52. Chapter Fifty #3
Their words cut deeper than the roots of the World Tree, the edges scraping bone. My Sight sparked, threads blazing in my vision, and I couldn’t stop thinking above what Neit had said.
That’s always been your downfall…love.
Neit’s laugh cracked like thunder. “Then perhaps this time, we won’t part in stalemate."
Neit’s sons moved first, blades bared, flanking him like war hounds. My Sight flared sharp before I could cage it—threads blazing, red and gold colliding like lightning.
Murchadh, the scarred one, was all jagged red and gold fury. Caibre’s bright golden thread glimmered cold and calculating, his pale gaze fixed on the satchels as though he already envisioned them on his hip.
“Demigods,” I whispered, the truth cutting cold.
Neit’s gaze snapped to me, a wicked grin curling. “You see them truly. My sons. My legacy. I build my own armies, unlike your pathetic lover.”
Eisarnach laughed, the sound far too light for the situation at hand. “I’m so glad you brought your divine bastards to assist you in this particular mission. It’s poetic, really.”
Gods, did anything scare the God of Chaos?
Caibre’s silver-threaded eyes flicked to him. “Careful, Trickster. Mockery is dangerous when the game is real, and not one of your silly illusions.”
The satchels at my hips burned hot. Tairngire’s hand brushed mine, grounding me, but Neit’s smile told me he felt it too—the bond, the fire, the pull of it all.
“How precious. You think the forest lord can shield you? The Ash King will unmake your bond and chain your Sight to his will. Every stone will be his.”
The chamber shuddered under Neit's menacing laugh. “Caibre. Murchadh,” he snapped his fingers. “Bring the stones to me. The King of Ash will have her soon enough.”
There was no reality in the Seven Realms where I’d let that happen. Tairngire’s breath was hot against my ear, the scent of pine wrapping me. “You’ll need to put your training to use now, Aurenya.”
Something cold pressed into my palm—my dagger. Runes along its hilt shimmered faintly with spell work, alive in my grip. But it was balanced. He must have had it re-forged. I looked up at him in wonder, but I didn’t have time to ask.
“Left hand,” he murmured, steady and low. “Let your flame burn bright. Don’t try to smother it. Not this time.”
I had barely nodded before Caibre came for me, all jagged muscle and rage. His grin promised my blood. My new divinity burned hot, wild, begging to tear free. I stumbled into stance, my blade raised, heart pounding.
Eisarnach flung himself into the fray, violet illusions manifesting. Murchadh met him head-on, brute strength against Fae magic, sparks cracking like storm fire. Shadows roared.
And then Caibre was on me.
He swung with a force meant to break me. I managed to duck at the last second. His blade grazed my cheek, heat blooming from the cut. The pain only sharpened my focus. The dagger flared, runes igniting, and I slashed back—steel biting his arm.
“You think a mortal spark makes you dangerous?” He spat, lunging. His blade crashed against mine, rattling my bones. But my feet held.
“Not just mortal,” I hissed. “Not anymore.”
Damn…maybe I shouldn't have said that.
Golden thread pulsed, driving me faster than I’d ever moved. My strike cut across his chest. He staggered, eyes wide, but didn’t fall. He only grinned through the blood, as though the fight had finally become interesting.
I wasn’t sparring anymore. I was facing the God of War’s flesh and blood.
Behind me, Tairngire’s blades collided with Neit’s war hammer in a clash that rattled the cavernous stone.
I tightened my grip on my new and improved dagger. This wasn’t training. This was survival. And I finally had something to live for. I wouldn’t let it slip through my fingers.
Caibre’s blade sang for my throat. I dodged at the very last possible second. The clang of steel against stone shattered the air where my skull had been. My arm jolted as I slashed up with my dagger, but he caught my wrist in a vice and twisted. Pain shot to the bone.
“You’re still not fast enough, even with your newfound divinity,” he sneered, teeth bared. His grip crushed, suffocating. This was nothing like Mairenn's controlled training style, but all brute force.
Fear tore through me. For a breath, I felt small again, like the girl who had never been meant to stand in a divine's path. But then the fury came, blazing hot, refusing to bow.
“Then I’ll have to be clever,” I spat, driving my boot into his knee. He staggered, just enough that I was able to tear free. My lungs burned as I stumbled back into stance. My hands shook, but the fire under my skin roared higher.
Across the chamber Eisarnach and Murchadh clashed like lightning and storm. Violet fire twisted the air. His laughter was a wicked chorus that only stoked my dread.
Deeper still, Tairngire and Neit collided, their gods-forged weapons splitting the cavern in thunder. The sound rattled my bones, but what shook me more was the sight of Tairngire—unyielding, fire in his eyes even as the Warbringer sought to break him. He would not kneel. Not again.
I had no more time to watch, however, because Caibre was coming down on me again. I blocked, barely. My arm screamed. Runes flared, searing my palm, burning hotter, demanding more.
I thought of all the times I’d been forced to my knees, a vision racking me, holding me against someone else’s earned fate. Feeling a child's pain, losing her mother to illness. Never even knowing my own mother.
Because I'd been torn away from her.
Forced into submission to a Godhead I'd never see. That was the worst part about all of this.
And I gave all of it to my dagger, every last drop.
Left-handed, I slashed quick as lightning, cutting his cheek. His blood streaked hot across my vision. He only grinned.
“Not what I expected,” he growled. “Such fire in you.”
There was fire in me. Wild, unchained. And for one chaotic heartbeat, I felt everything—terror and defiance, panic and rage—all blazing together in a brilliant display of unchained flame.
I let out a fierce battle cry and lunged.
Steel clashed, sparks exploding. My muscles shook with every desperate block. Every strike was a ragged echo of Mairenn’s training. Left foot forward. Blade angled. Don’t submit.
But damn, the demigod was strong. My arms ached, my breath was ragged, and still, I met him strike for strike.
His blade moved faster than my eyes could follow. I managed a parry, barely, but then his dagger pivoted, slicing the inside of my thigh.
Agony ripped through me as I hit the stone, dagger skittering from my hand. My cry tore raw, guttural, but his laugh was worse.
“Fragile after all,” he hissed, scarlet dripping from his blade.
Something wasn’t right. It shouldn’t have hurt that much. I'd been scratched by a blade before, during training, in a similar spot…but this pain scorched.
My vision blurred. The bond flared in my chest, Tairngire’s rage battering against my ribs, Eisarnach cursed from somewhere, but all I felt were the satchels at my side shifting.
Neit’s gaze locked on them, then on me. Before I could crawl, he moved. Not like a god, not even like a man, but like smoke given teeth. His hand tore one of the satchels free, ripping the strap from my shoulder.
The air went dead. The Iron Vein pulsed inside that bag, its weight singing through the cavern like a heartbeat.
"No," I choked the word out, defeated.
Neit’s smile split, venom and triumph. “The Vein is secured. The Seer…” His eyes slid down to me, sprawled in my own blood, fear and fury warring in my chest. “Comes later.”
“Father, we should take her now,” Murchadh pressed.
Neit’s gaze lingered, considering his son's proposal. My pulse hammered, certain he’d claim me too. But Tairngire was already readying himself to strike the War God from behind. Neit only flicked his wrist. “Later. Move.”
Murchadh snarled, but obeyed. Caibre slid his blade back with a grin that lingered on me, hungry, promising. “Until we meet in the Underworld, pet.”
The cavern spun like a nightmare. My pulse thundered in my ears, blood slick down my thigh, hot and endless. But worse than the pain was the constant aching.
Gods, wasn't divinity supposed to heal me faster?
I looked down and gasped. The wound wasn’t closing.
Eisarnach’s voice cut sharp through the haze, stripped of all mockery. “Her blood should be mending. Look, Caibre's blade, it was cursed steel, meant to hollow her out.”
Tairngire loosed a feral growl. He scooped me into his arms, holding me as though I weighed nothing. His fury seared through the bond, molten, pounding in my blood like a second heart. “Stay with me, Aurenya. Do not fade. Not now.”
I tried to answer, to spit fire like always, but my throat was smoked out. My body was getting heavy.
Tairngire suddenly stiffened above me, his body jerking as a golden collar sealed around his throat. Runes flared, then dimmed, smothering his divine light.
My eyes blew wide.
“No—” My cry was ragged, raw.
I dropped from his hold and he rolled away from me, tearing at the collar, muscles straining, but the power bled out of him like water from a broken cup. Words fractured on his tongue, breaking into guttural half-sounds, rage blazing in his eyes swallowed whole by the runes.
Behind him, Eisarnach bowed low, his laughter rolling like velvet thunder. I narrowed my focus in on his face, daggers in my eyes.
“Oh, don't give me that look, Little Seer. Even Tricksters are bound to their debts.”
What was he talking about…?
The air dropped at least ten degrees. Mist parted way for a figure to emerge.
A woman, radiant and terrible, beauty carved so sharp it stole the breath from my lungs.
Silver crown, lips like blood, eyes fathomless and merciless.
Yet when they found me, bleeding out on a cavern floor, my lover chained in front of me, I found myself wanting to crawl into them.
I wanted to lay my head against her breast and let her keep me.