed, jostling me as I tried again to undo the gemel ropes.
“Doesn’t look good for your little boyfriend,” he jeered, his hand creeping up on my side boob.
I struggled, and the knife cut deeper into my skin. Blood trickled down to my collarbone, leaving a hot trail against my neck. I let out a cry of pain and frustration, but Torc just laughed, teasing the edge of the knife up and behind my ear.
Finn weaved in to punch the Cyclops’s side, the sound of his fist connecting with Balar’s skin with a grinding sound. Balar grunted, bursting into frenzy at Finn, fists flying. Sweat and blood rained down to the white tiles below. Finn blocked his advance, his forearms hugged in tight against his face, but the Cyclops found a window and sent an uppercut to Finn’s jaw. His head snapped back, his feet flying through the air as if on strings.
My fingernails pressed so tight into my palm they cut through my skin. A dark curtain fell across my eyes, my heart exploding with pain.
Finn crashed against the wall of the pool, just barely missing a tangle of ironworks coming out of the floor and above. He collapsed in a heap.
Chaos exploded through the crowd, and my ears rang. I forgot how to breathe, my lungs collapsing in my chest. The fight was over.
Balar threw his head back and roared. He raised his hands in triumph and danced a little jig around the edge of the pool. He eyed a piece of ironwork in the corner, and with a toothy grin, pulled a rusty pipe from the wall. He twirled it in his hands and then placed it near his crotch, pointing up at me while making lewd thrusting motions.
I swallowed a sob, my breath coming out in quick pants. “No. Please.” I hiccupped and cried, begging Torc. “Don’t let him do this. He won. I’ll go with him. Leave Finn. Let him live. Please!”
Torc chuckled and ignored me.
Get up.
Balar gave the iron pipe a practice swing, and with the Fae cheering him on, sauntered over to Finn’s crumpled body.
Finn. Get up.
He lifted the pipe high in the air.
I closed my eyes.
GET. UP.
Beneath the tangle of spells I felt a burst of energy. Finn’s energy.
Elizabeth?
My eyes snapped open. “Finn! GET UP!”
Finn rolled to the side, the pipe barreling through the tile with a crash. His face was covered with blood, his body a mess of cuts and bruises, but he stood, staggering backward into the tangle of plumbing.
Balar followed him, bellowing with rage, swinging the pipe wildly. The sound of clanging metal rang out in the chamber over the bloodthirsty cries of the Fae. Finn ducked, barely missing a lethal blow. His hands flew over a valve, and he turned it, his muscles straining against the weight of it.
“Watch out!” I screamed.
The Cyclops lunged again, and Finn gave the valve one last tug before rolling out of the way.
The pipes squealed to life, rattling and clanking. An explosion of steam burst through a faucet above, raining down on Balar’s face. The cyclops screamed, dropping the pipe and covering his melting skin with his hands.
The pipe rolled to Finn’s feet, and he seized it, raising it high above his head. He swung it in a swift arc, cutting the air with a whirring sound. He let out a cry of brutal rage as the pipe connected with the Cyclops’s skull. Beads of blood streamed across the white tile, splattering the faces of the Fae above.
Balar sprawled across the tiles with a low groan. His large eyelid fluttered, blood streaming down his face as he stared up at the ceiling.
Finn hovered over him, both hands gripping the pipe. With a berserker’s scream, he brought the pipe down right into Balar’s pupil with a sickening sound. Blood flew up like a geyser, washing over Finn’s face in a wave of red. The Cyclops’s eyelid stilled and Balar shuddered, rattling his last breath.
The bathhouse went as silent as a church at midnight mass. With a loud sucking sound, Finn pulled the pipe from Balar’s eye and pointed it right at Torc.
“Let her go!” Finn snarled.
Torc and Finn stared each other down for what felt like an eternity, and then the cenn fine pushed me to the side. In a daze, I barely noticed the leprechauns untying Malachy, Eamonn, and me. All I wanted was to touch Finn, make sure he was still alive. But at the same time, I barely recognized the giant man covered in blood stalking up the stairs. The crowd parted for him, scurrying away, fearful even to catch his stare. His eyes were two black slits in his bruised face, his lips parted, teeth bared. Corded muscles rippled in his arms, and his fists were clenched as his boots slammed up the steps two at a time, rising from the tiles of the baths as some sort of demonic creature from the pits of hell. With a low grunt, his dark gaze met mine, and I gasped at the sight of his bloodied and bruised face, the violence in his eyes. I backed into Eamonn, who pressed his gentle hand against my arm.
“It’s over,” he whispered.
Finn darted over to me and grabbed my hand with an iron grip. My stomach clenched and dizziness washed over me, my body paralyzed in his hands.
He stood over Torc and glared. “My lady’s pistol.”
Torc nodded and the leprechaun held out the pistol to me.
“Take it,” Finn said in a voice that made me tremble.
“I—” My hand hesitated. A part of me didn’t even want to touch the thing ever again.
“Take it,” Finn snapped.
I grabbed it and stuck it back into the holster strapped to my thigh.
Finn whirled me around, his fingers digging into my wrist. He grabbed his shirt from the floor and used it to wipe the blood from his face. Fixing his gaze on the blond Fir Bolg, he stalked over to him, dragging me behind.
He grabbed the Fir Bolg by his collar, and his black eyes widened in terror.
“You,” he snarled. “Stay away from her!”
Finn threw the Fir Bolg against the wall so hard that tiles cracked and shattered to the floor. With a wrench of my arm, he made for the exit, pulling me through the mob of Fae. They stared at us in awe, opening a path for us as we swept through the baths. I didn’t make a sound. I barely breathed, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze.
Malachy called to Torc, and I glanced over my shoulder.
“It’s been a pleasure.” The dearg-dubh gave a formal bow and smiled. “We’ll call on you in the morning, Your Excellency.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
We trudged through a tunnel, puddles splashing up my shins as Finn dragged me along. I had to half jog to keep up with him, and he gripped my hand so hard I thought he would shatter my bones.
“You’re hurting my hand,” I said quietly.
He grunted and shifted his fingers to my wrist, clamping down on them like shackles. I opened my mouth to say something, but one glance at Finn’s profile had me shrinking away, a bolt of terror shooting down my spine. His eyes glittered in the creeping shadows, his body drenched in crusted blood and sweat. I didn’t even recognize him.
“Finn…” my voice came out choked and thin.
He didn’t respond.
“So that went pretty well, don’t you think?” chirped Malachy, circling up in front of Finn. “You looked great out there. Really. I didn’t think you had it in you, Fianna.” Malachy punched Finn playfully in the arm.
Finn stopped and grabbed Malachy by the throat, slamming him against the wall. “Shut. Up.”
Malachy’s translucent eyes bugged out of his skull and shifted to me as if I could do something to intervene.
Finn growled and let the dearg-dubh go.
He slumped down, rubbing his neck. “You should really learn to take a compliment,” Malachy said, coughing and spluttering for air.
Finn squeezed my wrist again, pulling me toward him and I tensed, wrenching my hand away. “I s
aid you’re hurting me!”
His eyes flashed at me in the darkness, and I gasped, my hands tingling with power, my instinct taking over. He looked down at his hand, swollen and stained with blood. When he raised his head again, I sucked in my breath. His face was distorted with emotion, and a deep line settled between his eyes as his brow knitted together. He parted his lips to say something, but nothing came out but a long shudder of air. Releasing my wrist, he turned and stalked blindly forward down a tunnel, leaving the rest of us behind.
I wanted to call after him, throw my arms around his neck and beg him to forgive me. Lashing out I could handle, but this silent, stalking creature cut me to the core with sickening fear. I leaned my arm against the wall to take a breath, trying to regain my bearings. No matter how much he frightened me, I refused to let Finn drag me around half of London like some wayward animal. I had been a man’s slave before, and I would never live that way again.
A warm hand rested on my shoulder. “He can get this way, Elizabeth. It’s the blood rage. He just needs time.”
I turned to stare into Eamonn’s soft eyes. He gave me a weak smile, and I nearly dropped to my knees as I let out a long exhale.
“Oh, Eamonn,” I whispered. “What a fuckup.”
Malachy put an arm around me and chuckled. “Oh, come on now. All’s well that ends well, darling.” He pulled me along in Finn’s wake, his cold skin comforting against my hot cheeks. He leaned into my ear, his breath like frost on a window. “And remember. Princesses never apologize. Not to Torc. Not to Fianna. Not to anyone.”
We returned to the old station in silence. It was only when I stood on the dusty platform, feet aching, frozen to the bone, that I cursed myself for not traveling with my powers. But one look at Finn’s flushed face as he darted to the back offices made me glad that at least the long march had burned off some of his anger.
Eamonn and Malachy hesitated, their faces drawn with exhaustion, but wearing matching expressions of concern.
I swallowed hard, giving them a reassuring nod before glancing over my shoulder to where Finn had disappeared.
“I’m going to see if he needs help,” I said. “Malachy, is there a first aid kit or anything like that here?”
Children of the Veil (Aisling Chronicles) Page 30
