Chapter Fifty-Seven
Saoirse
Saoirse panted, her body exhilarated as she fought beside the harpies, momentarily falling back to catch her breath. Zylah stood at her side, eyes bright with their impending victory.
“You good?” Zylah asked without looking at her.
Saoirse smirked. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Just making sure your age isn’t catching up to you.”
“You’re one to talk.” A knowing smile crawled across Zylah’s face. Saoirse still didn’t know how old Zylah might be.
Saoirse stood, adjusting the grip on her sword. They were pushing through; bit by bit, they were gaining the upper hand.
The harpies fought with wild calculated movements that left Saoirse wanting to learn a thing or two from the warriors before they disappeared back to the mountains. If they disappeared back to the mountains.
A loud chittering had Saoirse jerking her head toward the forbidden forest. The mass of Dark Fae had divided there, as if—Fairy Folk were suddenly in the air, buzzing around, insurmountable magic flying from their tiny bodies that rendered the Dark Fae incapacitated on impact.
Then the trees moved. Saoirse squinted through the lines, struggling to understand exactly what she was seeing. Then she recalled the statue in Ruadhán. The claim made by Rion and Arianna that it resembled one of The Guardians.
And now there were hundreds of them.
But not just them.
Countless creatures she’d never seen before and had no name for. They engulfed the Dark Fae, descending on them like a wave.
Allies.
A grin spread across her face and Saoirse rallied her magic again.
They had more allies.
She didn’t know how or why. Maybe it was the eruption of Rion’s and Arianna’s magic. Maybe it had been their transformation. Maybe the gods were finally answering them, realizing evil was trying to triumph over their land and creations.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
These were the stories of old. This was history in the making. This was the battle they would write stories about for ages to come.
And Saoirse was right here in the middle of it, making history right alongside everyone she loved.
Are you watching, Máili?
The harpies and Guardians merged into a single line in the distance, both fighting alongside one another as if they’d trained to do so their entire lives. Maybe they were reliving history, too.
Saoirse took a single step, ready to leap back into the fray, when a Fae bounded past, swift as a deer. Saoirse turned, her world moving in slow motion. She pivoted without another thought.
Saoirse knew that Fae like she knew her own heart.
Saoirse flew over the remains of the fallen, struggling to keep up. Eimear’s legs landed gracefully, flying like she had wings of her own. Eimear veered around one group, her sword out, but unused. Then she swerved around another, flowers, vines, and trees unfurling in her wake.
A small group of Dark Fae lunged, but Eimear’s magic slammed into them, throwing the creatures into the sky, far away from her path.
Saoirse glanced back to ensure Zylah was following, her heart unwilling to leave either female behind. For a split second, Saoirse feared Zylah might not be able to keep up, but once again, Zylah proved she carried far more Fae blood in her body than human.
Saoirse sprinted faster, the back of her mother’s head barely visible amidst the unfolding chaos. Her magic was another story. It was like a storm following in the High Lady’s wake, unwilling to be contained.
Saoirse knocked away a spear of ice aimed for her head.
Then she extinguished flames crawling across the ground, moving and pivoting as she gave chase.
Then a scent hit her that had a violent growl ripping from her throat.
Not just because of what he’d done to Eimear, but because of what he’d stolen from her as well.
Saoirse pushed through another cluster of beasts, leapt over a tree of her mother’s creation, then paused just behind Eimear. The female’s shoulders rose and fell, her mother panting, not from exhaustion, but in anticipation.
A small group of Fae circled around, their magic fanning wide. Niall stood at their center.
The male looked worse for wear. His face was smeared with blood, teeth coated in it, too, as he snarled at the warriors surrounding him and the last of his companions.
His once brilliant golden hair was in disarray, half out of the low ponytail he’d tied it in.
His left arm hung limply at his side, dislocated at the shoulder.
The clothes he’d worn—not battle leathers, but a fancy tunic with a velvet trim—had been shredded to ribbons and barely concealed his muscular form underneath.
Eimear stalked forward, sword at her side.
Niall snarled upon seeing her. Bodies littered the ground. Their comrades. More lives Niall had stolen. Saoirse clenched her fists, but forced herself to remain still.
“Back away,” Eimear commanded. The Fae obeyed. Eimear’s magic tore from the ground, replacing theirs, surrounding Niall on all sides. He looked around frantically, seeking escape. But there would be no escape for him today.
A second of silence. Of two Fae staring one another down.
Then the ground beneath Niall’s feet sprang to life.
Vines and thorns ripped from the earth, grabbing each of Niall’s companions.
They screamed, summoning blades of air in an attempt to fight back.
But Eimear’s magic moved faster, too fast for Saoirse’s liking.
It wrapped around their necks, diving down their noses and throats, strangling them from the inside out.
Niall watched in horror, trying to back away, yet unable to move.
Saoirse smiled with a sense of satisfaction when flowers emerged from Niall’s companions’ eye sockets. Vines protruded from their fingertips and their final breaths came in agonized gasps. Their bodies hung, suspended by greenery, nothing more than fodder for the life around them.
And she’d thought her father’s magic frightening as a child.
The Fae surrounding Eimear, her allies, all snarled at Niall, each wanting nothing more than to rip the male from the world. But most knew Eimear’s story and everyone recognized that Niall’s life belonged to no one else but her.
“My, my how the tables have turned,” her mother said in a voice laced with venom. Niall’s magic spread in a wave, a glamour trying to rise. It cloaked the world in shadow for a moment, but Saoirse found the shimmer at the edge of her vision and broke it.
Eimear laughed. “Really? After all the torment you subjected me to and you think a glamour is going to save you?” Her magic snaked out, grabbing his ankle, thorns digging deep. “I have my magic now, you coward.”
“Do you?” His voice shook. “How can you be sure you’re even here? Who’s to say you aren’t still in the dungeon, being shown the freedom you so desperately crave?”
Eimear stepped forward, undeterred. “You made a mistake,” she said with lethal calm. “You should have killed me when Vairik commanded you to.”
“I showed you mercy,” Niall hissed.
“Mercy?” Eimear bit out. “That’s what you call mercy?”
“I spared your life.”
She growled, and another vine shot up from the ground, wrapping around his opposite ankle. Niall winced again. Blood trickled into his muddy boots. “You only spared me for your own amusement. I have no such motive.”
“Then why am I still alive?”
Eimear cocked her head. “Who says you are?”
Saoirse furrowed her brow, looking between the pair.
“You had the opportunity to change,” Eimear said. “You could have risen against your father and become something great.”
Niall spat blood onto the ground. “This battle isn’t over just because your brat found his animal shift.”
Reverence filled Eimear’s gaze as she lifted her eyes toward Rion in the distance. “Animal. Such a trivial word for what he has become.”
Niall’s body jerked. He coughed, the sound wet and rattling. He wiped the blood from his mouth and his eyes went wide. “What did you do to me?”
Eimear met his gaze again, looking down on him. “Not nearly enough, but unfortunately, there isn’t time to make you properly pay for your atrocities.”
Niall’s body jerked again, a strange movement that had his head tilting to the side and back. He fell onto his backside, scooting away, holding one arm out as if he might protect himself from some unseen force.
“So much potential wasted,” Eimear said, shaking her head.
“Stop,” Niall shrieked.
Eimear prowled closer, watching him as one observed an experiment. “I might not have Pádraigín’s abilities, but some types of venom go a long way toward bringing your own nightmares to life. Judging from your reaction, it’s already working.”
“I—impossible. Please.”
Saoirse stalked along the outskirts, moving until she could see her mother’s impassive face.
Niall winced again and tore off his boot. His face twisted with horror when he saw the tiny hole in his heel and the plant that had already crawled halfway up his ankle. The skin was already red and swollen.
Niall’s gaze snapped up, a mixture of hatred and fear. “Take it out. Stop this.”
Eimear only smiled. “Tell me, Niall, fallen son of Pádraigín. What nightmares haunt you in the dark?”
Niall turned to his right, his eyes widening and face paling further. Sweat trickled down his temple. He tried to stand only to stumble again. Small trees rose up to block his path, fencing him in. He clawed at them feebly, eyes wide with horror.
Eimear knelt, clasping her hands before her. “Tell me, what do you see?”
“Take them away,” Niall’s voice broke. “Please.” He tried to crawl away, but Eimear blocked his path with her magic again, caging him just as he’d caged her. He looked like a child now, curled in on himself and weeping.
Saoirse approached her mother, pausing at her side.
“He’ll die too quickly,” Eimear said, a tinge of regret in her voice.
Saoirse’s jaw worked. “Will he suffer?”
“Immensely, though unfortunately only within the confines of his own mind.”
Saoirse listened to Niall’s rapid heartbeat and though his body had fallen still, his fear permeated the air in a way that told her those nightmares were far worse than anything they might have been able to conjure in the waking world.
“Good.” Eimear’s gaze lifted toward the horizon and Saoirse’s followed. “Should we go to them?” Saoirse asked.
“Find Alec. Everything will come to an end soon.”