Chapter

40

The underworld rushes past in whirling black stone and liquid flame. My hair whips with every gust of wing-swept wind. My stomach is about to come out through my mouth.

The black stone turns to a burnt orange as the beast travels across leagues in a seemingly endless flight. Sparse greenery begins to grow larger, the leaves blowing in the wake of the beast.

And suddenly my body is in free-fall. I barely have the thought to roll as I hit the ground. The beast had the foresight to drop me a survivable distance from the ground, possibly unwilling to kill me before playing with me first.

I squint my eyes against orange dust billowing in the wind, choking me, the chalky texture coating my skin and clothes.

And somehow, I gather my thoughts enough to realize that I am not dead. That this is the place under the mounds. With spitting mountains of fire that feed rivers of such. I made it here, to the place where the madame sent me—to the nest of dragons .

Across a rift. For that is what that wall was. A barrier, separating two worlds.

The ground trembles with the force of the beast landing near me, the breaking of its flight tossing more dust into the air.

The faint sound of boots scuffing lightly on grit has me jerking my head up, eyes squinted against the debris.

A figure stalks towards me in the dust, tendrils of long brown hair whipping in the wind, a longsword gripped in hand.

The tip of a blade comes to rest at my throat.

The woman before me is ethereally beautiful, with tan skin and light brown hair, dark features and full lips. A Fae.

Her ears come to gentle points through her wind-blown hair.

“Where did you come from?” she demands.

My voice trembles, “The… the mounds… I—I was sent here to find someone—”

The blade pushes harder into my throat, forcing me back as she comes to stand over me.

The emerald dragon waiting on the other side of the plateau watches us with… curiosity? Is it possible for monsters to feel such things?

“Who?”

“The—the madame—from Raith. She said I could find allies here. I need—” I look desperately around, making sense of nothing. “—I need help. You’re Fae! My friends, so are they—”

She digs the tip in harder; I feel the blood pool in the indent. Her head cocks ever-so-slightly to the side.

“I am unfamiliar with such a person. This madame, or this… Raith. What are they? What do you need help for?”

“I promise, I mean no harm. I am nothing. I just need… My friends are in danger.” My thoughts are whirring and I try desperately to gather them. I squeeze my eyes shut, I can’t concentrate when she pierces me with her eyes. “Raith. Raith is the capitol of where I come from. The king… He lives there. He captured my… friend.” It feels wrong to call Fionn my friend: he is my bleeding heart, locked away in a dungeon.

“And the madame, she is a woman… No, she is a creature. I’m not sure what she is, but she has jet black hair—willowy. Not Fae, nor human or Fomorian—”

The word is a trigger for her. She drops onto her haunches, cutting me off with a fist in my hair, and grits, “Fomorians?”

My scalp burns, but it is the smallest of my hurts. “They took over. They feed on us—on souls. I only learned because my friend, Fionn—he’s a Fae too— he told me about what they did in his world, in Danu. I have power… I was, lost—sent away. He taught me how to wield, how to fight them.”

Her eyes are blown wide with dismay. I think I have stunned her into silence.

She drops me as if I’ve burned her, standing up and backing up a step. The dragon growls that buffeting sound, its tail whipping back and forth in agitation, kicking up dust. It’s as if he feels her dismay.

I see her about to flee and scramble after her, pleading, “Wait!”

But she is gone in a blurred dash, her moves graceful and fluid as she leaps from the dragon’s extended leg, up onto its back, seating herself between unfurling wings.

I’m on my feet, running after her without a thought, but I’m far slower than her as the beast ascends on strong wings. I slow to a stop, watching the magnificence of it all. Craning my head back, I watch the glittering green scales and massive wings lifting high into the sky, blocking out the light.

Then it dives for me.

And as futile as it is, my feet cannot help but scramble backwards, fear taking over.

But as it lifts me in its forest green fore-claw once more, I think that I’m just glad it didn’t pick me up in its mouth.

The blur of my surroundings grows greener for some time before I’m dropped once more. My legs are still weak when I hit the ground, so I land hard on my knees. I feel it in my teeth.

I frantically attempt to orient myself, fearful of another dragon making a meal out of me. I’m in the shadow of a red stone cliff-face. Strange windows dot the entire face. I see small people milling about behind them, like ants.

People.

People live here.

In the stone—Fae.

I’m brought to my feet by the same woman’s firm hand. In my gawking she must have dismounted, her green mount having taken to the skies once more. Now that I stand beside her I realize that I’m taller than her, only slightly, though she is far curvier and more feminine.

We enter the cliffside through a large, yawning opening, large enough for a dragon to pass through.

Giant flaming chandeliers illuminate the largest entrance room, fueled by nothing; I suspect it is the work of a wielder. Smaller balls of flame dance along narrower hallways, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Shuffling through the red dirt, extending that psychic hand into my surroundings, I find that the air is utterly full. The ground beneath my feet hums. The flames illuminating the space are veritable bombs of power, it’s enough that my muscles twitch. My other sense—battered and exhausted—still pushes out, caressing the power surrounding me.

The Fae milling about, halt me in my tracks.

Hundreds of them—pointed ears and grace, leather-clad and bustling. Some peer at me in curiosity, no doubt taking in my disheveled appearance and odd hair.

Living in the cliffs—under the mounds—the allies the madame promised.

Casual wielding is all around: flame figurines dance, manipulated by a female entertaining the few children settled around the large bonfire in the center—tendrils of water float from a running stream of water into a Fae female’s basket. Some males use bursts of wind to buffet around a stone, a game, to keep the stone from their opponent’s hoop at the end.

A buzzing whir zips past my ear—a strange blue iridescent bird flying past where I stand. Tracking it’s swooping movements, it lands on the shoulder of a Fae female, one swathed in gauzy white linen. It nestles against her neck, its long, lizard-like tail trailing over her shoulder. It huffs and a small tuft of smoke billows out its nostrils.

It’s a dragon, one the size of a palm, with feathered wings like a bird.

I look to the hooded woman leading me by the arm.

“So many?” My whispered question is drowned by the cacophony.

Her dark eyes look me up and down sternly before saying, “Yes.”

I search for the word for a moment. “Danaan?”

Her eyes flare in sadness for a beat. “Used to be.”

“Where are you taking me?” I finally ask, unable to help but meet the many curious eyes that stop to look at me as I pass through the crowd. They are all so stunning, so graceful and wild—more so than the Fianna, like living in this place intensified their traits.

“To the Donn,” she says. “He will want to hear your story from you.”

“Will he help me?” I picture Fionn’s face, etched in agony, filthy from lying unwashed in a cell for weeks.

“I cannot speak for him.” She tugs me along once again.

We navigate through seemingly endless hallways and rooms, twisting and curving, carved into the stone, burrowing further underground.

“What is this place?” I whisper in wonder.

She glances back at me. “Annwyn—that is the world. As I’m sure you know you’re no longer in your own. More specifically, you’re in Tech Duinn, the Stone city.”

“How did you get here?” I gnaw at my thumbnail, trying to file down the jagged edge with my teeth, my other hand trapped in the hand of this stranger.

“That’s a story for another time, I’m afraid.” Her voice is soft. She’s reserved, but no longer seems to want to kill me. However, her emotions seem barely caged—on edge.

At least we have one thing in common.

After climbing many sets of stairs and moving through endless long hallways, we find ourselves at an archway. The room beyond is airy and bright, opening into a balcony high above where we entered.

My escort pulls me through, keeping a hand lightly gripping my arm.

The red stone room—a collection of scrolls, an artfully crafted dark-wood desk, and several wooden chairs facing the desk—is occupied by one man, gray-haired and wizened, clad in brown leather. Though he still has a powerful form, standing tall, he is undeniably older. I never thought Fae displayed age in such a way, he must be very old. He stands at a heavy wooden table, leaning over some sketches. As he looks up at us, something about him seems to look through us, like he is hollowed out. His features are masculine and handsome, even if slightly wrinkled.

“Gwen,” he states, voice pointed as he looks at me.

The woman, presumably Gwen, nods her head. “Wyll. Where is the Donn? Will he be back soon?” She asks kindly enough, though a bit impatiently, seeming mildly distressed that the Donn is not awaiting us in this chamber.

I swallow relief that this man is not the Donn we sought. He seems blocked off, unreachable.

His gaze doesn’t stray from my form, not in a leering way, but as if trying to figure out without having to be told. “He said he wanted to look for something in the ice caves. He’s been gone all day, though I expect him back at any moment.”

Gwen barely muffles a sigh, releasing my arm to cross hers. “I found this girl wandering the fire fields. Right near the rift…” she trails off pointedly.

Wyll’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly.

The conversation discontinues and we all wait with baited breaths.

I have no concept of how long I stand there, swaying on my feet. How long I think about Fionn, trapped in that cell. Hating me. Worrying over Aine—hearing her sobs last I saw her. Any manner of horrid things could befall them all while I stand here and gnaw at my fingernails.

My fingers are all bleeding by the time I hear it.

Heavy steps echo in the impatient silence, from behind.

Wyll’s eyes lift slightly to the space beyond the doorway.

Gwen whips around, letting out a relieved breath. As graceful as she is, something about her feels wild and impatient.

I’m far slower to turn, the days weigh me down more with every minute. The space around me blurs as I turn in shuffling steps.

And when my eyes focus on the man filling the archway, I lose my breath.

He is the most disgustingly, ruggedly handsome male I’ve ever seen—even above Fionn.

He fills the archway, massive in a way that only comes with an eternity of hard work and height that only comes with immortality.

His hair, black as night, is long and straight, falling behind his back but for the sides, which are cropped quite close to the skin. He has scruff on his face, showing a lack of cleanliness unfitting of a ruler.

His eyes pierce mine directly, cutting right through me with clarity.

Black leather melds to his body from neck to toe to fingers.

“Donn.” Gwen bends her head slightly, the most casual of bows.

It jerks me from my stupor, I realize I’m standing before another king.

My knee hits the ground—more like slams into it, as I bow. “Your Grace,” I say, voice cracking.

Silence reigns.

“You don’t have to do that, you know. We don’t do… whatever that is,” Gwen says, sounding like she may laugh.

I peer up carefully, first at the Donn, who’s looking at me with a tight jaw. Then at Wyll, who is watching me with an empty expression. Then at Gwen who is, yes, holding back a smile with one elegant hand.

I take a deep breath and gather what strength I have to push myself to my feet. I manage without losing whatever scraps of dignity I have left, though the room spins slightly once I lock my knees, standing.

Gwen breaks the silence once more, “I found this one near the rift. Says she’s from across it. In this place called Raith. Claims she was sent here, by a madame, who she describes with an astounding lack of details. She said she was sent here to find help for her friend, Fionn. Her friend, who claimed he was a Fae of Danu, and helped train her to wield and fight the Fomorians that had taken over her world.”

The Donn’s gaze settles far more intently on my face as Gwen reveals her story.

His eyes are so rich a brown, slightly red—like a cherry-wood. They have dark circles beneath them, heavy with exhaustion.

His steps are slow, measured, and intimidating as he narrows the space between us.

It is slightly demeaning, having to tilt my head ever-so-slightly-back to maintain eye contact.

He takes in my appearance pointedly, still not a word uttered in response.

Flashes of him striking me into silence at the first word I speak run through my mind, clamping my mouth shut.

I rub my index finger over the rough, bleeding edge of my thumb, letting the pain center me, preparing me to argue for the Fianna’s sake.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep my people safe,” his words are rough, his voice gritty, as if he hasn’t spoken in a while. “There is no atrocity I won’t commit, no world I would not cross, to protect them.” He looks between my eyes. “Think about that before you lift a single hand against anything as small as a gnat in my home. Or utter a single word to anyone about us. If you do, it will be the end of you. I don’t make idle threats.”

I shiver, and nod, letting out a slow breath, keeping my mismatched eyes on his.

He waits until he’s satisfied, still looking agitated at my presence. Then he abruptly turns around, prowling around the desk where Wyll awaits. “What is it you want, then?” he asks roughly, turning to level me with his stare again as he shuffles around pieces of parchment on the desk.

My thoughts are blown to the wind, like the shreds of Diana’s notes, fluttering away in the breeze.

I squeeze my thumb in my fist.

What do I want?

“The woman who sent me—I don’t know her name—all I know is she is… not a anything I’ve ever heard of.” I grasp at the fluttering pieces of the story, desperate to find a direction. “She is tall and raven-haired, seems to know things—everything really—and she said that I may find allies under the mounds to help me with something. Do you know who I may be referring to?” I ask, searching for some credibility.

The Donn waves a hand. “The Banshee, Clio, I believe her name was. She paid a visit once, stalking through the territory. She found it ill-suited to her purposes. Too many beasts bigger and stronger than her, I suppose. Though she did say she would never utter a word of our presence here when I happened upon her.” He grits his teeth before hissing out. “I suppose I have some threats to follow through on.”

Banshee. The madame is a Banshee? A harbinger of death. She certainly brought misfortune thus far.

“Perhaps,” I say, disappointed that my connection to her may hurt my plight. “I came to you because there are more of your people. In Suri.” My eyes bore into his, hoping I look strong. “And I need help, to get them out—to get them back. Once they hear of this place, they will want to rejoin you. They’ve been searching for something like this, all of you, for a very long time.”

“So you’ve said.”

Every bit of me wants to go to him—wants to drop to my knees and beg. I would if it didn’t seem like he would scrape me off his boot like a bug.

So I just start talking, never taking my eyes off his face. Snatching at shreds of paper in wild air.

I tell him about the Fianna, how they claimed to land and consequently be stuck on Suri. I recap our meeting in the clearing, not leaving out my failed thievery. I speak of my wielding, how it began and how Fionn trained me, our days on the road, that fateful day in Raith. I gloss over the imprisonment, the words stuttering and overwhelming. I can’t speak of it, not with these strangers—not while I stand here, a walking corpse, from the days since then. And I do not tell him what the king told me about my heritage, not if it will worsen the likelihood of aid. I recall Fionn, spitting words of derision in my face at the revelation of my parentage. I just tell the Donn I was sent to Suri as a babe, a child hidden, and ferried away between worlds.

“I’m sorry, I tried. I really didn’t know that the Fomorians would be there. It’s my fault—” I choke, feeling tears burn, and hating them. “He wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for me, and I am trying to fix it. You can’t leave him there. You can’t. You have to help me. I lo—” I grit my teeth, closing my eyes against the searing pain that shoots through my chest. “He doesn’t deserve to die like that.”

When I open my eyes again the Donn is staring at me with a piercing intensity, having sat silently but intensely through my frantic rambling .

“And the others, where are they?” he asks quietly, gently, eyes flickering to Wyll, who at some point turned to stare out at the world beyond the balcony.

“Some… died that day. Two of them. Dealla and Deri.” My heart stutters, so bruised but so determined to keep pulsing. I stare at the whirling patterns on the desk. “They fought, bravely, but they were killed. Dealla… one got her. It started… eating her soul, I think—I don’t really know what it looks like. And then Deri—Deri just lost it, stopped fighting, just let them kill him—”

Wyll, as if unable to listen to more, passes behind me, and leaves through the archway with nothing but a light scuffling sound of his leather boots on rough stone. I look at either of the two left for explanation. They both look lost to their own agony.

“Did you know them?” I ask quietly, heart squeezing at the pain in the room.

It had been close to thirty years since separation, but I assume when you’re immortal, that is a blip in time.

The Donn nods solemnly. “We thought everyone else dead. Finding out that some are not… or were not, however brief, then learning of their death, is horrible. Deri—It became apparent that the Deri you were talking about is my uncle’s son.” He gestures to the archway where Wyll disappeared. “He thought him long dead but… for a moment there… it didn’t feel like it.”

Sorrow washes over me. Deri’s father. The resemblance is notable, now that I see the truth of it. The way they hold themselves is the same. Like noble stags in a wood.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, knowing the sentiment is so small, basically negligible. It only means anything to the speaker. It helps you ride through the palpable grief of others. It makes you feel better, not them. Suddenly, I feel bad saying even that.

The Donn nods in acceptance of my condolences anyways.

Deri whirls in my mind—his strong face, and fiercely protective loving. He had pulled me from the ground.

I cross my arms in front of me, my hand rubbing over the still burned spot on my arm.

A thought strikes me.

“Wait… You’re Deri’s cousin then?” I ask, recalling a night fireside, discussing Deri’s cousin on his mom’s side.

The Donn looks at me suspiciously before nodding.

“Erron is your name, isn’t it? He talked about you one night. He told me you were his best friend.” I smile solemnly. I want him to know that Deri loved him. That is worth something.

Erron, the Donn, looks at the floor to gather himself before meeting my eyes, face now stoic. “Yes, he was. I’m sure you need to rest and recuperate after your… ordeal.” He swallows the last word. He turns to Gwen, who shadows me, not uttering a sound. “Gwen, if you will show our guest to a room and gather her some clothes. Make sure she eats and drinks.” His voice is stern.

He’s dismissing me?

“What about the Fianna?”

“We will decide what to do after you’ve eaten and rested.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

I can feel myself tip, tip, tipping right over the edge of my limit.

“We haven’t decided anything! Fionn doesn’t have time for me to eat and rest!” He just heard everything I said and decided to leave it be?

He looks back up at me, his fist clenching around a page. “We haven’t. There are risks to consider, outcomes to weigh. I must discuss with the council.”

I storm over to his desk, ice in my exhausted veins. Leaning across it, shoving his papers—maps, carefully illustrated and drawn to scale—to the floor. I can feel my sanity losing its footing, slipping on a sheet of ice. “You’re considering leaving them there?” I await his justification, daring him to speak it. “You said you would do anything—” I lean across the desk and shove his absurdly huge chest, the force of it shooting back up my arm, like shoving a tree. “—for your people. And because you’ve spent some time apart you no longer claim them? How convenient.” All my hopes are smashing into nothing. My disappointment is too huge of a chasm to face. “You’re a coward. You sit here, in your stone castle, while Fionn rots away in a dungeon? While your niece is out there, an orphan, hiding from the very people who took everything from you?” I’m openly screaming now, my madness echoing across red stone.

He does not rise to my challenges nor my insults. “You need to calm down.”

I’m already gone—lost to some manic haze that’s been building for days—weeks—years, maybe. It has been building every moment I’ve spent looking at shadows that don’t exist, or combing through every tiny detail, trying to find where everything went wrong.

“No! Do you know what they’re doing to him right now? You want to wait? You don’t know what they do! You left before you could find out. But I know!” It’s a shattered sob, one of bone-trembling anger. One that only serves to make me angrier with myself, because now I’m crying and I look like a hysterical woman. “You don’t deserve them!” I climb over his desk, ready to claw his eyes out.

It’s like a dream where you’re trying to warn everyone that something horrible is coming, but nobody will listen .

Gwen has me in a chokehold before I can reach Erron, dragging me off the desk though I scrape my fingertips down its polished face.

Erron’s hands grip the edge of his desk. Eyes running over me, assessing the threat anew while I thrash.

“Shhhhh...” Gwen whispers in my ear over my noises. My nails are tearing at the skin of her arm across my neck, but with the state of my nails, I think it hurts me more than her. “He didn’t say that. You’re fine. He’s going to help you.”

The world is blurring at the edges, my fight rapidly dying out.

A snap of wood sounds.

Erron’s stricken face is the last thing I see as he says firmly, “I’ll help you.”

It’s like I finally have all the pieces of paper.