Hadrian was frozen in place, trapped and powerless. His mouth was open, poised to breathe fire, and he was crouched low against the ground. His tail was raised, caught mid-swing, and his wings were raised high.
Alasdair had already started to shimmer blue and was changing to defend his cousin. Maeve flung a fistful of magick at him and he might have turned to stone, right in the act of snapping his great dragon teeth at Bryant.
“Do continue,” Maeve invited Bryant.
He bowed to his queen, then raised the last dripping stub of his sword to drive it into Hadrian’s throat. He lingered over the task, savoring his victory a bit more than a noble warrior should, to Rania’s thinking.
“No!” she cried, lunging forward.
Maeve spun to confront her. “Traitor!” she cried and froze Rania in place.
In the same moment, a Fae dagger sliced through the air, seeming to fly in slow motion. It was a masterful throw, and the blade turned end over end, flashing silver as it sped toward its target. Maeve turned from Rania and cried out as she spotted it but it was too late. The blade caught Bryant between the shoulder blades, burying itself so deeply that the tip emerged from his chest. He stared down as the silver liquid began to flow, his expression astonished, then he crumbled. He became a puddle before he hit the ground.
There was a shout as the company from New York descended on the Fae court and chaos erupted on all sides. Wolf mates attacked Fae and Fae fought back. Wolf shifters barked and howled, driving the Fae into a tighter cluster, and dragons flew overhead, burning the gathered Fae with volleys of dragonfire. A company of swans flew into the fray, honking and flapping, snapping at the Fae with their beaks, accompanied by a citrine and gold dragon. Rania wanted to cheer.
But Maeve braced her feet against the ground and called an ancient summons. The ground shook and the lightning cracked overhead. A wind whipped around the court, snatching away the sound of music and tearing at clothing, wings and hair. She stood in her heels and called, her command imperious, and the magick answered her, rising from the heath around her in a wave of glowing red. It flowed skyward, engulfing everything and everyone—and every being it surrounded became motionless. When it rose over their heads, the court was so silent and still that the hair stood up on the back of Rania’s neck.
Except for Maeve. She turned and walked toward Rania, her gaze cold. “I know you didn’t come unarmed, traitor,” she said with hostility. “Show me what you have.”
Rania couldn’t deny her. It was as if her body answered Maeve’s will and not her own. She found herself displaying both the kesir with its waved blade and the katar.
Maeve didn’t touch them. “Steel,” she hissed.
Maybe that would help, since the Fae couldn’t wield them... Rania got no further in her thinking before Maeve beckoned to Kade.
He strode to her side immediately, bending his head attentively toward her. “Yes, my queen.”
“We must see an endeavor completed,” she said to him. “You and I must do it together. I’ve already ensured that you won’t be interrupted.”
“Yes, my queen.”
“I want you to choose a knife, then use it to ensure that he—” she pointed to Alasdair “–dies and that he—” she indicated Hadrian “—stays dead this time.” She turned and framed Kade’s face in her hands while he stared at her in adoration. “Then I will ensure that you’re rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”
Kade smiled. His eyes lit. Rania had no doubt that he would do exactly as bidden. “What about the swan maiden?” he asked.
Maeve smiled at Rania and the sight was chilling. “She’s just learned to feel, Kade. It would be unfair to take that away, just when she’s about to have so very much to mourn.” She walked back to her throne, hips swinging. “It’s a shame about Bryant, but then, he hadn’t been himself lately.” She sat down and gestured to Kade. “Slice them open, gullet to groin,” she commanded. “I want to see some blood.”
There was a sliver of ice in Kade’s heart. Hadrian could feel it. He called to it, hoping he could melt it, just as he’d melted the other two, hoping he could save Alasdair, Rania and himself from Maeve’s wrath.
If only the splinter responded to him in time.
They were toast.
Alasdair figured the effort had been valiant, but Maeve had out-magicked them. They couldn’t exactly fight back, defend themselves, or defeat her when they’d all practically become statues.
It stunk, but there was nothing any of them could do about it.
Kade approached Rania and examined her two blades. After some deliberation, he chose the katar, the short push-dagger. Alasdair was glad in a way that both of Rania’s weapons were fiercely sharp.
“But you took the wrong child,” a woman cried when Kade turned around.
A slender dark-haired woman manifested suddenly in the midst of the Fae court, seemingly appearing out of nothing at all. Alasdair had never seen such a beauty in his life. She lifted her chin, her dark eyes bright with defiance, her dark hair flowing as if she stood in a slight breeze. She confronted Maeve with an audacity he admired, a golden orb cradled in her hands. It was the gem of the hoard, Alasdair guessed, because Maeve leaned forward in outrage.
“Where did you get that?” Maeve demanded. “How dare you touch it!”
“I took it, just as you took the magick within it. I am Yasmina, wise woman of the djinns,” the new arrival said and Alasdair understood how she’d suddenly appeared. She’d been a wisp of smoke before. “You stole my magick, Maeve, and snared it in this orb. I demand its return.”
“You can’t have it,” Maeve said. “It’s mine.”
Yasmina shook her head. “No longer. You have made your last theft.”
“I’m no thief!”
“You’re a thief many times over. You stole my magick. You stole the magick of others. You stole many lives. But most importantly, at this moment, you stole the life of Rania when you took her from the cradle. You owe her recompense, because she was the wrong child.”
“Wrong child?” Maeve demanded, rising to her feet in indignation. “What a lot of nonsense. She was a tithe owed to me, and I used her as I saw fit. It was my right!”
“Rania wasn’t the witch’s daughter,” Yasmina said. “She was the queen’s daughter, and the daughter of the swan-prince.”
“Ulrik has nothing to do with this,” the Dark Queen retorted. “He’s the last of his kind and I’ll take him out next...”
But Rania was a swan-shifter. If this Ulrik was another swan shifter, then he couldn’t be the last of his kind.
And if Maeve knew that Rania was a swan-maiden, then she had to have realized that Rania wasn’t the witch’s daughter, after all.
“You knew,” Hadrian charged in old-speak and Alasdair realized they’d made the same conclusion. Sadly, no one else could understand the communication of the Pyr.
“You knew,” Kade echoed aloud, turning to the queen. His expression was one of surprise and even a little disappointment. He turned the blade in his hand. “You knew,” he said again.
Maeve took a step back.
“It didn’t matter who she was,” the Dark Queen protested. “She was mine. I took her as a tithe and I used her as I saw fit.
“And for that, you owe Rania compensation,” Yasmina informed Maeve, then lifted the gem of the hoard.
“No!” Maeve protested.
“Yes,” Yasmina said with resolve. “I’ve already chosen the only gift that will suffice. This must be shattered to make amends to everyone.”
“No!” Maeve cried and Kade turned on Yasmina. Alasdair feared he’d have to watch her be slaughtered, but she crouched down then vanished, becoming a wisp of dark smoke. Kade slashed at her but his blade passed through nothing at all.
He realized then that Yasmina had rolled the gem of the hoard toward Hadrian. It glinted gold as it rolled, casting a red glow, until it disappeared beneath Hadrian’s chest.
“You can’t do this!�
� Maeve protested, shoving at Hadrian’s side without effect.
She pointed at Kade but he took a step back, his gaze clouded with doubts as if he was awakening from a dream. She summoned the magick again, gathering the red cloud to her and pointed at Hadrian.
He shifted shape in a shimmer of blue, taking his human form. He stood before her then, the amber sphere cradled in his hands. Maeve tried to rip it free from his grip but failed. Alasdair could hear Hadrian singing to the orb in old-speak, his chant sending a resonance through the ground. The sphere was soon covered with white frost, so that the spider and the wasp snared within it couldn’t be discerned. It cast a white glow instead of a red one and Maeve screamed in frustration.
Meanwhile, Maeve’s spell slipped. She was gathering magick in the hope of foiling Hadrian. As they were released, the Fae roused themselves to attack. They stopped to scratch their skin and their scalps, that purple stain spreading across their skins with remarkable speed.
There was an earthshattering crack as the gem of the hoard split into two halves. Maeve cried out in anguish, even as they crumbled into chunks of ice and melted away. Alasdair saw the wasp take flight, freed from the tomb of resin, carrying the spider in its grasp. The wasp flew high, illuminated by a faint red glow.
Alasdair had no time to think about that marvel, because dust began to fall on all sides. It was a storm of shimmering iridescent snowflakes, dark as ash on one side and glimmering a million colors on the other. The dust fell from above them, revealing that the sky was only an illusion. He felt as if he was on the set of a play and the curtains were being drawn back, the backdrops folded up, the set being pushed aside and destroyed. The borders and boundaries, the very fabric of Fae and its inhabitants, were disintegrating all around him.
The Fae court was fading. There was no other way to describe it. The brilliant red he was accustomed to seeing on the Fae was now burgundy, if not brown. The silver that shone in their hair and on their wings was now as dull as tree bark aged by the wind and weather to grey. Their skin was marked by purple stains, and they seemed misshapen to him, as they hadn’t before. They reminded him more vehemently of the forest than of the starlight he had previously thought they favored.
They were no longer beautiful and bewitching.
Maeve’s throne seemed to be made of old trees now, instead of carved silver as it previously had appeared. Her lipstick was no longer brilliant red, but was the deep brown of chestnuts. Her hair was no longer black, but had become dark brown, streaked with a thousand shades of lighter brown and even gold. Her skin had become more golden and Alasdair thought she looked like the old woman of fairy tales, the one who lived in the woods with her familiar and mixed potions for those bold enough to visit her hut. Her hand, braced on the arm of her throne, was speckled and tanned.
Small red lights flew in and around everyone, like fireflies gathering—but these burned red, little spheres of glowing magick. They multiplied with every passing moment, as if the shredding of the realm created more of them—or freed them once again. Alasdair closed his eyes against the relentless shower of shimmering particles and shook his head.
When he looked again, he saw that the Fae themselves were changing. That purple stain was changing them, not just the color of their skin. They shrank and shifted, changing to birds and bugs and beetles. Each one was briefly touched with purple, which abruptly faded into the browns and duns of the forest floor. Instead of singing and making music, they squeaked and fluttered and slithered. As the dust fell on all sides, the transformed Fae darted into the shadows of the forest that was revealed to be all around them.
Meanwhile, the wasp flew higher and higher, and as it progressed, all those red fireflies of magick gathered behind it. It was a current of crimson dots, an army of tiny specks streaming upward. It seemed that a fiery comet flew out of the realm of Fae, soaring into the sky until it punched through the dissolving veil to the mortal world above and beyond.
The sky cracked and the dust fell with greater intensity. The ground was dissolving, too, the Fae court itself crumbling on all sides. Maeve’s cry turned to a hoarse croak as she became a lizard. She jumped and snapped after the spiraling red comet as if she would eat it, but there was no chance of that.
Alasdair knew then that the magick was abandoning Maeve and returning to Regalia, and that Fae was no longer a separate realm from the world of mortals. The barrier between the worlds was being shredded and only the magick specific to the Earth remained. The dust fell in enormous quantities, more than enough to suffocate them if they didn’t escape.
And as the tide of magick flowed upward, those snared in Maeve’s last spell were released.
Hadrian snatched up Rania.
“I can’t manifest elsewhere anymore,” she said. She held out her wrist, showing that there was a burn mark where the red string of Maeve’s curse had been.
Hadrian laughed and swung her around. “Then we’ll fly!” he said, taking flight to follow the red comet. “We’re free!”
“My brothers!” she protested.
“We set them free,” Balthasar said, appearing out of the dust. “Let’s get out of here!”
It was chaos in what had been the Fae court. Alasdair lost track of most of their company as they made an exodus to their own world. The Pyr from New York had snatched up wolf mates and Others, carrying everyone back toward the realm they knew best. Wolf mates hung on to dragon claws and tails, and great leathery wings beat against the air. Theo carried Mel, while Kristofer carried Bree and Rhys had Lila. Balthasar shifted shape and snatched up Murray, all of them creating a convoy to the mortal realm. The dust fell endlessly on all sides and Alasdair couldn’t catch a glimpse of Yasmina at all. In her smoke form, she could be lost!
“But Yasmina!” he protested. “We can’t leave her behind.”
“You’re not,” murmured the djinn, her voice soft. “I’m in your ear.” She laughed a little. “It’s much more comfortable than a bottle.”
“You’re not lost,” he said in relief, even as he took flight after Rania and Hadrian.
“Let me see what I can do about helping your mind heal while you get us out of here,” she said with a confidence that made him smile. “That’s only fair. Don’t worry: I’m tough to lose, Alasdair MacEwan.”
He cupped his claw over his ear, just to be sure.
Fifteen
Nick Shea awakened in the middle of the night without knowing why. He was getting a bit bored with their unexpected family vacation on Bardsey Island, but at least Isabelle was there. There was something fascinating about Rafferty’s adopted daughter. She wasn’t like any of the girls Nick knew at school. Was it because of her accent? He thought there was something more. She got this look sometimes, as if she knew something special, a secret or a mystery. Nick couldn’t figure it out.
Maybe when he finally got his dragon shifter powers, the truth would be clear. He couldn’t wait for that.
The house was quiet and there was no sound of traffic at all. No fire engines ever. No internet connection or cellphone service. It was like they’d gone off the end of the world. Nick wondered again when they’d be going home to Minneapolis.
His brothers were sound asleep in the room they were sharing, but he had the sense that someone was awake. Maybe it was one of those weird old guys, the ones he couldn’t understand. He eased out of bed and crept down the hall in his flannel pj’s. The wooden floor was cold underfoot but he wasn’t going back for his socks.
Not when he saw Isabelle at the bottom of the stairs. Her fair hair caught the moonlight and she glanced back when the top step squeaked under his foot. She held a finger to her lips and Nick nodded, then continued down the stairs to her side.
She must have been awakened by the same thing.
He felt excited when he reached her side, as if they were a team. Isabelle was two years older than him and a bit taller, even though Nick was the tallest boy in his class. She pointed to the back door, which was slightly ajar, and h
e nodded agreement.
They stepped out into the night as one and he caught his breath at the coldness of the air. He could smell the sea and the full moon cast a brilliant light. It could have been the middle of the day instead of the middle of the night. Even so, he could see zillions of stars overhead. It was so dark here, at the end of the world.
Isabelle, though, was staring into the distance. He followed her gaze and saw the old weird guys behind the mound, the one that Rafferty said had once been a cave for the Sleeper. It was hard to believe that anyone could have slept for a thousand years or so, but Marco had that mysterious smile, the one that made Nick believe. And the weird old guys were supposed to have been enchanted for that long, too. That’s why no one could understand them.
Isabelle pointed and Nick nodded. They crept toward the old guys, who were in a circle. The dew was cold on his feet, but Nick didn’t care. As he and Isabelle came closer, he could hear that the ancient Pyr were chanting. That hitchhiker guy was with them, the one he’d seen around, and he seemed to be leading the chant. Nick and Isabelle crouched behind the rubble of the cavern to watch and listen.
Nick couldn’t understand the words. Isabelle shook her head that she couldn’t either. But they both stared when red light began to swirl before the hitchhiker. He laughed lightly and moved his hands as if he was gathering it into a ball. His chant became louder and the other guys were louder, too. The red light swirled and danced, like a thousand individual lights gathered into a cloud. He spun it in his hands and the light became brighter and brighter. Nick realized that the red dots of light were multiplying.
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