 
Kings (Chaos #5.5)

By Claire Farrell

Set between books five and six in the Chaos series, Kings is a brief look into the lives of Drake and Brendan.

After sealing the rift, Drake hears word of his wife's sickness only to find that the cause is exactly what unites his enemies against him.

Brendan's journey across unexplored waters is only beginning, and if he finds what he's looking for, he'll owe a determined woman a throne by his side. But can he do it?

Whatever course of action is taken next, they will change their world.

Copyright © Claire Farrell

Claire_farrell@live.ie

Cover by Yocla Designs

Licence Notes:

All rights reserved. This eBook may not be re-sold.

Chapter One

Brendan

The thrill of adventure combined with the beauty of an unfamiliar open sea was only marred by the sounds of Bran's violent retching over the side of the boat.

"Get it all up," Brendan said soothingly, trying his best not to sound amused.

"This is..." Bran gasped and looked up at his king. "This is hell. That madwoman has brought us straight to hell."

"Look on the bright side. Your face is so green you could be a mascot for our court."

Bran responded with a heave that turned even Brendan's stomach.

"I'll leave you to it." He patted Bran's back. "Try not to fall in."

Brendan strolled across the deck, the thrum of the sword of victory by his side. Whoever wielded the sword couldn't fail—as long as he were worthy of the honour. His human friend and Darksider queen had given it to him, even before she knew he would leave for unknown lands. She thought he was worthy. He couldn't let her down. Not on this journey.

The fae never crossed the sea, and what lay beyond was a land they only knew from horror stories. Some terrible unnamed menace lived across the massive expanse of water, but it was also the possible location of the First Tree, the one object that might actually cleanse the realm before the blight swallowed them up completely. The land was dying, and a trip into unknown terrors was worth the risk to save the faery realm.

The wooden deck creaked underfoot as he walked, but the well-kept vessel appeared sturdy. Brendan found his way to the captain and navigator who had no problem steering the ship. In fact, none of the crew came across as anything but familiar with the boat. The only ones who looked uncomfortable were the group of soldiers from his own Green Court who had volunteered to accompany their king. Four young soldiers, plus Bran, were all he had taken with him. He was beginning to feel outnumbered.

"You look concerned," Yvette said, approaching him with her favourite woman before he could query the captain. Her bracelets jingled as she moved, yet she had managed to sneak up on him. Again. "You're not scared of a little water, are you?"

"On the contrary." He forced a smile to his lips. "I was thinking how safe I feel with your crew. You wouldn't know this was their first journey on water."

"Oh, we've used the ship as a fishing boat. We often transport supplies along our coastline. They're used to working together." She gestured around her. "This is just the next logical step, really."

"I wish my own men were as comfortable on water."

Her tinkling laugh set him on edge. "They have been poorly, haven't they? They'll recover as soon as we land."

"And then what will we find, I wonder?"

She sighed heavily. "I imagine we'll find a land full of people trying to survive, people fearful of what's on our side of the water."

"The daoine sídhe were run out of that land. If even giants ran scared, I doubt we have anything back home scary enough for their concern."

"We do have a human queen," she murmured.

She gazed up at him from beneath long lavender eyelashes, ignoring his sharp, warning glance. Her thigh-length wavy hair matched, and her eyes were bluer than the ocean. Her voluptuous body was covered in tattoos designed to draw eyes to all the right places. And if he didn't marry her, then her family, her army, and her fortune would align themselves with his rival. Or maybe even his enemy.

She was exactly what his kingdom needed. But she wasn't what he wanted. It didn't matter now. He had a duty to his kingdom. He had let his subjects down the first time he was king. They were still suffering for his mistakes. He couldn't be selfish a second time.

"You must allow me a touch of jealousy." Her smirk couldn't hide a certain darkness behind her eyes as she reached out to touch his arm. Her long pointed fingernails were painted prettily, but they still reminded him of claws.

"You don't look like a woman who needs to be jealous of anything," he commented lightly and moved out of her reach.

She followed him to the rails. "We're going to be married, Brendan. We need one another. But we barely know each other, and you have such a close relationship with another woman. I'm afraid that people will talk after we're married if you spend so much time with the Darksider queen."

"Cara isn't a threat." He gripped the rails. What was it about women pushing the point when he clearly wanted to avoid the subject? "We will always be friends."

She gave a surprised laugh. "How naive you sound. Once we save the realm, the other courts will work against us. The Silver King and Chaos Queen share a child, you know."

He knew. And such a child—even her smile was capable of making the fae fawn over her. He had long sensed she was full to the brim with growing power that might one day be used against him. Despite that, he had fallen for the little girl. Scarlet had made him long to be a father, and that had been a shock. He had always imagined fatherhood to be a duty rather than a need. He just wasn't sure if it was the child or the mother who had changed his point of view. But it was far too late to ponder such things.

"Without my help, they will encroach," Yvette continued. "It's only natural they would want their child to inherit the entire realm. We can't blame them. But we can't allow them an inch."

"That child is my named heir," he reminded her. "Scarlet is the one ensuring peace between the three of us."

She ducked under his arm and pressed her chest against his. His back stiffened at her touch. Yvette would be his duty. He couldn't imagine anything on the contrary.

"Perhaps our circumstances will have changed by the time we return," she said softly. "But be prepared for a fight. There's no knowing what Silver and Chaos will have gotten up to in our absence."

"Drake and Cara are my friends," he said.

"Of course they are. But they're also rulers. You yourself understand that the realm comes first. And your court would never understand if you made the wrong choice."

"I haven't—"

"You're used to being in charge, but have you ever managed to control the human? She'll never submit to you, you know. Never allow you to swallow up her court. Even if you somehow managed to get the blessing of the Green Court and the Darkside, it would never work. You both wish to take the lead. That could only end in disaster." She peeked over his arm and nodded at someone behind him. "Dinner is soon, my dear. You should join us. My girls are so bored that they've come up with a new dance to entertain you all with."

She walked away and left him there. She had picked at every fear and concern he had. Yes, he considered Drake and Cara his friends, and Scarlet, his heir. But how did they see him? Absence changed everything. Drake needed power to keep his court, and Cara... well, she was still a mystery to him. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she surprised him again. Yvette was right about one thing: Cara Kelly liked nothing better than having control over her own destiny. And there was no place for him in her life.

While he was on a dangerous journey to find the First Tree, Cara and Drake were on an impossible one, finding the elusive stone of destiny, yet another legendary treasure like his sword. The stone could theoretically seal the rift and stop the spread of the blight. The tree could cure the land. Together, they could save the realm. Together, they could reunite their old affections. Cara acted as though she were over Drake, but given enough time alone with him? He wasn't certain of the outcome.

He headed down to the kitchen where someone was playing a fiddle. He found Bran in the corner, sweating still as he nursed a bowl of clear broth. He sat next to his bodyguard, and friend, relieved to find a face he trusted.

"Still dying?" he remarked as someone set a bowl of stew in front of him. He tore a piece of bread from the plate in the centre of the table and dipped it into the gravy. At least Yvette had thought to take a decent cook along. Of course, it wouldn't be long until they were eating more fish than anything else, but he would enjoy the fresh meat and fruit while it lasted.

"Pretty much." Bran nodded at the women dancing on the other end of the room. "They don't seem affected at all."

"No, they look quite comfortable," Brendan admitted.

"I've never met fae like them," Bran said slowly. "I've no interest in women, you know that, but even I prefer the ones back home. Cara is a breath of fresh air in comparison to this constant... attention seeking."

Brendan's stomach curdled. His marriage would be entirely free of fresh air; that was almost certain. He frowned as he noticed his other soldiers, huddled in the corner, also looking green. The sea around Yvette's castle had been surprisingly calm. How could her people be so used to the rocking of real waves on the open sea? He had been forced to put himself and his people into the hands of a woman he barely knew; could he trust her? Could he truly rely on anyone? He glanced at Bran. Their numbers might have been small, but there were those he trusted.

"Bran, no matter what happens, you have to make sure one of the First Trees makes it home again."

"Are you expecting trouble?"

"We're crossing the sea that nobody crosses," Brendan said with a laugh. "What better place to find trouble?" He looked up at his future wife and sighed. What better place indeed?

***

He dreamed. He was on a raft in the middle of the ocean, playing chess with a man. His opponent's chest was bare and heavily tanned. He almost looked human but for the larger black pupils in his sea-green eyes. His silver hair curled and met his elbows, and his muscles were tight and threaded with pulsing veins.

"You have a good stomach," the man said as he made a move. He was a stranger, but Brendan felt comfortable in his presence, almost as though he had known him once.

"I think the sword must be helping me." The familiarity of home surrounded him like a cloak. "I should be scared of all this water, but it's too... soothing."

"It won't stay that way."

A wave splashed over the side of the raft, wetting Brendan's bare feet. His toes curled from the frigid water. "This doesn't feel like a dream."

"Does it matter?"

Brendan laughed. "Likely not."

"Where are you going with the sword of victory?"

"To find something that will save the realm from the blight." He glanced around him, saddened at the thought of what could be. "One day, this will all be black and poisoned if I don't."

"Not all of it," the man said. "We made sure of that. It's a noble quest, all the same."

Brendan's hand lingered over the queen piece on the board. "Yes. Noble."

"How bad is the blight this time?"

"This time?"

"History has a habit of repeating itself."

Brendan watched the man make his next move. "It's not good. The Green Forest is dying. Landslides and sinkholes are showing up all over the place."

"Already," the man muttered as though to himself. "I thought for sure there would be more time." He met Brendan's curious gaze. "'Ware the shaking of the earth. That's when he starts to wake for good."

"Shaking of the earth? What do you—?"

"You entered my waters without permission, but you may pass."

Brendan woke with a start and ran his hands through his hair. Damp. He licked his lips and found they tasted of salt. He rolled over on a cot that was too small for him, but he couldn't fall back asleep, despite the gentle rocking of the boat.

He headed up to the top deck instead for some air. The boards were damp, the wind almost completely still. Yvette stood by the rails, mournfully gazing out at the water.

He joined her. She didn't seem surprised.

He inhaled deeply, the scent of brine filling his nostrils. "Are you up late or awake early?"

She shrugged, her face wan and peaky. "Up early. I had a dream about... well, a foretelling of my death."

"And was it a good death?"

She let her hair fall forward, covering her expression. "I was told I would die by the blade of my brother. I heard it once before, a long time ago. I didn't think I would hear it again."

"Well, then. If it hasn't come true by now, you must be safe."

"I made sure of that," she said so softly, he wasn't entirely sure she had spoken.

He gazed up at the sky. Dawn had yet to hit, and the sky was grey and lilac. He wished Cara could see it.

"Why are you awake?" Yvette asked. "Did you dream, too?"

"I think I dreamt of the god Manannán," he said.

She inhaled sharply. "Did you? And did he give you permission to pass?"

"Yes, actually." He looked down at her. "How did you know?"

"Manannán judges the travellers," she whispered. "He chooses if the way will be easy or difficult."

"The travellers? Because so many fae cross the sea?"

She faced front again. "I... read it in the book. Perhaps more fae crossed than we know."

"A book from your library," he said. "Cara seems to think there is a lot missing from your library."

"And yet I'm the only one in the realm capable of finding a book with images of the First Tree within. The library has been standing a long time. Of course things get lost. Cara seems to think that anyone who doesn't fall at her feet is your enemy." She glanced at him. "She's dangerous. I know you don't want to hear it, but she's a danger to our alliance."

"There's no danger," he said gruffly. That was a lie, and they both knew it. What would he do if Cara begged him not to marry Yvette?

"You know as well as I do that there will always be a danger there. If not your heart, then consider your life, Brendan. She's out of control. We all saw that at her ceremony; she lost herself to the magic completely, and everyone suffered. I've heard stories of her actions at court. She uses her emotions as a punishment. We can't fight against that. If her own actions don't kill her, then your affection will. I'll not be disrespected by either of you."

He glanced down at her, surprised by her fierceness. "Was it you then? At the ceremony. Did you do something to Cara that night?"

"I found out how dangerous she is," she said in a low voice. "And it's worse than I ever thought. You cry out against chaos, but what is more chaotic than that human?" She hesitated. "Haven't you ever considered the possibility that Chaos wants her around? Sadler went after her for a reason. His god was never as strong until she showed up."

His fingers clenched into fists. "You will not repeat this, Yvette."

"Does she know how fearful you are on her behalf, I wonder?" She turned and laid her hand on his arm. "I have no quarrel with her as long as she doesn't interfere with us, but remember this, Brendan, you're the one with the power to make her my enemy. If you are weak, she will be the one who suffers for it."

He moved out of her reach, but it was too late. The cold was inside of him now, reliving the old fears. He had always been the most dangerous person in the realm when it came to Cara's life. And he had already been too reckless. As a youth, he had learned too late to respect the lives and hearts of humans. He had been paying for his mistakes ever since, and the last thing he could bear was Cara paying the punishment in his stead.

He couldn't face being alone with his thoughts, so he stood there in silence alongside a woman who could easily destroy every part of him. Dawn soon broke, the sky shedding its grey shroud in favour of pink and purple.

"We'll soon move into open sea," Yvette said.

He decided not to ask her how she knew that. He stared at the remains of land in the distance. They had been having a strange few days, partly why his soldiers were ill. One moment the way was calm and clear, the next, it grew stormy. And so it went. Interspersed with the weather, sections of land came and went, some he recognised, and some he didn't.

"That lighthouse," he said slowly. "Where is that?"

"It's the human realm," she said. "This is an intersection. Can't you feel how close the worlds are here?"

"We've been travelling in and out of realms?" he asked in wonder. He hadn't considered that possibility. "Without a portal?"

"The portal will come soon. Everything was connected, once."

"Until the gods interfered," Brendan said bitterly.

She glanced at him. "It wasn't just the human realm that was taken from you. Your... our realm was disconnected from everything. These intersections are the only remaining links beside the portals. Make the most of the view. This is the last time we'll see land for a long time."

"How do you know all of this?"

"I studied hard," she said sharply before leaving him there.

Disconcerted, he stared at the land in view. He had seen that lighthouse before, on a journey from the Fade. The Fade was a terrible place, a purgatory for trapped souls until they lost themselves and became monstrous shades. But Cara had done the unthinkable and rescued him, and on the way home, she had pointed out the human beach she used to visit.

But she had shown him the lighthouse from the cliff by the Hauntings. That meant he should be able to see the faery realm, too. But there was nothing, and soon, even the lighthouse seemed to recede. He kept watching, and as a cloud shifted, the shadow of the cliffs he sought out momentarily appeared. He squinted, trying his best to focus. The cliffs appeared then disappeared as though flashes of magic revealed the location.

His heart skittered. For a split second, he saw the cliff clearly, and the flutter of a black cloak above. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone, and no matter how much longer he watched, he saw no other sign of land. But he was almost certain he had seen something on the edge of the cliff, a figure soon shrouded in mist. Could it be have been Cara?

Of course not. How could it be? They couldn't have found the stone of destiny already. Please let them find it, he prayed silently to Brighid, a god he had openly shunned. He prayed to her in moments of desperation on behalf of those he cared for, but never himself. Please let them find the stone. And keep them safe. All of them.

Chapter Two

Drake

He pushed his horse as fast as it would go, travelling through an unwelcome forest to get to his sick wife. If she died, the balance of power shifted unfavourably. All would be lost.

And a piece of him—a piece he kept well buried—worried for her sake, too. She was his only companion, the only one who understood the pressure of running the Silver Court, the only one as tortured by fear as he. Too many in his court still thought in terms of Seelie versus Unseelie, of pain equalling power. Sorcha had been the one who caused pain in order to give him power. He wasn't ready to give that up so soon.

After the joy of not only finding the stone of destiny, but using it to seal the rift in the Fade, being told of Sorcha's illness was the ultimate anti-climax. What was the point in saving the realm if he was going to lose his kingdom?

The daoine sídhe, Dymphna, rode behind him, the muscular brunette loyal in her concern. The messenger who had come to fetch him struggled to keep up. She quickly fell behind, her horse already exhausted from her search for her king.

Drake's horse skidded on a patch of soiled earth. He could have sworn the land had grown even more blackened since the last time he had passed that way.

His sole consolation was that he had found the stone. The rift was sealed. His side of the job was done. But did he have a court left? Banshees didn't fall ill... had Sorcha been poisoned? Attacked? The Silver Court was mysterious and secretive. It was likely his courtiers knew exactly what was wrong with Sorcha but hadn't allowed the messenger to tell him in front of Cara. Without Drake there, Sorcha obviously hadn't remained in control.

The twin castles rose up on the horizon. Two cliffs, two castles, and at one time, two queens. Twin sisters who had hated each other so much that they rarely met and conversed even less. They glared at each other, safe within the shelter of their castles, and waged a pathetic war using the weather as their weapons. Drake had born witness to their cruelty and foolishness during his vengeful search for his own father. Their people had suffered from the siblings' hatred, the fertile lands had been neglected, and the soil itself had been irrevocably changed.

Since then, the land had been rapidly eaten by the blight, and the fae had been forced to turn to the human realm to feed themselves. He'd been encouraged to go to great lengths to cover that particular fact when it came to many members of his own court who disdained humans but appreciated the show of deceit.

When he and Sorcha had made a pact to marry, they had each taken a castle for their own. The Silver Court appeared destined to repeat the same suffering until a bridge had been built between the castles. Slowly, husband and wife had moved everything to the larger of the two castles, but there was still a distance that could never be crossed. He could never love Sorcha. And as it turned out, Cara, the mother of his only child, could never love him. He was cursed in every part of his life, fated to be miserable since the age of six when his faery father had murdered his human mother and taken him home to the realm of the fae.

As he neared the castle, he and Dymphna were greeted by a groom with fresh horses and water.

"Saw you coming," she explained. "Looked like you were in a hurry."

"What's happening?" Drake panted.

The groom shrugged. "Nobody's been told anything. The queen is locked in her chambers with some banshees and the daoine sídhe. Nobody else is allowed in. It's all quiet. The leanan sídhe has been holding court."

"Of course she has," Dymphna said, a deep frown creasing her broad forehead.

Donella was Cara's ancestor—and Drake's natural daughter's ancestor—who desired power above all else. Her alliance with him gave him much, but he feared for his life because of her, too.

"It's good to have our king back," the groom said, one of the few subjects who were open in their loyalty to Drake. She had once known the terror of serving the Seelie Queen and thought him an improvement.

"We should hurry," Dymphna said.

"You don't have to come with me," Drake said. "You must miss your daughter."

"With every fibre of my being," she admitted. "But Eithne is safe under Cara's care. Scarlet is, too," she said meaningfully. "When I know that you're safe, I'll leave again."

"Thank you," he said gratefully. He meant it. A daoine sídhe favoured by the other courts gave him an advantage. As long as he managed to keep her on his side. If Sorcha died, he lost the banshees. If Donella left, she would take half the court with her, and if Dymphna abandoned him, the rest of the daoine sídhe would likely follow. He had been playing a delicate game since his unlikely coronation—one that had primarily been a case of mistaken identity—and he wasn't sure when, if ever, that would change.

On fresh horses, they galloped the rest of the way to the castle. A lone banshee stood by the front doors. Like Sorcha, her banshee sisters were all beautiful but sullen, and he knew they were only loyal to him for the sake of power. They had risen with him. They all had to stay on top to survive.

"Take me to my wife," he called out as he dismounted and handed the reins to a groom. "I need to see the queen."

The banshee beckoned him to follow.

"What happened?" he asked. "What's going on?"

"You'll see," she said cryptically.

Dymphna followed him up stairwells and along corridors, ignoring fae who bowed as they passed, but the banshee made her wait outside Sorcha's quarters.

"I'll be right here," she told Drake.

He nodded and followed the banshee into his wife's quarters. Closed shutters sealed the room from the rest of the world, and the rich tapestries that hung along the walls had dulled in the darkness. Incense burned in every corner, but it couldn't hide the stuffy smell.

"What happened?" he demanded. "Tell me what's going on!"

"She wants to tell you," the banshee said dully.

She lit a candle and handed it to him. The shadows danced around her face, reminding him she was of Death. His stomach twisted with unease as he took the candle.

He reluctantly moved to the bed and held the candle over his wife's form. He gasped in surprise. Sorcha's cheeks were raised in a rash of spots and pimples. Her eyes were closed, cupped with dark bags. Her lips were dried and cracked. Her hair was greasy, of all things. His normally beautiful wife looked extremely sick, and for the first time, a true flash of concern for something other than a loss of power reached him.

"Sorcha?" he said softly. "Sorcha, are you all right?"

Her eyes fluttered open. Her black eyes were filled with apprehension, but when she recognised him, she smiled. He took a step back, for it was her eyes that reminded him what she had made him lose in exchange for his crown.

Her face fell, and he forced himself to sit on the bed. "What did they do to you?"

"Nothing." She licked her lips. "Let us be alone."

"Water!" he shouted. "Get her some fresh water. Now!" His temper flared, the pain blinding him as he shouted at the banshees to get out.

He turned back to Sorcha when the room had emptied, but his rush of anger hadn't calmed.

She touched his cheek. "Red again," she whispered. "We mustn't let them see you like this, Drake."

He made an effort to shrug off the weight of fealty and calm down, just as she had taught him. He hadn't imagined the suffocation he would feel as king, the pressure and pain as powerful fae swore fealty to him. His skin seemed to stretch, almost as though the power would explode out of him, but his wife often assured him it was just his mind weakening, that he would grow strong enough to contain it all one day. Sorcha was the one who kept him sane when the darkness threatened to drown him.

He swallowed hard, pushing the panic to the back of his mind. "Tell me what's going on."

She reached for his hand and squeezed. "It happened. We're having a child. I'm... I'm giving you an heir."

He gasped as though the breath had been knocked out of him. They rarely shared a bed beyond the nights he suffered most, when she comforted him and hid his weaknesses from the court. "Are you... sure?"

Her expression softened, which was somehow even more bizarre than her appearance. "Yes."

"Then what is... this?" He gestured at her skeletal fingers. "They told me you were sick. You look ill, Sorcha."

"This is what happens when a banshee is pregnant." She tried to smile. "Don't worry. When it's over, this will end."

"The baby is poisoning you?"

"Something like that. I'm just very tired. I'm sorry. I tried to take care of everything, but I—"

"It's over. I'm back. You get rest and whatever else you need." But fear had taken him. She looked as though she were dying. He wasn't sure what he needed more: an heir or a queen.

"Did you do it?" she asked. "Did you use the stone of destiny?"

He nodded. "We did. It worked. The rift is sealed. The blight will surely end. And Brendan will bring back the First Tree and heal our soil. We're winning, Sorcha."

"He will," she said firmly. "He'll find it. He'll bring it back. We'll all be saved. You did it. You and Cara. I hated her, but she's saved us so many times."

"Hush. Don't think about that now. Sleep."

"Will you come back?" She sounded scared. "Will you visit me?"

"Of course." He tried to smile, and then he got out of that room as quickly as possible.

***

In his own quarters, Drake washed, ate, and then sat on his bed and tried to figure out how he felt. He let a flame flare in his hand, a foolish waste of finite magic, but releasing the power made him feel in control of it, let him focus the pain on something other than himself. Sometimes, it made him feel less alone. This time, it just wasn't enough.

He had a child with Cara, a beautiful child full of life whom he couldn't love because it would put a target on her back. A child with a banshee, on the other hand... He imagined his child growing up as sullen and apathetic as the other banshees and shuddered. How could he have fathered a child of death?

He pressed his fist against his mouth. Nothing had turned out as he wished. Nothing would ever go his way. He was cursed as a child of Deorad, the son of a depraved monster. The Chaos Court was full of his blood, of half-siblings and other relatives who hid their father's madness in their veins. Just like Drake. And yet his daughter appeared to be safer there than with him, he who needed a banshee to hide his inherited madness. What would Scarlet inherit?

I've been alone most of my life. He sucked in a breath as the air grew thin.

I know nothing of being a father. The skin on his fingers burned.

Cara told me I'd move on with Sorcha. He flexed his fingers.

She doesn't care anymore. Pain shot up his arms as he formed his hands into fists.

She doesn't love—

His bedroom door burst open, startling him out of the episode.

Donella sashayed into the room. "Well, look who it is." Her eyes gleamed. "I couldn't believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. You're back." She shut the door behind her. "You've heard the news, I take it. Your wife is expecting a child."

He bristled, his heart racing. "How did you know?"

"Oh, you know how I am. Always hearing the juiciest gossip first. So you're having a banshee child."

"My heir." The word felt too big for his mouth.

"I didn't think her capable." She faced him, as smug as always. "You must be so... proud."

"Of course," he bit back.

Her eyes appeared to darken. "And did you succeed on your mission?"

"We did. Cara and me both."

"Of course she was there. She gets her sticky little fingers into everything."

He frowned. "She's been essential to our plans."

She waved a hand. "She's the one who tore the rift open wide enough to quicken the blight in the first place. I wouldn't call that essential."

"If Cara hadn't gone into the Fade, you would still be stuck there. But enough about the past. All you need to know now is that the realm is on its way toward being healed."

She strode closer to him. "Are you sure?"

"The rift is sealed. We just need Brendan to return with the First Tree."

She waved a hand. "He's impossible to kill. He'll show up again, I'm sure. But that doesn't mean we can't play our advantages in his absence."

"Stop it." He turned away. Sometimes he hated Brendan, raged against him in Sorcha's presence, but they were connected. Harming Brendan would sever a piece of himself, too.

Donella wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against his back. "You could have it all. The entire realm. Don't you want all of that power?"

Yes. No matter what he earned, it wasn't enough. He constantly longed for more—ached for it. With enough power, he wouldn't need to depend on alliances, wouldn't require the banshee to teach him anymore. None could touch him. He could control everything. But hadn't Brendan once thought the same? His soul had been trapped in the Fade instead. Drake could do with learning from Brendan's mistakes.

"Enough, Donella," he said with a sigh, pulling away from her grasp.

"Come," she traced her finger across the back of his neck. "Aren't you lonely after your journey? Perhaps Cara opened her legs for you, but don't mistake her. She's just waiting for Brendan to return. She used you to get to him. Everyone knows that."

All of the elements under the surface of his skin that he tried so hard to ignore pulled together, forcing him to suck in a breath just to steady himself. His sudden rage was so intense that he saw red spots in his vision.

He whirled around and faced her. "Don't you dare."

"Dare tell you the truth?" she said coquettishly. "The entire realm talks about how they spend their nights. After all, he's virile, a champion among men." Her gaze turned dark. "She's a mere human. From what I'm told, she's crawled after him since they met. And then there's the rumours about the child. She may have your eyes, but wasn't Brendan in control of your body when she was conceived?"

He pinched her shoulders and violently shook her. "Never speak of them!"

Her features creased with pain until he released her.

He had left finger marks on her beautiful shoulders. "I apologise," he said gruffly, forcing himself to swallow the blazing fire in his soul.

Donella's calculating smile returned as she ran her hand from his throat to his belt. "Don't you need some comfort?"

"With you?" he said with a sneer.

"Why not? You surely know by now that I offer a far more significant alliance than Sorcha or Cara. I have the power and the persuasion, the influence and the allies. I have what it takes to be a queen. Together, we can rule it all, take back what they took from you. They'll always call Brendan the true king if you don't stand up to him, and Cara? She stole the Darkside from right under your nose! You haven't yet recovered from that mistake."

He hadn't. He knew it. His shoulders slumped at the memory. If she had just trusted him...

"Drake, I can help you make it right. Nobody will rue the day we get rid of a banshee queen, and they'll all celebrate when I step into her shoes."

"You're stepping very close to the line of treason," he said sharply, partly because he was tempted by the easy path. But without Sorcha, he would lose all of the threads that kept him sane. Donella would cut them to gain an advantage.

She slid her dress off her shoulders. "I can look like her if you want. I can wear her face whenever you want. But if you don't make a move soon, you'll lose everything I have to offer."

As he watched, she glamoured herself. Her face rippled, her hair deepened, even her skin darkened. And then it was Cara's face staring back at him, Cara barely holding her dress over her breasts.

"Don't," he said pleadingly. "Don't do that."

She moved closer. "It's all right. Everything will work out."

Gods, she even sounded like her. She ran her hands up through his hair and pulled him close for a deep, passionate kiss, even managing to mimic Cara's aura, that distinctive power that set him at ease whenever he touched her. It was a cruel joke, but his body reacted before he could think. He forgot everything else. He lifted her into his arms, relishing that scent that tortured him whenever she was in the same room. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he carried her to the bed, thinking of nothing but the peace he would feel once inside her. He tugged at her dress.

She broke away to help him release her corset, but she wore a smug, triumphant sneer that had no place on Cara's face. Cara would never be his.

He finally broke free of the daze, terrified by Donella's strength. She could rule him if he let her. "Get out," he whispered, panting over her.

"What?"

He got off the bed and refused to look at her. "Get out!" he roared.

She reached for him, her self-control never faltering. She expelled desire that he wanted, that his brain tricked him into needing. But none of it was real. She was more dangerous than anyone. He shoved her away in a panic.

She fell back on the bed. "Oh," she said with a grin. "Is this how we play it?"

She slipped off the bed and crawled across the floor, her dress rustling as she moved. At his feet, she reached for his belt, still looking up at him with Cara's face.

He couldn't take a moment more. "Get away from me," he said weakly.

"You want me."

Even the sound of her voice was a lure he found hard to fight off. He fought through her magic, his anger building around him like a fortress. She touched him again.

He slapped her across the face without thinking. The sound echoed horrifyingly in the air. Looking as shocked he felt, she held her cheek, wearing her own face again, thank the gods.

"I warned you," he growled, reaching his limit. He roughly gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet. He held her steadily as he led her to the door. He yanked it open and shoved her outside. She tripped on her skirt and fell clumsily on the ground, revealing her breasts to everyone in the hallway.

"Never come to my room," he bellowed. "Not now, not ever, you disgusting little witch."

Her cheeks flooded with colour, and hate sparked within her eyes. She would never forget that indignity, he knew. And in that moment, he didn't care.

"Have some pride," he said scornfully. "If you think I can be tempted by a glamour, you're more foolish than you look."

He turned on his heel and slammed his bedroom door behind him. He laid his back against the door and breathed deeply. He had just made a powerful enemy.

Chapter Three

Brendan

Brendan mentally cursed Cara for putting her paranoia into his head. She hadn't trusted Yvette, and now he found it impossible to do otherwise. He watched Yvette's crew closely. Nobody could gain that much experience from sailing on the coastline. Not to sail on open waters so well. Then what was he accusing them of? Nothing, he decided. It was worry, a constant whirring of anxious thoughts, that made such ideas stick. The same self-preservation that had once caused him to make drastic mistakes in the name of what if.

The air had been growing warmer for days. The sun reflected off the calm ocean like a mirror. The back of his neck burned, the skin on his nose peeled, and sweat glistened his arms. If this kept up, he wouldn't be capable of staying above deck.

He waved over one of his soldiers, the eldest of the group. "Where's Bran?"

Pól nodded in the opposite direction. "Hiding out." He laid a hand on his stomach. "Do you think we'll be on this vessel for much longer?"

"I've no idea," Brendan said. "What made you volunteer for this, Pól? Momentary madness or needing to run from something?"

"I could ask you the same question," Pól said with a grin. "Restlessness, perhaps. It's been a while since I left home, and I'm tired of the speculation back at court."

"About our chances of success?"

Pól smiled wryly. "More like Yvette's chances of success."

"Ah."

"We need an heir that doesn't belong to another court." Pól dropped his gaze. "I apologise, I—"

Brendan clapped his hand on the man's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. You're just saying what everyone is thinking. But we've bigger concerns right now. There won't be any courts if we're not successful."

Pól straightened. "We're all agreed, my lord. We'll do whatever it takes to succeed."

"Thank you," Brendan said.

He left Pól and found Bran in a shaded corner of the deck, the man looking as though he were trying not to breathe too deeply. To Brendan's amusement, Bran's periwinkle colouring was slowly transforming to green.

They had been on the boat for almost two weeks, and they hadn't seen land in at least five days. It was hard to keep count sometimes. Nobody apart from his own men seemed concerned. He sat next to Bran who grimaced.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like death."

"You haven't thrown up in two days. That must mean you're getting used to all of this."

"I'm supposed to be your bodyguard," Bran said glumly. "I haven't done an awful lot of guarding."

"There's little to guard me from at the moment," Brendan said confidently. "Besides, when we land you'll likely have to do your fair share of fighting."

"We both know I'm just for show," Bran said. "You're more than capable of defending yourself. Cara was right. You should never have brought me here. I'm useless."

"Nonsense," the king said. "That woman is just protective of her favourites. You don't know how good it is to have a friendly face with me. There are few people I can trust, but I believe you're one of them."

"I'm no Arlen." Bran grinned, a glimpse of his old, light-hearted self peeking through the green tinge. "I can't imagine him throwing up."

Brendan smiled back. "You'd be surprised. Why did you decide to come, Bran? You know I would have left you behind if that was what you wanted."

Bran stared at his hands. They were cracked and dry from the constant spray of sea water in the air. "If we don't bring home the First Tree, everyone we care about will die. Cara would have come if you'd let her. Even Grim and little Realtín, too. It's just... the right thing to do."

"But don't you remember the days when fae never concerned themselves with the right thing to do?" Brendan asked.

"And look at how bad things got. You weren't there, Brendan. You don't understand what it was like when the Seelie and Unseelie Queens ruled. They were awful." Bran shrugged. "Times have changed. We're all better now."

"Why is that, I wonder?"

The young bodyguard met his gaze. "You know quite well why. A human came and changed us."

"Bent us to her will, more like," Brendan said.

Bran gave him a sly look. "Some of us were very willing victims, weren't we?"

"We must have been if we were so easy to change." Even miserable with sickness, Bran could hit the point. "At least you're no longer afraid to speak to me."

"I've seen the great and terrible king berated by a human," Bran said frankly. "You're not the cold-hearted man from the stories I grew up hearing."

"I hardly remember him myself," Brendan said, his hand moving to his chest as though to cradle the ache there. "But I remember enough to wonder why the gods gave me this second chance."

"You were a young king," Bran said loyally. "You were given that gift too soon, and you had a lot to learn. You've learned your lessons the hard way. From adversity grows greatness."

"I'm not a great man," Brendan said. "I thought I was, once, and by the time I realised the truth, I had slid too far to fix it all. And I tried. Nobody remembers that, but I did try. It was like scooping up water with a sieve and far too late besides."

"You're fixing it now." Bran gathered his knees to his chest. "You won't be remembered for your mistakes."

"I hope you're right." Brendan glanced at his friend. "But I don't think mistakes should be forgotten. May some other leader learn from my errors in judgement before he makes his own."

They sat there in companionable silence as the heat grew intolerable. They could have sought shelter below deck, but that place felt like a hole underground compared to everything else. Brendan didn't want to feel trapped anymore. The pair watched as some of the crew pulled in a small net of fish from the sea. The fish were puny, but they dashed their tails and flopped their bodies, desperate to live.

"If we don't find land soon, we'll be living solely on those things," Bran said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "I eat fish even in my dreams."

"At least we won't starve," Brendan said. "Dying of thirst might be unpleasant though."

"There's a storm coming," Bran said. "Can't you feel it? The heat will break, and rain will come, and we'll survive a while longer."

Brendan didn't say what they were likely both thinking: the storm might best the ship altogether.

The air grew heavy, clinging to their skins, and Bran's stomach turned again.

"Come on." Brendan helped him to his feet. "Let's go watch the sea."

They stumbled over to the rails where Bran looked even greener, but he didn't throw up. The waves lashed against the boat a little harder than usual, sending frothy spray right up to their faces.

"At least it's cool," Bran said.

"Oh, is he sick again?" Yvette's bracelets jangled as she joined them. "It's a shame."

"You've had no problems then," Bran muttered.

"Good breeding." She smiled across the water than frowned. "What in the heavens is that?"

They followed her gaze. There were dark spots in the water moving incredibly fast parallel to the boat.

"Something's out there," she exclaimed.

Brendan sensed the fear in her voice. "A fish, perhaps," he said reassuringly.

"So large?"

Something burst from the water and sailed in an arc before going under the surface again.

"Not something. Someone. Lots of them," Bran said, sounding amazed.

What had broken through the water had been a water fae, scaled and shining and naked.

"Why are they following us?" Yvette said anxiously. "What do they want?"

"Are you all right?" Brendan asked politely.

"What if Manannán sent them?" she said. "What if they're here to stop us from passing?"

"Why would a god send them to stop us?" Brendan asked, keeping a close eye on Yvette's reactions.

"Manannán didn't send them," Bran said. "Cara did." He waved at the water fae and cried out a greeting. A hand reached up from the water to wave back.

Brendan relaxed. "So she did."

Yvette turned on her heel. "I'm tired. I'm going to rest in my cabin."

She stalked off without another word.

"She seemed terrified," Bran said.

Brendan could only agree. "And these water fae won't approach us."

Their oceanic guardians never came close, merely swam close by for a few more hours, but then it was as though they had crossed some invisible line. The water fae hung back and watched their boat leave.

"I'm sorry to lose them." Bran looked up to the heavens and laughed as a great drop of water landed on his face. "It's raining!"

The rain was hot and heavy, quickly drenching the deck. Brendan's concern grew as the sky darkened.

"We should take cover," he said, but he lingered nonetheless.

He and Bran watched in awe as the first crack of lightning appeared to break the sky, quickly followed by the rumbling of thunder. The crew were terrified, muttering of omens and bad luck.

"If they're nervous, I'm petrified," Bran admitted.

"It's a little disconcerting," Brendan said in agreement. "Even the air smells different now. This is going to be a big storm."

A massive wave rose up and crashed against the boat so fiercely it almost sent both of them over the rails.

"We need to go below now." Bran escorted his king, positioning his body as though to shield Brendan.

They slowly moved across the deck as the ship tried to unbalance them time and time again. The rain dashed against them, making it hard to see. The sky frequently lit up with lightning, the storm growing closer by the second.

A loud crack sounded. "Watch out!" somebody shouted.

Bran shoved Brendan aside with great force. The king slid across the deck, safely out of the way as a mast broke and fell. Bran's swift action put himself in the way of the fall. He was struck squarely on the head and landed flat on the deck, witless. Brendan scrambled back to him. Bran lay there, his face so pale that the blood on his temple looked stark and terrifying.

"No, no, no." Brendan heaved the mast off Bran. "Someone help me!" he cried. He couldn't let the boy die. Not now, after everything they had been through. The boy had to see what was across the sea first.

Pól rushed over and helped Brendan lift the massive piece of wood while a second Green Court soldier dragged Bran free. Brendan dropped the mast and knelt by Bran, struggling to stay by his side as the boat rocked incessantly. The storm wasn't showing any sign of lessening.

"Get inside," he told his soldiers.

"Not without you," Pól said. "We came to find you. We need to stick together. Now more than ever."

"Bran, wake up!" Brendan slapped the boy's cheeks, but there was no response. He hefted Bran into his arms and carried him toward shelter, struggling to stay on his feet. His soldiers offered to take his load, but he was the one responsible. Bran had only been hurt trying to save his king.

The water and the wind combated against him, but he finally made it inside. He brought Bran to his own cabin. The rest of his soldiers gathered into the room, all of them concerned. Bran was well liked amongst them.

Brendan lay Bran on his own bed. The boy didn't stir, but he still breathed. One of Yvette's women came to help.

Yvette herself huddled in the doorway, her hair wet and stuck to her head.

"We'll make it through this," Brendan said to reassure her.

She nodded fervently and tried on a weak smile.

Brendan turned to Bran, but the boy still wasn't responding. Brendan's gut twisted at the thoughts of losing him for good.

Chapter Four

Drake

From an engraved silver throne, Drake gazed out at his court, at the narrowed eyes and whispering mouths, the changes in disposition and favour. The mood had changed in the castle, and he had never felt so alone. The fae had once concealed their contempt—sniggered behind their hands, perhaps—but lately, the ill feeling had simmered to the surface.

It was all so frustrating. He had closed the rift. Surely they all should be grateful. But Donella was slowly poisoning his court against him, and he was too scared to send her away. He lived in fear on a daily basis, a fear of the fae turning on him, of others taking his power from him.

Sorcha had done her best to hide her pregnancy from Donella, but the leanan sídhe had spies everywhere. Everyone knew by now, knew that time was running out to remove him from his throne. An heir would strengthen his position, turn some of his opposition back to his side. If Donella was smart, she would kill Sorcha before his wife gave birth, and that was why only the banshees were allowed to feed her in case of poisoning. He wouldn't sleep until the child was born.

A number of fae knelt before his throne, backs bent over in supplication as they tried to persuade him they weren't responsible for destroying a painting of himself and his wife. He hated that painting, despised the regal and haughty expression he held in it, but it stood for something. The fact his subjects dared to defile it was a worrying sign. Brendan's subjects would never have dared, and that burned more than the act itself.

Drake made a show of relaxing in his throne, keeping his expression as blank as possible while those before him babbled about their innocence. It didn't matter who did it; somebody would be made an example of. That was the only way, whether he liked it or not.

"Fine," he said at last, finally prepared to lose yet another piece of his soul. "If none of the suspects admit to the crime, we'll just have to kill all of their families to ensure the culprit is punished."

A murmur ran around the court. The hall was stark and cold, always cold. At nights, Drake warmed his hands over the fire in his room for a long time to push the chill out of his bones. He had never been less comfortable, and he could never show that kind of weakness. His court was made of ice, and it wouldn't do for him to act as though his heart was any warmer.

"Wait," an old man cried out. "I... I did it. It was me. Please spare the families."

Drake was sure the old man wasn't the culprit. He was just too old to maintain the cold exterior the rest of the court worked so hard on. But he didn't have the energy to investigate.

"And we have a winner," he said. "Hang the old man at noon tomorrow. Tie him to the gallows today so he can get a good view of his impending death." Drake stood. "Court dismissed."

He strode out of the hall with Dymphna, willing his hands to remain steady. An old man would die to save his family, and the fae would be cowed for a few moments longer. And every day, the stakes grew a little higher; as did the price he paid.

"He's old," Dymphna said loyally. "He is a willing sacrifice."

"But a sacrifice all the same." He glanced at her. She knew what he gave to his wife and her god, yet she never judged him harshly. Freeing her had earned him a lifetime of her loyalty.

"You need to get rid of the leanan sídhe," she warned under her breath when they were out of hearing distance of the crowd of fae who were still hanging around the doors of the Great Hall.

"And you know I can't. At least, not yet." He sighed. "I'm going to check on Sorcha."

"Is she still ill?"

"She says it's normal, but I... I don't know."

Dymphna flashed him a sympathetic glance. "I'm sure she'll be fine. I should congratulate you."

"For fathering another child?" he asked sharply then deflated. "I apologise. I haven't been in the best mood of late, I know."

"We should be celebrating," she said. "You did it. You sealed the rift and made headway on saving the realm. These people have no idea how lucky they are. They have the leader they need."

Or the one they deserved. Many of them were as cruel and insane as the queens they had once served. "As long as they look out the window and see evidence of the blight, it will mean nothing. Brendan will be the one who cleanses the land. He'll be the hero, yet again."

"If they wanted him to rule over them, they would be part of the Green Court," Dymphna said.

Except they thought of the Green king as weak, susceptible to the faults of humans. Drake, on the other hand, had set aside a human to be a leader. If only they knew...

Dymphna sent a questioning servant packing as they strode up the stairs together, instinctively seeing that he wasn't ready to deal with the court so soon after sentencing a man to death.

Drake trusted her. He had helped her out of a hopeless situation, been part of the process to reunite her with her daughter, and even helped repair her relationship with the other daoine sídhe after she left them for a human. His mad grandfather had murdered her beloved husband, and yet Dymphna was the only person in court completely on his side. Apart from Sorcha, he conceded. No matter what he had thought of the banshee when they married, she had been by his side through everything. She had shown she was made of more than her heritage. Just like him.

He hesitated at a narrow window to look at the sea. It crashed against the rocks as though trying to destroy them in a rage. He had never seen the water calm or gentle, and now the foam was tinged with black, a sign the blight had reached the water. How could anyone sail across the sea and survive?

"If Brendan doesn't return, there will be an awkward period," he said.

"Scarlet is still his heir. She'll technically inherit the Green Court."

"My illegitimate daughter will have more power than I do." Drake shook his head. "Fate does like to twist and bend what we think will come next."

"Better Scarlet than someone like Sadler or Donella," Dymphna said. "Cara is too sentimental to allow Scarlet to be your enemy. Donella would encourage it."

"Don't make too big an enemy of her," Drake warned.

"Anyone who aligns themselves to you is Donella's enemy," Dymphna said. "Surely you've noticed the whispers."

That he had. Donella had refused to attend court since he humiliated her. She was likely spending every waking moment turning his court against him, one fae at a time, and there was little he could do about it. He had too few allies, too little control over the power of the court. He hadn't learned to wield his magic to harm others and control it at the same time. He was effectively powerless, maintaining an image as a cold, cruel ruler to quiet the rumours.

"Perhaps if you rewarded the loyal subjects rather than punishing the rest..."

Drake bit his lip. "I must be seen to be consistent."

"Then perhaps it's time to make use of your close connections to other courts," she said meaningfully.

"I'm not using Scarlet and Cara," he said firmly. "Not for this."

"Donella's supporters wouldn't dare overthrow you. Not if they were sure the Chaos court wouldn't respond in kind. Your daughter is related to Donella. If even her own family aren't on her side, then it would speak volumes to the people here."

"It's too risky. Donella may be related to Cara, but I haven't even claimed Scarlet as my own."

She glanced at him. "Maybe it's time you did."

"I can't risk her. You know that better than anyone."

Dymphna was the only one he confided in about Scarlet. She herself knew what it was to decide between love and strength. Not even Cara understood the extent of his regret and pain over his lack of a relationship with his firstborn. He had never desired a child, and he had watched his mother die because she wanted to keep him. "If my enemies targeted her to punish me, I wouldn't be able to live with myself."

"One day, she's going to wonder why. Even if Cara didn't tell her the truth about her father, someone in the realm would. She'll come to you someday and ask you to explain yourself."

"Perhaps by then, the realm will have changed." Telling his firstborn why he had never been a father to her was something he had nightmares about. He could only attempt to protect her from afar and hope that her mother loved her enough to make him obsolete.

They finally reached Sorcha's doors. Drake swallowed hard. Somebody had drawn a red X on the door.

Dymphna ran her finger through the substance then sniffed it. "Blood."

"Set some of the daoine sídhe to guard Sorcha at all times," he said gruffly.

"I can take care of that myself if you wish."

"No." He shook his head. "I need you with me."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to quash whatever this is as soon as possible." His hands curled into fists. "They dare. They actually dare." He punched the wall and swore loudly. After everything he had worked for, everything he had sacrificed, he was about to lose it all because he had scorned a woman who was more powerful than he dared suspect. He had to deal with her. Somehow, he had to get rid of her without being dragged down by the consequences.

"Drake." Dymphna's voice brought him back to earth, tethering him to his body. "This might not mean anything."

"And if it does?"

"Then we'll face it together. I came here to help, and I will." She glanced at the blood and sighed. "I'll organise a permanent guard right away." She left him abruptly, and for an instant, he felt completely alone—and more importantly, vulnerable.

How dare they take so much from him? His home, his security, and curse the gods, even his soul. The highs weren't worth the lows. He seethed, sick of second-guessing himself, of being "managed" by the women in his life. He was the king. He deserved respect. Consumed with the thoughts in his head, the ones that lovingly whispered to him that death was the answer, he fought a war with himself in the hallway before storming into his wife's bedchamber.

"Why is it so dark in here?" he demanded of a banshee standing in the corner. "Why is there no life?"

He strode to Sorcha's bed. She was watching him with wide eyes. She looked worse than ever. The thread holding his sanity together tautened, close to snapping.

"Get my wife fresh water," he commanded. "And fruit. Lots of fresh fruit. Force her to eat if she refuses."

"Drake," she said softly.

"No." He pointed at her, pretending to himself that his hand wasn't trembling. "No. You can't carry a child if you're as weak as a babe yourself."

"Calm yourself," she whispered. "Eyes are always watching." She took his other hand and uncurled the fist. His fingernails had pricked the skin, leaving bloody crescents behind. "Oh, Drake."

He moved to the window and yanked the curtains open. "Let there be light," he said shakily.

The light cut through the darkness in the room, and he wished he hadn't done it because now he saw clearly the true extent of Sorcha's condition. She looked as though she were dying, and as often as she reassured him, nothing could persuade him that it was normal.

Death terrified him. Since the day he witnessed his mother take her last breath, the thought of getting close to someone crippled him because he imagined their deaths. As soon as he felt himself falling for Cara, the nightmares had started and never stopped. Death by drowning, an arrow through the heart, a slit throat, pushed out of an ivory tower, poison. That one had only been the last to almost come true. He had taken the poison himself instead. But Cara hadn't been the one by his side, nursing him back to health. He had almost died for her, and she had sought comfort elsewhere.

And as distant as he forced himself to remain from Scarlet, he often dreamt of her being suffocated in her cot. There was no way around it. Love and affection weakened him. He had to do better, gain power, and become more like the king his court really needed.

"Did something happen?" Sorcha asked.

He shook his head. "I ordered an innocent man to death, and then there was... It doesn't matter now."

"It is I who need death," she said softly. "You only order men to death to sustain me, to feed me, to give me strength. This is my death, not yours."

He looked at Sorcha, his sin-eater, and wondered how he would exist without her to take responsibility for his burdens and guilt.

He faced the window to avoid looking at how haggard the banshee had grown. But something grabbed his attention, someone approaching the castle. A large, bulky faery horse. Dubh. Did that mean...?

His heart jumped in his chest. Had Cara come to him? Right when he needed her? But no. He deflated. The queen of the Chaos Court would hardly be riding alone into strange territory. It was a messenger. Important, no doubt, if they arrived on Dubh.

"I must go," he said. "Stay well."

He left the room and met Dymphna in the hallway. Two tall, muscular daoine sídhe were now stationed outside his wife's room. One less thing to worry about.

"Dubh is on his way," he told Dymphna. "Let's take a look at my room before going to see what the message is."

"Do you think it's trouble?" Dymphna asked worriedly.

"Likely so. Why else would she send Dubh?"

They strode quickly down the hallway to the quarters he now lived in. He and Sorcha had slowly moved closer together, a literal sign of their relationship transforming into a shaky friendship.

"I'm worried about Sorcha," he admitted as they walked. "She doesn't look well."

"When I was pregnant with Eithne, I spent three months throwing up everything that passed my lips," she said. "And remember how Cara would weaken and faint?"

He nodded, but Cara had been capable of riding a horse at the time. Sorcha couldn't lift up her head without help.

They reached his room and stared at the red X on his door, too.

"Bastards," he murmured.

He caught hold of a passing servant. She shivered in his grip, her eyes darting in every direction but the door.

"Clean this mess up," he commanded. "And let it be known that someone will lose their hands for this."

Subdued, she nodded and ran when Drake let go of her arm.

"Come on," he said with a heavy sigh. "Let's go see what went wrong this time."

News had apparently travelled fast. Whispers followed the pair wherever they walked, and Drake couldn't be sure if it was the messenger, the bloody X's, or the pregnancy rumours that had his court in such a tizzy.

A group of fae, servants and nobles alike, had gathered outside. Drake and Dymphna bypassed the crowd. He ignored the fawning and the cold stares alike to stand apart. More of the daoine sídhe blocked him from the crowd as if by magic. It was slowly occurring to him that he took charge of very little in his own court. The commands were known and accepted, and he never had to say a word. Initially, he had thought it a sign of his power, but now he wondered if he were being managed instead. Perhaps that was how he had ended up with bloody warnings on his bedroom door.

Dubh finally came to a stop before them, the black faery horse's muscular body sweating from the vigorous run.

A short, squat, wrinkled old woman with blue eyes hopped off the horse's back and heaved a weary sigh. "These journeys are so uncomfortable," the Miacha said, one of many near-identical healer sisters.

"What's happened?" Dymphna asked.

"Does Cara need help?" Drake said.

Blue Eyes blinked a couple of times in confusion. "Well, no. She's in good health."

"Then why are you here?"

The Miacha looked surprised. "Was she wrong?"

"Who?" Drake asked through gritted teeth. Why wouldn't the woman just spit out why she had arrived?

"Cara sent me." The Miacha began to unload her bags from Dubh who stamped his feet crossly.

"Somebody take care of the horse," Drake commanded. "Carefully. He bites."

A groom approached warily, but Dubh behaved as he was led away. When they were out of sight, the groom screamed with pain. Some things never changed.

Drake tried again with the old woman. "Why did Cara send you?"

The Miacha's eyes narrowed as she focused on him. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze before repeating his question.

Blue Eyes scratched her chin. "Why, for the baby, of course! There is a baby, isn't there?"

His stomach bottomed out. Cara knew. Drake glared at Dymphna. "Did you tell her? Did you actually go behind my back and send word to Cara about Sorcha? Damnit, Dymphna. I wanted to tell her myself."

"Me? Of course I didn't. I wouldn't do that. Maybe rumours spread to her from the court. You know the fae here are wondering about Sorcha's illness."

"Oh, I doubt anybody told her," Blue Eyes said. "Cara knew Sorcha was sick, and she sent Dubh to us with a message saying that she suspected Sorcha was with child, and if so, she needed the best of care."

Drake couldn't have been more astonished if she had spat in his eyes. "You're telling me that Cara somehow guessed my wife is with child and sent you here to help?"

"Exactly," Blue Eyes said brightly. "Don't worry. I'm good with children. I helped Cara give birth, after all. We decided I was the best candidate. I have herbs and potions with me, probably too many, but you can never be too careful. Now I've never been a midwife to a banshee before," she prattled, patting his arm. "But I'm confident that this will be like any other delivery."

"She's... she's not ready to deliver yet."

"Good," Blue Eyes said. "It'll give me more time to settle in and help her."

"You don't understand," Drake said. "She's very sick."

"Oh, never mind that. Men always think pregnancy is an illness."

"In this case," Dymphna said, "I think he's right. She does seem to be quite unwell."

For the first time, the Miacha faltered. "Well, then." She raised herself up to her full height. "It's a good thing I'm here, isn't it?" She frowned at the astonished Silver King. "Now, now. Hurry up. Show me the queen. We need to get started."

And the king swallowed hard, pushing the bubbling emotions back in their places. Cara hadn't come, but she had sent something even better in her place.

Chapter Five

Brendan

Bran's eyes fluttered open two days later.

"Well, it's about time," Brendan said lightly, gesturing to one of the soldiers at the door to go fetch fresh water. He had been truly concerned, but he didn't want Bran to worry unnecessarily.

Bran tried to sit up, blanched, and then fell back against the pillow. He attempted to speak, but couldn't, so Brendan bade him to be silent. When the soldier returned, Brendan made Bran drink some honey and water. Bran spluttered his way through the first sip then drank deeply until Brendan took the fluids away.

"I'll bring you some clear soup soon," Brendan said to fill the silence.

Bran rested his head on the pillow, looking exhausted. "Where am I?" he asked after a few minutes.

"My cabin."

"Your bed?" Bran's eyes widened, and he tried to get up.

"Don't be foolish," Brendan said. "You saved my life, Bran. The least I can do is let you sleep in a better cabin."

"I don't remember what happened," Bran admitted.

The king joined his hands, twining his fingers as if holding his strength together. "There was a terrible storm. I thought we would be lost at sea. A mast cracked and fell. You were hit in the head pushing me out of the way. Enough of the heroics, Bran. You've been in here for two days. On the plus side, you haven't thrown up."

"I'm feeling better," Bran said. "Any sign of... anything?"

"Not yet. Soon though. I'm sure it'll be soon."

He hoped. He was tired of the boat, of the motion, of the taste of salt on his lips. Exhausted by Yvette's constant hints. It wasn't right to marry yet, not on such a journey. Not when... He knew he was making excuses. He knew it, but he didn't care. He had goodbyes to say before he finally agreed to Yvette's requests.

His kingdom expected a sacrifice, desperately needed one to feel safe, and he was the only person who could give it them. It was his duty. But that didn't mean he couldn't hold off for as long as possible. It didn't mean he couldn't find a sliver of joy first. His shoulders slumped. Cara would hate him if he married, even if she didn't mean to. She couldn't be friends with Yvette, and he would be as miserable as Drake. When had he become so morose?

The soldier at the door cleared her throat. "Shall I fetch him the broth? Saves you..."

She didn't have to finish the sentence. Even his soldiers sensed his willingness to avoid Yvette.

"Please," he said.

When she returned, he took the bowl and allowed the younger fae a few mouthfuls. "We don't want to overdo it."

Bran yawned loudly, his periwinkle veins fading slightly. Unlike some fae, Bran freely displayed his wings. They stretched out beneath him like a halo. As a child, Brendan had wished to know what it was like to have wings. After a number of months in Drake's body, he could safely say he never wanted to go back.

"Get some rest."

"I've been asleep for two days."

"That was healing. Now it's time for resting. Listen to your king, boy."

Bran obediently closed his eyes. Soon, his breathing slowed.

Brendan left him to go to the upper deck for some air. He stalked the deck, growing more restless by the second. He needed a release. He needed to hunt, to kill, to do something.

"You look stressed," Yvette said from over his shoulder. "Is Bran still unwell?"

Brendan stifled a groan. He realised there was a limited amount of space on the boat, but the woman showed up everywhere he turned.

"He's improving." He forced himself to smile when he turned to face her. She was perfectly pleasant, beautiful to look at, and rarely argumentative, so what was his problem?

"I know how you feel," she said, making him flinch. "I'm restless, too."

He laughed. "I admit, I could do with a decent hunt on a good horse. I miss steady land, and the Great Forest, and... so many other things."

"We'll find land soon. From the stories, the daoine sídhe who fled were in a smaller boat than this. They couldn't have made it much farther."

He gazed out at the sea. Unless the storm had blown them far away from land. He fought off that thought. The last thing his soldiers needed was his pessimism to bring them down.

"Well." Yvette gently touched his chin to make him look at her. The heat in her eyes likely matched his own. "There's plenty of entertainment for you here, too. Just follow me to my room and see."

He watched her leave. He was tempted. It was a couple of years of stress that he needed to work off. He ran his hands across his face. If he had any sense, he would follow Yvette and play nice. If he had any sense, he would never have had a human in his company long enough to—

A shout from the crow's nest drew his attention upward.

"Land ahoy!" the sailor cried out joyfully.

Brendan's legs weakened. They had made it. Finally, they had crossed the treacherous sea.

***

It took another two days to reach land. Brendan, accompanied by Bran and the four volunteers, gathered at the stern and watched as the island grew before them.

One of the soldiers, a petite female named Alyss was trembling. "I never thought I'd see it," she said. "My grandfather died wishing he could cross the sea, and now I've done it."

"Do you think we'll find what we're looking for?" Bran asked.

"We must hope," Brendan said. "Are you up for an adventure, Bran?"

"Always," Bran said resolutely.

As they neared the shore, he turned and called out to Yvette. "I'll go first, taking three of my people with me. I think the rest of you should stay in the boat while we investigate."

"If you think that's best," Yvette said.

That surprised him. She had been so focused on getting across the sea that she had bribed him with the boat, and now she was satisfied with remaining behind. It made little sense.

"Bran, Pól, Alyss... with me. Take as few supplies as we can manage. We want to travel light." The trio ran to prepare. "Be ready for anything," Brendan murmured to the two soldiers left behind. "Stay constantly alert." He hesitated. "Trust no one."

The pair nodded faithfully.

When the others returned, Brendan said, "We have no idea what's out there, but it was enough to drive the daoine sídhe away, and they're our giants. We all need to be careful."

Yvette called for the ship to be anchored at an excessively long distance from the island.

"Here?" Brendan said in surprise.

"Oh, maybe I just want to see you work your way across," Yvette said. "We don't want to get too close to the island. It could be rocky under the surface of the water. The last thing we need is for the ship to sink."

Brendan and his soldiers hefted their supplies onto their backs and waited while the ship was anchored. Yvette stood by Brendan's side as her crew released a small rowing boat that had been strapped to the side of the ship.

"That's what came to mind when you told me you had a boat," Brendan said to fill the silence between them.

She rested her hand on her hip. "That little thing. I don't do things by halves."

He rolled his shoulders as a cold feeling crept up his spine. Everything sounded ominous to him of late. He had to blame the lack of dry land. He touched the sword of victory before leading his soldiers onto the rowing boat.

He and Pól took the oars. The group moved quickly through meek waves.

"It looks beautiful here," Alyss said, dipping her hand into the lapping waves. "Nothing like the sea at home."

Brendan didn't disagree. The sea was aquamarine, the beach full of soft golden sand. Beyond that was a vibrant forest in every hue of green. At least they would have cover.

They came to shore and left the rowing boat wedged in the sand.

"It's so good to be on land again," Brendan said with a grin as he stretched his long arms. "And now for our next adventure, we should—"

A strange sound echoed right before a massive boulder hit the sand next to their rowing boat.

Stunned, the soldiers gaped at the oversized projectile until Brendan gathered his wits and commanded them all to run for the trees. A second boulder landed, this time in the water.

"The ship!" Bran cried. "They're trying to destroy the ship!"

"If they succeed, we'll never get home." Brendan knew how vital it was that they returned. "Go!" he shouted at the ship. All four of them waved and gestured for the ship to move. The anchor had already been raised, Brendan realised. The ship moved out of reach of the third boulder just in time. A howl of rage sounded in the distance.

Another boulder crashed against the rowing boat, effectively destroying it. Brendan looked away, unable to watch.

The group hid amongst the trees in silence lest there was an army hidden in the midst of the forest. No more boulders were flung, but the ship was already out of sight.

"There goes our way home," Alyss said mournfully.

"Good thing the ship was so far from shore," Pól said.

"Good thing?" Alyss's voice trembled. "We're stuck here."

"We're not stuck," Brendan said firmly. "They won't abandon us." He hoped. "There won't be anything to go home to if we don't succeed. We must find the First Tree, and we must bring it home, even if we have to build our own bloody boat, or everyone we know and care about is lost." He gazed out at the boulders. "And I don't want to stay here a moment longer than we have to."

"We not even sure what the First Tree looks like," she protested.

"We've all seen the images from Yvette's book," Brendan said. "We cannot fail now, no matter what kind of monsters we encounter here."

The ground shuddered. Brendan felt it under his feet.

"What was that?" Bran hissed.

The vibrations increased, accompanied by other unrecognisable sounds.

"Whatever it is, it's coming this way," Alyss said.

"It almost sounds like trees being uprooted," Pól said, barely containing his horror.

"This way," came an unfamiliar voice from above. "Quickly, before you're seen."

Brendan looked up. It took him a second, but he found a figure hunched on a branch, every inch of their skin painted with mud. The stranger leapt in front of them, tall, but feminine. She beckoned them to follow, then took off in a sprint.

Brendan looked at his doubtful soldiers, then shrugged his acceptance.

"Come on," he commanded. "I'd rather take my chances with this one over whatever's behind us."

They raced after the camouflaged woman, struggling to keep up. A number of times, Brendan lost sight of the person leading them—his gaze skating over the green and brown amongst the foliage—but she would reappear if they fell behind.

The shuddering underfoot soon lessened, and Brendan wondered what had caused it. But he felt alive, running through that strange forest on solid ground.

They finally left the safety of the trees and quickly crossed an overgrown meadow. The grass was waist-high, even for Brendan, who was well over six foot tall. Alyss, barely over five foot, struggled until Brendan jokingly offered to carry her on his shoulders. She determinedly pushed through the grass after that, gaining on the men.

The group ran down a slanted patch of land, and then their leader vanished, disappearing right in front of their eyes. The four of them came to a stop, panting.

"Where did he go?" Pól said.

"She." The woman popped up from what must have been a secret hole in the ground. She grinned, and her teeth flashed white. "Follow me."

"To where?" Bran asked.

"The mounds," she said as though he were foolish. "We're going underground to see my people." She shook her head as she gazed at them. "It's been a long time since we saw anyone like you all. I saw your ship. That surely means only one thing." She disappeared again.

"Wait!" Brendan cried, too late. Had she been expecting them?

His soldiers investigated the secret entrance. "There's a long tunnel here!"

Bran looked at Brendan. "What are you thinking?"

"We don't have a choice. Whoever lives here will know more about the boulders and the First Tree. Maybe they'll give us a map of the island. We've lost the ship for now, but we still need to continue with our mission."

They all agreed. Brendan made to enter the tunnel first, but Bran got in the way. "I'll go first," the boy said so firmly that Brendan didn't have the heart to stop him.

Bran jumped down, followed by Brendan once the boy shouted up that he was okay. The tunnel was part of the earth. Brendan imagined forgotten fae digging into the dirt to escape... what, exactly?

For a time, the tunnel was so dark that they were forced to use their hands to feel their way. The earthen walls were moist at first, but the farther they travelled, the drier the dirt became. It smelled old and dead, but it was still healthier than the soil back home.

As the tunnel widened, flickering torches appeared, giving them some light. The tunnel itself was long and winding; they passed by a number of sections that had apparently collapsed.

"Not feeling so safe right now," Bran said shakily.

"Come on!" a shadowy figure shouted from ahead, her voice echoing. The tunnel veered right then split. The strange woman waved her hand then ducked into the left fork.

Instinctively, they all increased their speed. They ran through the tunnel, past the fork, and took another couple of turns before they were finally able to stop. What they saw made them all gasp.

Underground, in the... mound was a village of sorts.

"What is this place?" Bran asked, looking about him in wonder.

Pillars—both stone and wooden—and planks of wood kept the earth above their heads from falling in. The curved walls were plainly carved out of stone.

"It was a quarry once," the woman said, hopping from one foot to the other. She was absolutely filthy. Her hair had been braided back and covered with mud. Even her fingernails were completely darkened by dirt. "I'll take you to the elder. You can tell her everything. Hurry!"

As they walked between huts, people peeped outside to stare at them. The place wasn't lit by torches, likely because of all the wood, but rather, little glass jars full of fireflies were hung in every possible location—over doorways, from planks of wood, even their path was marked with jars.

"This is so strange," Bran whispered under his breath, awe glittering in his eyes. "It's like a dream."

They slowly followed after the girl until they reached the largest home at the far end of the little community. The girl was beside herself with excitement. She urged them inside the home made of stone. Inside was one large but stuffy living space with a makeshift fireplace, and a fire. Smoke moved through pipes upward, likely outside.

Despite all of the wood outside, there was none in the home. A pile of mattresses made up a bed against one wall. There were no chairs or tables. Every possession was laid out on the floor.

An old woman sat on a rug before the fire, grinding herbs in a stone bowl. The back of her bald head was covered in tattooed marks that Brendan couldn't begin to decipher. She looked up, entirely unsurprised by their presence.

"Finally." She set down the bowl and stood. She was almost as tall as Brendan. "They sent you."

Brendan frowned, too confused to reply.

The woman continued. "You're here to defeat the Fir Bolg for good, aren't you?"

"Fir Bolg?" He shook his head. "No, we're here for the First Tree."

The woman glanced at the girl who had led them there. "Eira, these are the people from the ship?"

"Yes," Eira said. "The ship left because the giants flung rocks. These are the only ones who came ashore."

"And they're so small." The old woman sounded disappointed. "Too small to be our kin." Her eyes lingered on Brendan. "But I was so sure."

"Dafina, is it really true?" Eira asked in dismay. "Are these not the ones?"

"Who were you expecting?" Bran asked.

The old woman, Dafina, sat and picked up her bowl again. "Many generations ago, some of our ancestors left to find aid. The rest of us were driven underground."

"By these Fir Bolg?" Brendan asked.

She blinked in surprise. "Where are you from that you know not of the Fir Bolg?"

"Across the sea," he said. "Where are we? There's a blight in our land. We heard of a tree that might help us cleanse the earth."

"They're talking about our trees," Eira said. "They are, aren't they?"

"Perhaps," Dafina replied.

Brendan looked at the elder woman. "Your trees?"

"The Crann Bheatha," Eira said dreamily.

"The Tree of Life." The old woman pressed her lips together so tightly that they disappeared completely. "Perhaps you should tell us your story."

"Only if you'll tell us yours," Brendan said quickly.

She allowed him a smile.

"Are you daoine sídhe?" Bran asked.

Dafina exchanged a surprised glance with Eira. "You know of us?"

"Daoine sídhe fled to our land a long time ago, running from beings they described as giants. Nobody's crossed the sea between our lands since," Brendan said. "Where are we?"

"This is Banba. You don't look Formorian, so you're not from Ériu. That's the closest land to us."

"They must be from Inis Fáil," the girl said enthusiastically. "It's real, Dafina!"

"It was once known by that name," Brendan said, "until the land was divided by Brighid."

"Brighid escaped the mad god?" The old woman brightened. "Then it's not too late."

Escaped?

"Who are you waiting for exactly?" Brendan asked.

"Our history is long and tragic," she said. "The Fir Bolg were the last to come to destroy us. We couldn't defeat the giants, and most of our gods had already retreated to the Otherworld. We followed the gods known as Tuatha de Danann, and you must, too, if you know of Brighid, for she is our Danu's granddaughter. We tend the trees you seek with the uisce bheatha, the water of life, and we worship the crows who protect our fate."

That caught Brendan's attention. "Crows? Why?"

"The crows are a sign that we are not truly lost. As long as they remain, we know that one day, Badb will return to defeat the Fir Bolg for good."

"Badb?" A shiver ran down Brendan's spine. "The warrior queen? That's who you are waiting for?"

"Yes. When she reaches her true potential, she will be known as the Morrigan, and when she has been resurrected three times, she will be accepted into Mag Mell as her reward."

"What's Mag Mell?" Alyss asked.

Eira pursed her lips. "They know so little."

"Mag Mell is the Delightful Plain," Dafina explained. "It's the true afterlife for those deserving, where heroes and gods alike roam in splendour and contentment."

Brendan felt ill. The Darksiders called Cara Badb. And if two different lands had stories of her...

Bran opened his mouth, his eyes bright with excitement. Brendan nudged him and gave a brief shake of his head. Nobody could connect Cara to these people's problems.

"You say there is a blight on your land," the old woman said, her eyes narrowing. "What caused it?"

"We're not completely sure," Brendan admitted. "We thought it was from a rift in the Fade, but there's evidence that a god came into play, that perhaps this happened before, and our people allowed themselves to forget."

"Ériu had a blight," Eira said. She had knelt by the old woman to help her grind her herbs. The people who had watched them from their huts had all been dirty, but the old woman was spotless.

"It did," Dafina said. "But the Formorians who caused it were banished. Perhaps they found a way to your land. When Brighid didn't return from her final great journey, we thought her lost."

Brendan's stomach twisted. These people seemed to be closer to the gods than his own had ever been. What journeys had Brighid gone on?

"In our land, the daoine sídhe are champions," Bran said. "We're kind of surprised that anything could defeat your people."

"We are strong, yes, warriors, yes, but long wars dwindled our numbers, and the giants are no easy foe. It will take great magic and sacrifice to defeat those creatures. They are only concerned with destruction." She gazed at Brendan. "You have noble blood. You could be one of our own."

"My mother's line shares daoine sídhe blood," Brendan said.

"He's a king," Bran said proudly.

"But not the king," Brendan added with a smile.

"You have the look of a god about you," the old woman said wistfully. "For an instant, I thought you were a child of Danu reborn. The gods will one day return. I hope I am alive to see it." She bit her lip. "But perhaps my true journey lies elsewhere. You seek the trees?"

"Yes, we need them to cleanse the blight from the land. It's unusable until we do," Brendan explained. "The blight has destroyed our land, and children afflicted with this taint turn into deformed things."

Eira spat on the floor. "Formorians."

The elder woman patted her arm. "Not necessarily." She nodded at Brendan. "We will give you some of the trees, enable you to take them with you should your ship return."

"You would let them take the trees?" the young girl said, aghast.

"If they can reach them, they deserve to take them. Perhaps this is part of the true path, my dear."

"We don't want to take all of your trees," Brendan said. "Just enough to heal our land."

"I will agree to this as long as you permit me to go with the trees. I will tend to them in your land as I have in mine."

"You want to come with us?" Brendan glanced at the others. "Our land is dying. We might be too late, even if the ship returns for us."

"I'm willing to take that chance. I wish to find out what became of our ancestors. Our histories need to be reconnected. So much has obviously been lost over the years. We have books, old stories, lore, predictions. I can take many useful items with me."

"We do need information," Bran said. "Especially after Yvette's library turned out to be a complete bust."

"Where are the trees?" Brendan asked.

"Too far for you to find alone," the old woman said. "And you'll need our help distracting the giants." She waved a hand. "But you've come a long way. You'll want to eat and rest. In the morning, you can tell us your decision."

Thanking the old woman, Brendan followed the young girl out if the hut.

"You'll have to split up," Eira said.

"We'd rather stay together," Brendan said.

She tutted. "There's no room big enough."

"Then we'll sleep outside or above ground," Brendan said.

"I'll figure something out," she said grumpily.

"I'm sorry we're not who you were expecting," Brendan added, sensing the source of her disgruntlement.

She shrugged. "I suppose it's not your fault."

She led them in the direction of a delicious scent. A man was standing on top of one of the huts, using a cooking apparatus that was partly through the ground.

"Food for another four," she called out. "We have visitors."

He looked down at them all. "Are they...?"

"No. They're not. But they're staying here tonight. Where shall I put them? They refuse to split up."

"They can have my place," he said. "It'll be a tight squeeze, but they're small."

Brendan bristled. He was at least as tall as the man on the hut.

"Thank you," she said. "Follow me," she added gruffly to Brendan and his men.

They followed her to a stone hut. "It's so strange, being part of the earth like this," Bran said, touching the wall.

The girl looked surprised. "You don't live like this."

"People generally live above ground where we're from," Brendan said.

"We live in a castle," Bran boasted.

The girl's eyes lit up. "A real castle? I thought they were just in stories. You must tell me about it. I'll get your food. Wait... wait there."

She ran off.

"She seems hyper," Bran said.

"She's young," Alyss said. "Poor thing was probably born underground."

"Are you really thinking of taking that woman with us?" Pól said doubtfully. "We can't trust them."

"We can't trust anyone but ourselves," Brendan said. "But sometimes, we have to have a little faith. We don't know this land, and that woman had a lot of information."

"They worship crows," Pól said with a snort. "They're either crazy or foolish." He glanced around the small room. "I'd say both if they choose to live like this."

"They don't choose it," Brendan said. "You saw those boulders like the rest of us. Whatever threw them was powerful, more powerful than us. And we're desperate for those trees. If it takes a new travelling companion, then that's a tiny price to pay."

"What if it's not the right tree?" Alyss asked.

"They know about blights," Brendan said. "They knew exactly what we meant by a tree that could cleanse the earth."

"The Darkside is full of crows," Bran said slowly. "Do you think—?"

"No," Brendan said firmly. "These people have stories, that's all. It's fancy and legend, nothing at all to do with anyone back home."

"What if the ship doesn't come back?" Bran asked.

Brendan made an effort to look relaxed. "Then we'll build our own ship."

Bran laughed. "I have no ship building skills, I'm afraid."

"These people sent their ancestors off in a boat. If they're so knowledgeable, then I'm sure they still have some shipwright skills."

"You never give up," Pól said in awe. "Sometimes I feel as though you can do anything."

Brendan unsheathed his sword and held it up. It gleamed green. "This was a gift from the Chaos Queen. It's one of the legendary treasures."

"The sword of victory," Alyss whispered.

"Exactly," Brendan said. "Whoever wields the sword of victory can never fail. We have this on our side. We've already beaten the odds just by arriving here. We've made peace with the indigenous race who are willing to give us the trees."

Pól looked terrified. "But—"

Brendan made sure his smile was full of confidence. "I escaped from the Fade twice. We're in possession of legendary treasures. We were meant to succeed."

And as he gazed back at those trusting faces, he prayed he wasn't leading them to their deaths. He gripped the sword a little tighter. They needed a big victory if they were to save everyone back home.

Chapter Six

Drake

A sharp rap at his bedroom door disturbed Drake from his breakfast. He wiped his mouth, dropped the napkin on the plate, then answered the door. A servant he had noticed being enthralled by Donella's stories on more than one occasion stood at the door, his red-rimmed eyes insolent and sullen.

His slouched stance immediately sent Drake on edge. "Did you want something?" he barked.

"You're wanted by that healer." The servant sniffed. "It's important."

"Get back to work," Drake snapped, slamming the door shut. He had only spoken to the Miacha earlier that morning. If Blue Eyes wanted to see him again already, it had to mean bad news.

He strapped a sword to his waist and hid daggers in a number of places. The casual clothing styles worn in the other courts were more comfortable, but the pretentious, formal modes of dress his court preferred made it easier for him to conceal his weapons. His hand hovered over a dagger; easier for an assassin, too.

Fully armed, he left his room to visit his wife's quarters in the next hallway.

He nodded at his male bodyguard, a large daoine sídhe whom Dymphna enthusiastically vouched for. Dymphna herself had vowed to spend as long as it took looking for the culprit. Painting a bloody X on the bedroom door of one's sovereign wasn't a pledge of loyalty. Drake sighed as he realised he would have to put yet another subject to death. Perhaps the sacrifice would give Sorcha some vitality. He could have sworn her eyes looked brighter after the old man was hanged two weeks previously.

The halls were conspicuously empty. The absence of staff made Drake nervous. He changed his mind, instead intending to make one other stop before he reached Sorcha's quarters. He hesitated outside Donella's room. The smart choice would be to bed her and convince her of his loyalty to her. The smart choice would be to allow her to remove Sorcha so she could step into the queen's throne, and he would keep his own.

He had never been smart.

He didn't knock. He violently pushed open the door. Donella, sitting at a dressing table in just a corset, turned to look at him. Her hands were stained as she smeared crimson liquid from a jug onto her skin.

Shocked, he almost took a step back. "Is that blood?"

She gestured toward the jug. "Is Sorcha in need of a skincare treatment?"

"Sorcha doesn't need anything you're selling."

She let out a scoffing laugh and turned back to her mirror. "That's not what I hear."

"Maybe stop listening to gossip and start considering your precarious position in his court," he said coldly. "If there's one more incident, you're gone, Donella. I won't tolerate anything else from you."

"You'd banish me?" Her voice was mocking. "Whatever would my friends do?" She turned in her seat and sucked her thumb clean. "I suppose they could always come with me."

"Last chance," he spat before leaving and slamming the door behind him. Dealing with Donella left his skin crawling on a regular basis. And his daughter was descended from her line. That was about as worrying as Scarlet being descended from his own demented father.

He strode angrily toward his wife's quarters, wishing he had never stopped by Donella's room at all. Blue Eyes was waiting for him outside Sorcha's room, politely chatting to the broad daoine sídhe guarding the door until she noticed the king approach.

She took him aside. "We must speak," she whispered urgently. "Time is of the essence."

"What is it? Is she ailing still?"

Blue Eyes gazed up at him as if judging him. "I've already spoken to her about this, but I feel compelled to speak to you, too."

"Well? What is it?" His anxiety burned in his throat like bile. What was going on?

"This pregnancy is not safe for Sorcha," the woman said. "This castle isn't safe either, for that matter. There's no fire in her room, and the food that arrives for her is unappetising at best. She needs better care than this, Drake."

"I understand." He bit down on his fury.

"You should send her to one of the other courts," she began.

"No," he snapped. "I can take care of my own wife. I'll do something about the servants."

She hesitated. "Even that may not be enough. Her body is rejecting this pregnancy."

"The baby?"

"The baby is surviving, but that's the problem. It's time to consider ending this pregnancy."

His fingers curled into fists. "End it? Did she suggest this?" He knew that sacrificing royal blood gave great power, but he didn't think she would stoop so low as to destroy her own child for it.

"No. In fact, she's refusing to end the pregnancy. Even if she survives, she will be weakened for a long time. She may never recover. I'm asking you to persuade her to stop this before it's too late. I'm very concerned."

"But what's the problem?" Cara hadn't had problems with Scarlet, and she was human. Surely a fae, a follower of a god, would be stronger.

"She's a banshee. She stands for death. She's not supposed to give life. Not like this."

"I don't understand."

"Then maybe you should discuss this with her." She glanced at the daoine sídhe. "Are all of these bodyguards truly necessary?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "And I'd advise you not to wander the castle alone either. This is a bad time."

"I see." She shook her head. "It's of no matter. I'll stay in her quarters and make sure she's being cared for properly. The other banshees don't appear to be very... caring, do they? You could send for Anya. She may be a pixie, but she has experience with—"

"No," he said abruptly. He didn't want news of Sorcha's illness to spread any farther than it already had.

"Will you at least speak to Sorcha?"

"I will," he said. "Immediately."

"Good. I'll busy myself getting the fire going." She reached up to pat his arm. "We'll save her."

If Sorcha died, he would be free. And what would happen then? He thought of Cara and Scarlet, of joining two courts to make one large, strong kingdom. And then he remembered bloody X's and shuddered. He could never bring Scarlet or her mother near the place. Not like that.

And without Sorcha, he would be lost. She helped him when the pressure of the fae depending on him grew too heavy. She took his sins and made them hers to lighten his load. Only she understood the toll the crown was taking on him. A solitary half-breed was never meant to hold so much power. So why wasn't Cara suffering, too?

He went inside and almost recoiled. The room smelled fetid. He moved to the darkened windows and pulled open the curtains. The banshees kept closing them, preferring to keep the room stuffy and dark. He pushed the windows wide open then went to a set of drawers to find an extra blanket for Sorcha.

Three banshees looked on disapprovingly. He ignored them and the pair of daoine sídhe standing on the inside of the door. Sorcha was awake, watching him with dull eyes. He pulled the extra blanket over her, making sure she was warm, but the tips of her fingers looked blue and lifeless.

"The Miacha spoke to me."

To his surprise, Sorcha set her jaw stubbornly and tried to roll over.

"Stop," he said, gently preventing her from turning away. "We should at least talk about this."

"Not in front of them all," she murmured.

Understanding, he sent everyone outside the room. "Now, we're alone. We can speak freely."

"Then tell me what's going on. Why are the daoine sídhe always here?"

"Because I don't trust Donella," he admitted. "I embarrassed her, and she somehow knows about the baby. I think it's best if we take precautions until she calms down."

"What happened?" She squeezed her eyes shut. "No, I don't want to know." A tear dripped from the corner of one eye and ran down the side of her face and behind her ear.

"Nothing happened," he said, worried. She rarely showed such emotion, even when they were alone. "And Donella's not important. The Miacha believes you should end the pregnancy, Sorcha."

"She's wrong," Sorcha said.

He barely recognised her. Not because of her appearance, but because of how defensive she was of the pregnancy.

"You don't have anything to prove," he said.

"I'm not trying to. I just believe that the child will be born safely."

"At a cost to you."

"I don't care. This child will be born."

"But it's a risk to you," he said. "Don't you understand?"

"You'll be free of me then," she said, pouting like a child.

"Stop that."

"I don't want to let go of this," she admitted. "It's a boy, Drake. A son. That's why it's so much trouble for me. Banshees only ever birth daughters."

A boy. What kind of son could he raise? "Then a daughter may come in the future. End this before it's too late."

"No," she said stubbornly.

"I don't understand why. Children are distasteful to you."

"Other people's children are distasteful," she said coldly. "I can feel this one, and it's changing me. I don't know why, but there's something about being linked to another being by blood, a being who doesn't know anything about power or loyalty. It just is. It's alive. It's... different. He's ours."

"Would a sacrifice help you?" he asked.

"I don't want Death near him," she said, sounding panicky.

"I don't understand you anymore," he said. "Are you trying to be contrary?"

She stared upward then finally nodded. "A sacrifice may help me. Death will boost me, but it may not last long."

"Good," he said. "I need you back on your feet before Donella causes even more damage." He cleared his throat. "I'll leave you be."

She gripped his hand before he could walk away. "Can't you love me? Even a little? Can't you want me to live because you can't bear the thought of me dead?"

He flinched. She had never spoken those words before. He could even imagine that she still detested him. Not anymore. Not when she spoke like that.

"Don't," he said. "You knew my heart was already taken when we made a deal to marry."

"Was it?" Her voice grew unsteady. "Or are you just saying that to give yourself an excuse to shut yourself off?"

He met her gaze. "You understood how it had to be. Besides, husbands and wives who love one another don't make good kings and queens. You're the one who told me that."

"I didn't force you to marry me," she whispered.

"You may as well have," he said bitterly. "I warned you that I wouldn't let you forget the things you had done."

"Accept your side," she said. "I know you. I see through you. You sent Cara away because you feared you had already lost her to Brendan. You wanted him to lose, to punish them both because you saw how they were together. You knew you couldn't compete."

"Stop it."

"We all saw her falling for him. You couldn't bear to watch her love him, so you sent her from everything she wanted. I'm not the cruel one here. I'm not—"

He made a sound of disgust and tried to leave, but she clung on to him, desperation in her eyes.

"Drake, please. I'm the one who gave you everything I had. I haven't given up on you once. I saw something in you, a strength Brendan didn't possess, and I... And Cara... Everyone knows she's moved on. Why can't you?"

"I said, stop!" he bellowed, his voice full of pain and rage.

She shrank back against her pillow, dropping his hand. "All right."

He felt disgusting, like a monster, an animal, but he walked away and left her there anyway. "Get back inside," he ordered the group who were waiting patiently beyond the door. "You," he said, addressing his bodyguard. "It's time for court. Be on your guard."

And as he walked away, he fervently prayed for his fingers to stop trembling.

***

The court was full. It seemed as though everyone in the castle had bundled into that one, large hall to watch him avoid glancing at the empty throne on the other side of the room. He and his wife had begun their marriage divided, and the entire court had followed suit. Even now, pressed against each wall, two factions grew apparent.

Gathered on his side of the room were the daoine sídhe in their suits of armour and the banshees with their displeasing pallor and dark clothes. There were other fae with him, most of them dressed in poor fabrics closer to modern human styles. Those fae were loyal to him for other reasons. Many had once been solitary and craved to be part of something that was led by a man who knew what it was like to be alone. King of the Underdogs.

The other side of the room was filled with Donella's supporters, most of whom were wealthy and noble. Some were more open with their affection than others. Many were genuinely in awe of her. She was cruel and ruthless, but she knew how to charm them. And he saw his own daughter doing the same with her people. What kind of adult would she be? His throat ached.

He needed to oust the leanan sídhe from his court for good. Some of his people would leave with Donella, certainly. But others were only concerned with power. Surely, if she were banished, they would fight amongst themselves to take her place. He released a sigh of relief. He was doing the right thing. Donella had spent her time at court undermining the queen while flirting with the king. He had only tolerated her for so long because she brought many nobles with her. He had reached his limits months ago.

He tried to concentrate on the problems his court brought to his feet, tried to keep his temper even and his judgements fair, but all he could think about was Donella's bloody face and the way Sorcha had looked when she asked him to love her. It was impossible. Love had no place in the games kings played. The women were foolish to think otherwise. Even Brendan was going to marry that awful woman, Yvette, for her army. And one day, the Darksiders would push Cara into a marriage she didn't want, too. It was their way, and nothing could change that now.

How foolish he had been, grabbing the opportunity to steal a kingdom with both hands, thinking it would solve all of his problems. Reality had quickly set in, sweeping away his precious ideals. Sorcha had taught him how to hold on to his court, but even she hadn't realised how dangerous their lives would become.

The doors burst open, and Dymphna strode in, hauling a pleading servant behind her. Five daoine sídhe followed, keeping wary eyes on the whispering crowd. The tension thickened, and Drake shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to watch every faction at once.

Dymphna dumped the fae at Drake's feet. "This is the one who dared defile the doors of this castle. This is the one." She spoke loudly, kicking the fae at her final word. She made the fae stand. "He claims to have worked alone."

"Of course he does," Drake murmured. He gazed down at the servant and recognised the same sullen eyes he had witnessed only that morning. "You again. Kneel."

"No," the man said loudly.

"Kneel for your king." Dymphna kicked the back of the man's knee so that he collapsed to the ground.

He spat on the floor. "That's what I think of your king." He jumped to his feet, his eyes wild, and his voice excited. "I refuse to accept the authority of a king who stole the crown. I swear fealty to a true noble, Donella, the leanan sídhe, creator of the royal bloodline that rules the Darkside!"

The room fell silent. A trickle of sweat ran down Drake's back. So this was it. This was her play. Instead of leaving and taking half his court with her, she was simply going to take his court and his throne from him.

Donella tittered, looking completely relaxed in her seat. "Me? Why, I'm flattered. It's true I'm related to the Chaos queen, and also the heir of the Green Court."

"Do you think Cara lays claim to you?" Drake scoffed. "Do you think my daughter will ever view you as a relative?"

"Your daughter? I don't remember you making a claim on any child. It is the Green and Chaos Courts who are entwined. And I can easily link the Silver Court to their great reigns."

"You can do nothing," he said loudly. "Take the culprit before me to my wife's quarters to be sacrificed for his crimes of treason."

"Treason?" Donella stood. "Didn't you hear him? He doesn't accept you as king. He sees me as his queen, and he hasn't acted treasonously toward me. In fact, I'm sure he's not the only one with the same view."

Drake rose to his feet, a reaction to the movement in the room. The crowd had clearly divided and taken their sides. All of the daoine sídhe unsheathed their swords as one and surrounded him in a protective shield. Many voices near Donella proclaimed her to be the true queen. Too many.

"Death to the pretenders on the throne!" somebody screamed.

Drake drew his weapon amidst cries of protest and accusation. His court had turned on itself because of that woman, that evil leanan sídhe.

"Calm them," Drake commanded. "Stop them from fighting." If the fae lost control, only senseless deaths would occur.

"Let them kill each other," a banshee called out. "It will strengthen Sorcha."

Drake hesitated long enough for the condemned man to jump up and attack him with a small blade he had hidden in his clothes. Dymphna cut through him before Drake could even raise his weapon. First blood had spilled, and that was a signal to all.

The crowds surged toward each other, filling the room with sounds of clashing swords and cries of pain. The stench of death. Drake held his sword, momentarily shocked. The entire court had been more prepared for civil war than the king.

Drake caught sight of Donella across the room, a wide smile across her face as she observed the chaos before her.

"I'll kill her," he spat, and he lunged toward the fighting crowd to reach the leanan sídhe.

Dymphna got in his way. "You cannot. Any blade could kill you before you ever reach her."

"Then I'll die fighting," he snarled.

"Think. Sorcha needs us. She's the weaker link. Donella could be using this distraction to end the banshee before she can bear you an heir."

Drake swallowed his rage long enough to see sense. "Daoine sídhe, with me to protect the queen."

Dymphna stayed by his side as her people fought a path to the doors. But the fighting wasn't just going on in the great hall. The stairs were full of warring fae, disgruntled servants sneakily attacking loyal subjects in the midst of the mayhem.

Drake stepped over dead fae who had obviously been on the wrong side. Enemies came from every hallway, splitting up the soldiers, and leaving them all weakened.

"There's too many of them," Drake said as he ran his sword through an unfamiliar faery who had charged at him.

"We need to get upstairs," Dymphna said, shepherding him toward the nearest staircase.

Drake fought his way up a flight of stairs, Dymphna at his back. Most of the daoine sídhe who had accompanied them were stuck on the bottom step, surrounded by foes.

"We should help them," Drake said.

"They're warriors. They will survive. We must reach the queen's quarters." Dympha shook Drake. "If she dies, this is over, Drake. Hurry!"

Forgetting he was a king, he followed her in the race to reach the queen. Along the way, they rescued a number of soldiers who gratefully accompanied them the rest of the way.

"If we reach the queen's room, we can bottle-neck the corridors and stairs and keep the floor contained," he said.

"Drake, I sent for help," Dymphna called out as they defended against yet another attack. Donella had been more successful at persuading his people to turn against him than he thought.

"What are you talking about?" he shouted, raising his sword to meet an assassin's blade. He knew the woman. She smiled at him every day. He had no regrets as he plunged his blade through her heart.

"I knew you wouldn't, but I felt uneasy when I knew that Donella had discovered the pregnancy, so I sent word to the other courts."

"Why?" he demanded angrily as they pushed on. "You make us look weak, Dymphna."

"We are weak! We're in the worst position possible. The king is running through the castle, fighting off his staff, in order to save his queen. This isn't how it should be."

He leaned against a wall during the momentary reprieve. "Did you receive a reply?"

"I fear I sent the messages too late," she said. "It'll be days at least before any help arrives."

His stomach sank. He couldn't hold off Donella's followers for days.

They finally reached Sorcha's level. To his horror, there were bodies everywhere. The Miacha stood outside the door, covered in blood, while Sorcha leaned against the doorway, looking pale and haggard. Her stomach was slightly rounded. He hadn't really looked at her body when she lay in the bed. His son was in there, a son she refused to give up, a son whose mere existence threatened her life in more ways than one. An unfamiliar flicker of warmth lit up in his chest.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he demanded, coming to his senses.

"They killed one of the guards. It gave me enough strength to help," Sorcha said, panting. She almost collapsed. He caught her in his arms. She looked up at him with complete trust.

He gazed down on her, his stomach twisting into knots. Her faith in him might condemn her to the slaughter going on elsewhere in the castle. "Donella turned on us. She's trying to take the crown."

"We should have dealt with her long ago. I'll kill her," she swore. "I'll take her life for you."

"No, you'll get inside this room and let me deal with it." He frowned at Blue Eyes. "You, too."

The woman nodded and helped Sorcha inside. Dymphna was dragging an injured daoine sídhe inside, too, when Drake heard footsteps, many footsteps. A group of soldiers rushed around the corner. The leader immediately beheaded one of the soldiers loyal to Drake.

With a howl of rage, Drake rushed at the group. The remaining daoine sídhe ran, too, whooping war cries. The other soldiers were forced to hold off more traitors on the other end of the corridor. Drake slashed and spun, barely feeling his own injuries as he showed the traitors what a king was made of. He would kill them all.

A song of victory filtered up the stairs, and it bolstered the traitors enough to push back the king's men. Dymphna reached Drake's side, her eyes filled with bloodlust and fury. She nodded at him, and they dove into the traitorous pack, slicing, wounding, and eventually killing them all. Drake leaned against the wall, panting.

Dymphna wiped sweat from her brow. "We need an escape route. For you and the queen."

"They've blocked every conceivable route," a tiny scout said. She had already volunteered to risk her life to check for viable exits before meeting them outside Sorcha's room.

"We need to do something."

"We'll win this," Drake said stubbornly.

"Can't you hear them?" a daoine sídhe asked. "They already think they've won."

"Then we'll just have to prove them wrong," Drake insisted.

The scout rushed to the window and looked outside. "They're burning bodies out there." She flinched and squeezed her eyes shut as screams filled the air. "Not just bodies. Some are alive." She lifted her bow and shot the remainder of her arrows outside.

Drake swore under his breath. Donella had prepared for this. "We're in a good position. They can't attack us at full strength in narrow hallways."

Dymphna squeezed his shoulder. "Drake, this is hopeless. The castle is lost. We need to find a way to run. You can escape to Cara's castle, or even Brendan's. They'll give you shelter."

"How can I leave the others here who are fighting in my name?" Drake asked. "How can I run while they're being burned alive? The other courts may avenge us, but for now, we're on our own. We are lost."

Shouts came from nearby—enemies hunting them down. And when the footsteps began on the stairs, bringing with them the clinking sounds of well-armoured soldiers, Drake's heart sank.

"We're doomed," a soldier said. "They'll kill us all."

Drake looked up at Dymphna with regret. "I'm so sorry. You shouldn't even be here. Your daughter..."

"Eithne is in good hands," she said firmly, her eyes glassy with emotion. "I'm in exactly the right place. It was an honour fighting by your side, Drake. You'll be remembered for sealing the rift, I guarantee you that."

No, he would be remembered as the weak solitary king who lost his castle in a single morning.

"This is the end," he said. "This is our last day."

"Then at least we'll go out fighting," she replied.

And they stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the end.

Chapter Seven

Brendan

Brendan stretched out his legs as best he could. For "giants," the daoine sídhe had created severely cramped living quarters. He looked at his soldiers. Alyss and Pól were in the middle of an argument about exactly how many days they had been at sea. Brendan had lost count himself. Bran looked paler than usual, his normal hyper-activity subdued by the injury he had suffered on the boat.

Eira came running into the hut, her eyes bright with excitement. "I saw it! I saw your ship!"

Brendan breathed a sigh of relief. Cara was wrong. Yvette could be trusted.

"It didn't leave?" Bran asked.

"Of course not. They want to marry themselves off to the king," Alyss said with a snort.

"Enough," Brendan said gently. "You are sure you saw our ship?"

The young girl looked puzzled by the exchange. "Yes, they're sailing along the coast, likely waiting for a sign from you."

"And will your people be ready to lead us to the First Tree today?"

She nodded vehemently. "May I come? The elder won't let me, but if you said something..."

"I have a far more important job for you," Brendan said gravely. "But it's dangerous, so if you're—"

"I'll do it," she said instantly. "I can do it."

Brendan allowed himself a smile. Unlike the rest of the daoine sídhe, on that island and back home, she was young and eager, not yet as world-weary. "I need you to signal to the boat near a safe place for them to anchor and wait for us. Then you'll likely have to lead us there with the Fir Bolg on our tails. Can you do this?"

She nodded slowly. "I know everywhere. They don't like me to explore, but I need to. I can do this." Her face fell. "You're not going to let me come with you on the boat, are you?"

"This is your home."

She looked around the stone hut and sighed. "I wish it wasn't."

"One day, you'll explore the world," he said. "But not on the first boat. Not when it's so dangerous to travel." He shook her hand. "But may we meet again on a different land."

Satisfied, she left.

"I can't wait to go home," Bran said. "I'm starving."

Pól unsheathed his sword to maintain the blade. "They don't overfeed us."

"They don't overfeed themselves," Brendan said. "It's a pity we can't take all of them with us."

"It's enough that we're taking that elder with us," Alyss said. "Yes, it's great that she'll take care of the First Tree, but she's bringing with her all of that nonsense about gods and the like." She looked at him quizzically. "None of it is true, is it?"

"I don't follow her doctrine, but we can't judge her for believing something different to us," Brendan murmured. When they all gave him an exasperated look, he shrugged. "What? I've changed." Yes, he had outlawed the worship of Brighid in part because he considered it outdated and dangerous, but now he wanted his people to have the comfort they so desperately sought.

"What if we bring back the trees and the others haven't found the stone?" Pól asked.

Bran snorted. "I will bet anything that Cara, I mean the Chaos Queen, will find it."

"She does have a knack," Brendan said with a smile. When Alyss gave him a knowing look, he hurriedly cleared his throat. "We'll simply search for it ourselves. There are only a couple of places it could be. The stone of destiny will be found."

"It's in Inis Fáil," Dafina said from the doorway. "I'm sorry to overhear your conversation."

"You know of the legendary treasures?" Bran asked.

The elder looked astonished. "Know of them? Our ancestors once guarded one of them."

Bran frowned. "Which one?"

"The spear." Her eyes turned sad. "But it disappeared."

"We have the spear," Brendan said. "I mean, it's in my land."

"It's safe." Dafina's eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Brendan unsheathed his sword. "And this is the sword of victory."

"That was once hidden in Eriu," she said, looking as if she might faint.

"Then where's the last one?" Brendan asked. "Where is Dagda's cup?"

"Manannán hid the cup under the sea so nobody could ever again steal immortality."

There went Cara's ideas of using all four treasures against the god of Chaos.

"My people will be uplifted to discover the spear is safe." Dafina stretched out her arms. "I came to tell you we are prepared to leave. Are you all ready?"

"Yes," Brendan said as the others jumped to their feet. "And we thank you for your kindness."

"Your blight may well become ours someday. It's no kindness."

They followed her out of the hut and into the main area where a group of daoine sídhe had already gathered. A small group had been camouflaged.

"This is Aneurin," Dafina said, introducing them to a large, broad-shouldered male with no markings or stains. "He's our greatest warrior, and he will be in charge today."

Aneurin faced Brendan, eye-to-eye as though taking his measure. "This will be difficult."

"We wouldn't know what to do with a simple task," Brendan replied.

Aneurin nodded. "We're safe in this area. There's little here for the fir bolg to be interested in. And the trees are high up on a steep mountain. We have a route that the fir bolg are too large to take, and one or two people can easily slip up and down to tend to the trees there. But a large group of us? And also taking trees with us? That's a much more difficult job. The fir bolg will be interested in what we're doing, more will come, and they'll try to follow us."

"What do you need from us?"

"My people will get you your trees," Aneurin promised, "as long as you can distract the fir bolg long enough for them to get out of plain sight."

"We confront the fir bolg," Brendan said.

"No," Aneurin said hurriedly. "Battles rarely end well. You're taking the biggest risk, so I'll be accompanying you. With my help, you'll hopefully remain out of their reach. We must lure the fir bolg, make them think we have something they want. Just your appearance will intrigue them, and they will follow. We must lead them on a merry chase and finally make it back to your ship. My daughter told me the task you set for her." He lowered his voice. "And I thank you for it."

Brendan nodded. "We serve as a distraction long enough for the trees to get to the ship, and then we follow. It doesn't sound complicated."

"That's because you've never seen a fir bolg," Aneurin said with a smile like Eira's. "They cause destruction, even without meaning to. Our spoken stories, the ones that come from our ancestors, tell us that they eventually came here after destroying their own land, although some stories infer they were given this land after a great service. Either way, the fir bolg are not to be taken lightly."

"What should we watch out for?" Bran asked.

Aneurin's jaws tightened. "Avoid staying out of their reach, mostly. They move slowly, but their strides are long. They carry massive slings with which they fling large rocks. They're strong enough to throw boulders with their own hands, but the slings move the rocks farther along. If you're hit, we leave you behind. Do you all understand?"

Brendan looked at his companions who all nodded. "We understand the risks."

"Perhaps you don't. They were built to hunt and destroy. Stay far enough away, and they may forget they ever saw you, but if you get close, you could trigger a frenzy in them."

"A frenzy?" Alyss said scornfully.

"When the frenzy hits, their muscles bulge, their eyes turn red, and they become unstoppable. They'll hunt to the point of their own death. Even if the fir bolg doesn't stone you to death, if one gets their hands on you, they'll literally tear your body apart. We are nothing compared to them, and you've said our people are the champions of your land. If that doesn't convince you, then nothing will. They carry sacks on their hips, and our elders say they like to take the remains of their victims and shove them in the bags to eat later." He folded his arms. "Are you still certain you want to do this?"

Brendan straightened, offended by the question. "My companions may do as they wish, but while I hold the sword of victory, I cannot fail. And I can't go home without those trees. Our land is depending on us. I couldn't live with not trying. I'd rather die failing."

"Then we'll leave immediately," Aneurin said. "We'll travel with the others for a time, and then break away when necessary." His lips twitched. "I hope you can run fast."

Brendan mentally thanked Cara for provoking his interest in the activity.

They left soon after, traversing the narrow, claustrophobic tunnels again. Bran hummed under his breath without realising it, which amused Brendan.

"This is your chance to be a hero," Brendan said, trying to keep the mood light. "And you're preparing for it by singing human songs."

"I was not," Bran hissed back.

Brendan teased Bran out of his fear by the time they reached the surface. The sky was startlingly blue, and it surprised Brendan how hard it was to look in the light. It took his people a few minutes to adjust.

"This way," Aneurin said, and they all set off in small groups, spread out in case they had to run.

Brendan and Bran stayed close to each other. The heat was oppressive, and Brendan's shirt was soon damp with sweat. They travelled away from the underground mounds and toward a cliff face where they were forced to climb.

"We're almost at fir bolg territory," Aneurin said, annoyingly capable of breathing normally despite the exertion. "Be ready at any moment."

And then they reached the peak, and it was as though they had entered another land. Brendan gazed across the horizon at a sun-scorched plain that was pitted with holes. A strange rumbling sound seemed to attack from all sides.

"What happened here?" Pól asked.

"This was once a forest, but the fir bolg destroyed it," Aneurin explained. "They say the First Trees gave life to the world, and if they die, we all die with them. That's why we keep some where the giants can't reach."

"Why have they done this?" Alyss whispered. "This desolation is disturbing."

"Not everything they do has a purpose." Aneurin shrugged. "These creatures sleep restlessly, and that's how the holes are made. They upset the earth as they toss and turn. Even if they didn't want to, they'd destroy by accident. It's quiet now. This is the time of day they like to slumber, but they're easily disturbed."

And it was then that Brendan realised that inside the holes, giant men slept, their limbs sinking into the dirt as though they were formed from the earth. The sound of their snores filtered across the air like thunder. They were massive, long armed and limbed, and those limbs were as thick as tree trunks. Brendan spotted at least two dozen of the creatures, all fast asleep in the holes they had destroyed the land to make. But then one of them rolled over, and piles of dirt flew up into the air. The giant disappeared into his hole. They really were large enough to ruin the earth in their sleep.

Aneurin held his finger to his lips then beckoned them to follow him. The rest of his people took a different route. Aneurin pointed, and Brendan followed the gesture to see a single patch of unspoiled nature on top of the odd-shaped mountain. He was glad he wasn't the one climbing up there to get the trees. He shuddered as he took another look at the fir bolg. There were no good jobs on this mission. He just hoped Eira managed to signal to the ship in time. If they missed their chance, they likely wouldn't get another.

They crept down a winding path cut into the mountain. It was too narrow and steep for the fir bolg to climb, but Brendan didn't fancy his own chances at getting back up there either.

Some stones skittered down the mountain from the other group, and the nearest fir bolg stirred.

"Hurry," Aneurin urged under his breath.

They moved more quickly, but Pól slipped and skidded a few feet as he desperately struggled to stop his fall. Aneurin grabbed his collar and held on tight as Pól found his grip again. As Brendan followed, he noticed blood stains on the rock.

At the foot of the mountain, he took Pól's hands to inspect the damage. "You've torn them to ribbons."

"I can still hold my sword," Pól said resolutely.

"Not like this you can't." Brendan tore strips off his own shirt and wrapped them around his soldier's hands. "We'll clean the wounds when we get back. I'd rather we make it home with all of our limbs intact."

That earned him a wry smile from Pól.

Aneurin led them toward the giants, ready to make noise if any noticed the removal of the trees. Brendan's confidence grew. The giants were practically unconscious. If luck remained on their side, they would make it back to the ship without any encounters.

Alyss slipped and hissed out a swear word. The closest giants all turned over, flinging earth into the air. It rained down on their shoulders, even at a distance of close to a mile away. Brendan's shoulders tightened with tension. On the ground, the fir bolg looked larger than ever.

They were quietly moving past the restless one when a single large, protruding eye opened and focused on them. They froze to the spot, but the eye closed again. A shudder ran through Brendan. The eye was as large as a human head and eerily familiar.

"Run," Aneurin whispered, racing off without hesitation. Brendan followed, his soldiers hot on his heels.

They ran past the slumbering fir bolg and onto a sandy area before slowing. Aneurin cast a glance over his shoulder. "No."

The restless fir bolg was on his feet, his gaze on the mountaintop. Two of the daoine sídhe were swiftly removing a tree in plain view. The giant released a sound of rage that woke the closest of his kin. Some rolled over and went back to sleep, but half a dozen rose to see what the commotion was about.

"We have to distract them," Aneurin said, already moving toward the giants.

Bran held him back. "With noise, right? I doubt we want to get too close."

"My daughter's out there," Aneurin snapped.

Alyss shot an arrow at the giants. A couple noticed, and when Brendan shouted, they turned their attention away from the daoine sídhe and toward the group on the ground.

"Wait until the chase begins," Aneurin murmured, his entire body taut with tension.

Brendan watched as a couple of giants lumbered in their direction, but it wasn't until Alyss shot another arrow that the first giant roared and ran toward them. Three of the other giants followed.

"Now it's time to run," Aneurin called out, sprinting off.

They ran for an hour, weaving through a damaged field and coming out onto a sandy area, the pounding of the giant's footsteps never letting up. But the sounds appeared to diminish. Brendan looked behind him.

"Only one left," he called out, but if he wasn't mistaken, the giant was catching up. His group had tired, but the giant hadn't grown winded yet.

"Yes," Aneurin replied. "But this one is focused on catching us. Even if it broke its leg, it would still follow."

But the steps ended abruptly, and Brendan let out a sigh of relief, his lungs fit to burst. And that was when the first stone flew through the air.

"Don't run in a straight line," Aneurin called out. "Don't make yourself an easy target!"

They raced on, farther onto the sand, until they could see the beach in the distance. The ship was out there. Brendan was sure he caught a glimpse of her. The giant slowed on the sand, and Brendan's heart rate eased a little, but the second rock hit Alyss in the legs.

She collapsed into the sand, her leg crushed under the weight, and her face pale.

"Keep running!" Aneurin shouted.

"I can't leave her," Brendan said. "I can't let him take her."

"He's in a frenzy," Aneurin argued. "You won't win in a fight against him, no matter what name you give your sword."

Brendan stood over Alyss with the sword unsheathed, and the giant man stopped looking for rocks to throw. The creature ran at them, heading straight for Brendan. One of Bran's daggers flew through the air and struck the creature right in the eye. The fir bolg howled with pain and tried to grip the dagger, spinning in a circle in his attempt to catch something so small with his over-sized hands.

"Quickly," Brendan said. "Help me get this rock off her."

The others, including Aneurin, gathered to push the rock off Alyss. Sweat beads ran down her face.

"That was a great throw," Brendan told Bran who grinned then shoved harder at the rock.

The stone finally moved, and Alyss was free, but her leg was broken. It was obvious to everyone.

"Just leave me," she wept. "I'm the one who woke them."

"I'll carry you," Brendan insisted.

"Wait, look!" Bran cried.

The giant had gotten frustrated with the dagger. He dug his fingers into his eye socket instead, yanking free his own eyeball in the process. He screamed with rage and flung the eye away, blood pouring from his empty socket. He came at them again, this time ferocious in his pain. His flabby stomach shook as he ran, and Brendan resisted a natural urge to run. But then he glanced at his injured soldier, and a rage burned through him, too. They had come too far to fail now.

Brendan stood his ground, the sword of victory gleaming in the incessant sunlight. The fir bolg was filthy, his massive dirt-encrusted hands holding an axe that he waved in the air as he ran. His arms were thick with muscle, and Brendan could feel the earth shake with every footstep, but still, he held his ground. His own battle rage came over him, the one that made it hard to focus on anything but his prey. He couldn't allow himself to be hunted. His blood burned to fight back.

"Get her out of here," he ordered Aneurin. "The others will help you. I'll hold this creature off as long as I can. Get them to the ship."

But Bran refused to leave his side.

"Bran, leave," Brendan commanded. "Cara will bring me back from the dead and kill me again if I let anything happen to you."

Bran gave him a steady look. "I'm your bodyguard. This is my place."

There was no time to argue. The fir bolg had reached them. He struck out with his axe, but Brendan met the strike with the sword. The metal clanged, but the sword of victory gleamed brighter, and the axe broke. Furious, the creature dropped the remains and swung out his large fist. His strike connected with Brendan's shoulder, deadening it, and the king almost dropped the sword.

The creature came back for seconds, but Bran distracted him with a dagger to the back of the neck. The fir bolg spun awkwardly, trying his best to free himself from the weapon. When he couldn't reach it, he howled and lunged for Bran who skipped behind the creature's back again.

Brendan recovered and swung his sword. He connected with a fleshy thigh, but the creature didn't seem to notice, too concerned with something in the distance. Brendan pulled his sword free just in time. The creature took off in a run, right toward Aneurin and the Green Court soldiers.

"Watch out!" Brendan roared, fired up with bloodlust. He raced after the fir bolg and slashed at its thick hairy legs to try to slow it down. The giant paid the king no mind. Bran barely kept up. Blood ran down the creature's legs, but his strides were so long that he pulled out of their reach quicker than Brendan liked.

Aneurin had heard Brendan's warning shout and was trying to help carry Alyss out of the giant's path, but the fir bolg paid them no attention as he passed them by.

"The ship!" Pól cried out in alarm. "It sees the ship."

No! They couldn't let anything destroy the ship.

"We have to stop it," Brendan said, reaching the others.

"Go," Alyss said. "Help the ship. Get on it. Make it home. The realm needs you."

"I'll carry you," he said.

"I'll show you a shortcut," Aneurin said. "And then I'll come back for her."

"Go," she repeated, her eyes full of tears. "You're the only royal with experience. They need you."

"She's right," Bran said.

"I'll stay with her," Pól said. "I'm not as fast as you and Bran, and we can't leave her here alone. I'll keep her hidden until he comes back to help us."

"I'll come back for you when the blight is over," Brendan said.

"Don't," Alyss said. "It's too dangerous a journey to risk twice. We'll survive here if we know we did everything we could to save home."

"A glamour," Brendan said. "A glamour might fool the giant and give us time to—"

"Don't waste magic on us," Pól said gruffly. "We'll survive. You'll need everything you have to make it home."

"You have magic?" Aneurin whispered in awe. "It exists in your land?"

"It's not infinite." Brendan touched both of his soldiers on the shoulders. "Your names will be honoured," he said, his voice full of emotion.

"We have to hurry," Aneurin said. "Let's go."

He gave them no more time for goodbyes.

Brendan's heart felt ripped to pieces as he left his soldiers behind. That wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Pól and Alyss hid in a nearby cave while Aneurin led Brendan and Bran through a quicker path to the ship.

"My daughter told me where she would be signalling," he said. "And as soon as I find her, I'm leaving with her. I can't risk her falling in the hands of the fir bolg."

"We understand," Brendan said, panting as he ran. They climbed another cliff face, practically fell down a steep hill, and then raced across a valley. On higher ground, a fire burned.

"That way!" Aneurin said. "I'll leave you here to find my daughter. Keep running, and you'll come out on the beach. The sand will slow down the giant, and you should come out ahead of him. If you don't, you'll miss the boat. Get on the ship as quickly as possible because there are rocks in that area that the giant can throw. The trees and Dafina should already be boarded. Good luck to both of you. We'll take good care of the people left behind."

Brendan thanked Aneurin then sprinted away. If he had to, he would slow down the giant himself to give the ship enough time to get away.

"You'll go ahead," he told Bran. "Get on the ship and make sure the trees get back safely."

"You heard the others," Bran panted as they sprinted through the valley. "There's no way to avoid it. You have to come back. The Green Court will disappear without you."

"Cara will take care of everyone."

They ran faster, hearing the giant nearby.

"Cara is what the Darksiders need. You are what the Green Court needs. You came back from the Fade twice for a reason. Do you think the gods would allow that if you weren't supposed to be king?"

Sometimes, he wondered. And he didn't want to stay. He wanted to get back, to see Cara and Drake and all of the people who had enriched his life since he first returned. He had changed because of them all, become a better man, and he just couldn't give up now. Not when there was still so much to do. The thought of leaving either Cara or Drake at the hands of some of the remorseless fae back home made up his mind for him. He had to return.

They burst out of the valley and onto sand, immediately slowing down as their feet sank into soft sand. Brendan chanced a glance over his shoulder. The giant was behind them, thankfully. But it could still catch up. As he watched, the creature stopped running to find a rock to throw.

"Careful," Brendan called out to Bran. "Watch out for the rocks!"

But the first rock was aimed at the ship they were gaining on. As the rock landed in the water with a huge splash, the crew began to pull up the anchor.

"Hurry!" Bran shouted, but Brendan wasn't sure who he was talking to.

A second rock landed in the sand in front of them. They ducked around a pile of rocks and jumped into the ocean as one. Brendan swam against the current toward the ship. He could hear his soldiers on board urging him on, full of joy to see him. That was what he inspired. They dropped a floating buoy, and let it trail behind the ship as it sailed away.

Bran was slowing down. The next rock landed too close to him, shoving him underwater with the force of the impact. Without hesitation, Brendan dove under after him. Bran struggled to make it back to the surface, trying in vain to swim against the current. Brendan gripped his arm and pulled him up, determined not to leave anyone else behind. They broke through the surface, sucking in ragged breaths.

"I... can't," Bran gasped.

"You're coming home," Brendan said firmly, urging Bran on toward the buoy.

With Brendan's help, they both made it, Brendan gripping Bran's shirt as well as the buoy in case the boy slipped underwater again.

The soldiers above cheered and threw a rope ladder over the rails. Heavy with seawater, Brendan pushed Bran up first. He gripped the ladder himself then and began to rise when the final rock landed, sending a wall of water crashing against them, almost knocking them both back into the sea and causing some damage to the ship.

Brendan ignored it and kept climbing, finally clambering over the rails and landing on the deck. As the crew slapped him on the back, he only had eyes for one thing: a set of two dozen trees gathered neatly in front of him, cared for by the elder, Dafina. They had done it. They had taken the trees. All they had to do now was make it home.

Chapter Eight

Drake

All was lost. The soldiers hunting them would soon reach their floor. Drake steeled himself for the end. He had plenty of regrets.

A horn sounded in the distance. The scout, still by the window, peeked outside then frowned.

"What is it?" Drake asked. "More of them come to support Donella?"

"I don't... I don't think so. I think it might be help for us."

Drake exchanged a glance with Dymphna then rushed to the window. Two sets of troops were approaching the castle, briskly cantering parallel to each other. The smaller troop, made up of less than one hundred soldiers, carried a black flag at their lead. The second troop was larger, maybe triple the size, and carried a green flag.

"Help from both courts," Drake said under his breath. He looked over his shoulder at Dymphna. "You did it. You called, and they came."

"It's not possible," Dymphna said. "Not unless they were already on their way."

Drake gazed out the window again. Cara had known about Sorcha's pregnancy, too. Was she spying on him?

The footsteps that had been approaching raced back downstairs as a call came from within the castle to regroup outside.

"They'd be fools to face the Green and Chaos troops," the scout said.

"We should find a better position," Drake said. "We'll need to communicate with whoever's coming. Especially if a battle begins."

"What if they're here to join Donella?" one of the soldiers asked.

"Cara would never align herself with Donella," Drake said confidently. "She hates the leanan sídhe, but especially so on Bekind's behalf. There's no way they're here to support Donella."

"The leanan sídhe was always trouble," Dymphna said. She moved to Drake's side to watch as Donella's supporters gathered out front.

"She found out about Sorcha's pregnancy," he said. "That's what started all of this. She knew it would weaken her chances if an heir was born." He nodded at the scout. "You and the others should scout the castle and see if there are any survivors on our side. We'll meet you at the front doors."

He and Dymphna headed straight down to the Great Hall, gathering any allies they could find. They had been scattered and unorganised in the mayhem, but there was a decent number remaining. If only he hadn't underestimated Donella. He had been too proud to share his worries with Cara or Brendan. Even though Brendan was away, the Green court had still sent help.

When the scout and the other soldiers returned with a group of willing fighters, Drake organised his people himself. "They may attack us before the troops arrive," he warned after he was done. "We just need to hold our ground long enough. Donella likes the sound of her own voice, so I'll try to drag it out as long as possible. Do not rise to her accusations or taunts. Let them come after us."

He led a small team outside, but he could see that half of Donella's supporters were already unsettled. Donella herself was pale, but she kept the show going with a flourish of her arm.

"Ah, are you here to welcome the troops of my old friend Brendan, and my great-grand-daughter, Cara?" she called out breezily.

"Brendan's never claimed to be a friend of yours, and your relation to Cara is far more distant than that. She's hardly going to stand against the father of her child."

"A child you've barely acknowledged," she scoffed. "Are you really so certain that she wouldn't like to punish you for what you've done to her?" She addressed the crowd. "Imagine, instead of a barren banshee, we could have had a worthy queen in her own right as his wife. An heir already born. How unlucky we are that our king is so foolish. Here comes my own blood, my own people. I am the only one with enough ties to protect us from either court, the only one capable of establishing a close alliance with both."

The troops gained ground.

"Enough," Drake called out. "Not even the most foolish of your supporters could honestly believe those lies. You are only in this court because you're so hated elsewhere. You have no place anywhere else. And my wife is with child. That's the only reason you started this foolish game, but you see, the other courts had already received word of your leanings toward treachery, and this is how they respond."

"Kill the false king," she spat. "Before he has a chance to cause us further damage."

Some of her supporters were more enthusiastic than others, but most unsheathed their weapons in order to attack before reinforcements arrived.

But the new arrivals had given him time to round up enough to people prepared to fight back. Drake had strong fighters by his side, but the rest of his people were divided into two more groups that he had instructed to leave the castle through different doors in order to surprise Donella's rebel army. While the first skirmish began, the other teams surrounded the traitors, evening the odds of survival.

Drake sought out Donella in the crowd, but he couldn't see her face.

He fought off two attackers at once, ending as the victor, but injured in the process. His wounded arm stung, but his blood was hot with fury and anticipation. Perhaps he wasn't as alone as he thought. Perhaps things weren't as dire as he suspected.

He fought his way to the edge of the battle, still looking for Donella. If she wasn't dead, then she had fled already, he was sure. And who knew what trouble she would cause elsewhere. The Chaos army was racing their way, closely followed by the Green troops. A warning signal was blown, and as the news spread of Donella's departure, most of her followers lost their will to fight.

The fresh troops intercepted those who tried to flee, while Arlen led a small number into the fray. The new additions quickly ended the battle for good. Bloody and sweating, Drake stood there panting as Donella's supporters were rounded up.

"You came," he said when Arlen greeted him.

Arlen smiled. "Of course. My king is ever a friend of yours." He lowered his voice. "Whether you see it or not."

Donncha, head of the Chaos army, joined the pair. "My queen offers her apologies. She couldn't come herself because her adopted-daughter is unwell, but she sent us in her stead and hopes that will be enough."

"It was more than enough from both of you. Thank you."

"This seems to be everyone who remains," Arlen said, nodding at those his men had trapped.

"Any sign of Donella?"

"Unfortunately not," Arlen said. "She may have escaped, but she won't remain that way. She is lost."

"I have a terrible feeling that this won't be the last we see of her," Drake said. "She'll conspire from afar before returning."

"What do you want us to do with her supporters?" Donncha asked.

"I'll need to consider the matter. If I kill them all, I'll have a bare court, but if I pardon them, I'll live in fear of my wife's life." He nodded at Donncha. "Tell Cara she was right, and to thank her for sending the Miacha woman. Sorcha is indeed pregnant and unwell, but we are hopeful that she is improving." He gestured to Arlen. "Has there been any word from Brendan?"

"Nothing," Arlen said. "We haven't heard of any sightings of the ship at all."

"My queen asked the water fae to keep watch," Donncha added. "As far as we know, the ship passed safely through a portal but has not returned."

"How is the land on the Darkside?" Drake asked.

"Still poor," Donncha said. "We have incidents on an almost weekly basis now. You may have sealed the rift, but most of the damage was already done. We're just experiencing the repercussions of years of damage."

"We need those trees," Drake said.

"And we need our king," Arlen said worriedly. He flushed. "Anya and I have plans to marry when he returns."

"Congratulations. I wish you every happiness." Drake was half-surprised to note that he actually meant it. Perhaps he had bathed in bitterness for long enough. "I invite you all to stay and refresh yourselves."

"Our troops can set up camp outside," Arlen said. "I think it's best if we stay for a few days in case any of Donella's supporters find themselves feeling a little too brave."

"The same for my people," Donncha said. "We can help lock up these traitors until you decide what you want to do with them."

"Thank you," Drake said. "I invite you, too, and your generals, to stay inside the castle. Dymphna, can you make sure they're taken care of? I must check on Sorcha."

Dymphna nodded then chatted to Donncha about her daughter, Eithne, who was still in the Chaos castle with Cara.

"She is very well," Donncha was saying as Drake left them.

He strode into the castle, still angry with himself for letting things go so far. He should have gotten rid of Donella a long time ago instead of dealing with an insurgence instead.

Upstairs, he reassured the daoine sídhe guarding Sorcha's door then let himself into her room.

"The other courts sent troops," he explained at Blue Eye's questions. "It's over. Is Sorcha well?"

"She seemed to gain strength, but she's weakened since. She's in bed again."

"I'll see to her if you would be kind enough to make sure the kitchens are running. We have a lot of guests to feed."

"Of course," she said. "She'll be happy to see that you're well yourself."

He allowed himself a small smile then moved to Sorcha's bed to see her. She was still pale, but red dots pinpricked the centre of her cheeks.

"It's over," he said.

"I heard an army approach," she said. "Was it Cara?"

"The troops came from both courts," he explained. "Arlen and Donncha led them."

"And Donella?" she said hopefully.

He shook his head. "She disappeared."

Her face fell. "It's a pity. She's a danger to us."

"We'll find her. At some point, she'll get what she deserves. It's what to do with her supporters that I'm unsure of."

"Spare only the valuable," she said. "Either enslave or kill the rest. Leave Donella friendless to keep us safe."

"I'll do as you say," he said. "I expected you to be up out of bed. Didn't the deaths help? Do they need to be sacrifices?"

"Perhaps. I'm tired, Drake."

He held her hand. "I'll stay until you fall asleep. I think I know what we should do with the prisoners."

"Hmm?" Her eyes closed, and she gently squeezed his hand. "What's that?"

"I think I should take them up here one by one, and... are you awake?"

There was no answer. Sorcha's breathing deepened.

As he gazed upon her, the seeds of pity sprouted in his heart. She suffered for him. "I'll sacrifice them all to you," he said. "We'll make you well again. It's the least I can do."

He wished he could solve all of his problems so easily.

Chapter Nine

Brendan

They celebrated with a fish stew, and nobody complained about having fish again. They were just glad to be away from that gods-forsaken island.

"The fir bolg are the ugliest creatures I've ever seen," somebody proclaimed loudly while they ate. The rest of the crew laughed until someone came up with the idea of naming all of the ugly women they had slept with.

Brendan rolled his eyes. "Must I travel with children?"

"They're just happy they have their king back in one piece," Yvette said. "And with those trees to boot. How lucky are we?"

But she didn't look happy.

Brendan didn't feel exactly happy either. His pleasure at the success was marred by those he had left behind. "I'd feel luckier if we had all of those we left on this journey with," he said.

"They made their choices for the greater good," she said dismissively.

He gave her a hard glance. "For a woman, you're not very sentimental."

"As opposed to?" She shook her head. "We've been on this ship for too long if you and I are getting nasty with each other."

"You really wouldn't be concerned if your people had been left behind?" he asked.

"They were just soldiers," she said with a tinkling laugh that grated on his nerves. "They're unimportant."

"They were important to me," he said. "And I left them behind."

"They chose to stay behind. They chose to come on this trip in the first place. We all knew the risks."

"None of us knew about the fir bolg," he snapped angrily.

"You should have said sooner if you wanted your wife to have premonitions of the future, Brendan. We did what we had to. The small sacrifices are worth it for the greater good. On this, I have no regrets."

"Well," he said, getting to his feet. "I'm glad not all of my acquaintances share your views."

Her responding glare was stony. "You do recall that it will be me sitting next to you when we return. We had an agreement, and I expect you to keep it."

Without a word, he stormed out of the room and headed to the top deck for some air. Bran was already out there, looking only a little green.

"How are you feeling?" Brendan asked him.

"I'm fine." Bran sighed. "I just wish we could have done more for the others. I should have offered to stay with Alyss."

"There was no need," Brendan said. "Perhaps someday, we'll go back and bring them home."

Bran smiled. "I'd like that." He turned and gestured toward the trees. "What a haul, eh? I can't wait to see everyone's faces when we return with this load."

"I just can't wait to see everyone's faces. We're quite outnumbered on this ship, don't you think?"

"I just ignore that," Bran said. "I wonder will the children remember me when we return."

Brendan laughed. "Their oversized playmate? How could they forget? I can't wait to get back and eat a meal that isn't made of fish. I've never been so fed up of food in my entire life."

"Have you spoken to Dafina much since we left?" Bran asked. "She seems to keep to herself, more content with those trees than spending time with the rest of us."

Brendan recalled Yvette's disgust at the new addition to their crew. She hadn't been keen on the elder coming back, but he wasn't sure why.

"Not much," he said. And he wasn't sure if he could trust her either.

"She's going to get a shock when she realises she'll have to live above ground. I've never been so excited to go home. I'm going to get the cook to make me about a dozen of those crumbly apple things he likes to bake after Lughnasadh. And I can't wait to ride on a horse in the forest."

Brendan listened to Bran list all of the things he missed from back home. But as he gazed out at the strange sea, there was one face above all others he longed to see, one voice he wished to hear again, and it was the very one Yvette would do her best to stop him from seeing. His people didn't realise how much he would be giving up on their behalf.

"What are you thinking about with such a solemn face?" Bran asked.

"Cara," Brendan said unthinkingly.

"You care for each other," Bran said assuredly. "So why all this with Yvette?"

"It's not what I want that matters. I have so much to atone for." He gripped the rails. "Although I find myself feeling more distaste at the prospect as time goes on. I can't imagine going through with it. In fact, I—" A sound from behind them interrupted him. He turned to see one of Yvette's woman scurrying away.

"She was listening," Bran said, looking worried.

"Most likely," Brendan said. "I'm never free on this boat. There's always someone watching, someone listening. It's ridiculous."

"What are you going to do?"

"I must do my duty," Brendan said. "Yvette's right about some things. I don't see clearly when it comes to Cara and Drake, but I know that she'll never give up the Darkside. She'll never play second fiddle to my court either."

"You're both frustrating people," Bran said. "What's wrong with just being happy?"

"Nothing, but happiness in the faery realm doesn't come without consequence, Bran. We hold too many lives in our hands to dabble in happiness. Even if I free myself of Yvette, I can't see a way for me to—"

"Portal in the distance!" a voice shouted from the crow's nest.

"Almost home," Bran said excitedly. "This is it."

But something else had grabbed Brendan's attention. A ripple through the water was enlarging by the second. Something was circling them. No. A lot of somethings were circling them.

"What is that?" he asked.

Bran leaned over to peer more closely. "I'm not sure."

Brendan thought he saw the flick of a tail before a sea creature lurched out of the water, aiming for Bran's head. Brendan pulled him back with a shout while Yvette's crew called out warnings.

A similar creature leapt out of the water and landed on the deck where it flopped ineffectually. It had a head like a fish, but a human-like torso. Its bottom half ended in two fish-like tails. Without a second thought, Brendan ran through the creature with his sword. It stopped moving, bleeding what looked like green goo rather than actual blood.

And then the boat was rammed. Brendan almost fell over at the movement. "What the hell is happening?" he shouted.

"They're trying to stop us from reaching the portal!" one of the crew members screamed. "We should never have taken the trees!"

Dread filled the pit of Brendan's stomach. He raced to the side of the boat as it rocked dramatically again. The creatures had piled on one side of the boat, doing their best to destroy the ship with their bare hands while others threw their bodies at the vessel.

"This is insane," Bran cried.

"I'm going down there," Brendan said. "I have to get them off the hull before the ship sinks. We need to make it through that portal."

"Wait for me to get rope." Bran ran to help his king.

Brendan wasn't going to wait. "Too late," he said.

Yvette's crew were trying to force the ship to move faster, but the creatures in the water ruined every attempt. He found some rope first, tied it to the rails, and climbed over to make his descent. Gripping the rope with one hand, he held the sword of victory in the other, adrenalin rushing through his body. He would kill those creatures before they stopped him from returning home. That was a promise he could easily make.

Using his feet to balance himself, he held tight then stabbed with the sword. He knocked two of the creatures away from the hull, but four more climbed up in their stead. They were truly ugly and completely unafraid of his sword. He stabbed again and again, his blade stained with green. The creatures communicated in a high pitched language, but they still moved in the way of his sword as though misunderstanding his intent.

His repeated attacks exhausted him. Despite his attempts, the creatures had finally caused some damage. Enraged, he renewed his attacks with increased vigour as bloodlust rushed through his body.

One of the creatures gripped his ankle, and the others keened with excitement. They clambered over each other to weigh him down.

He kicked them free, his arm straining at the extra weight. He twisted the rope around his arm, feeling it burn as more creatures climbed onto him. They didn't care that he stabbed them, didn't care that it brought them death, they continued to try to bring him down, all the while others attempted to destroy the ship. His sword arm grew numb as he chopped and stabbed inelegantly, missing fatal hits more often than not. Seawater splashed him, drenching his clothes and weighing him down.

He heard Bran shouting his name, knew his friend was trying to pull up the rope, but he ordered him to stop.

"Enough!" he roared. "If I come up, they'll take the entire ship down. We need the trees to survive."

He beat back the creatures with every word. He couldn't give up. Not yet. Not until they passed through the bloody portal. At least then they stood a chance at getting home, even if they had to land on human shores in the meantime. He rallied himself mentally. Everyone needed him to succeed. He couldn't possibly allow himself to fail now.

His grip on the rope slipped, but still he sliced at his foes. He sensed the portal mere inches away from the boat as he finally lost hold of the rope. He kept his sword in his hand, and despite being dragged underwater, he still fought them off, giving the boat the chance to pass through the portal. One second it was there, the next it was gone, and as the creatures pulled him down, he ran out of air.

Something heavy hit him on the back of the head, but the creatures stopped trying to kill him and disappeared as though he had been forgotten. He blinked a couple of times in the murky water, but he couldn't see anything bar the light of his sword. The green glimmers were said to foretell victory, but he had already lost. He tried to swim to the surface, but his head pounded, and the water around him was coloured red with his blood. Debris from the ship had hit him, he realised. And then his fight for air had to end because he couldn't even see the surface anymore. His vision blurred as he began to lose consciousness. He held on for as long as he could, never letting go of the sword entrusted into his care.

He thought he saw a mermaid's tail swim past him, and something underneath him buoyed him, but everything was darkness, and he was already dying. The pressure on his lungs was gone. He saw Cara's face as he opened his mouth and let the ocean gush in. Saw her smile, felt her touch, and knew regret. But this time, he knew they would meet again in death, and his life didn't matter anymore. He was cradled in warmth, soothed by the release of his fears, and he found peace.

As he died, as the darkness completely shrouded him, a strong hand gripped his and pulled tight.

Thanks for reading Kings. I hope it tides you over until Sacrifice's release later in 2015. Blurb below!

Sacrifice – the final book in the Chaos series.

One king's life hangs in the balance.

Alliances are broken.

Usurpers bring war to the realm.

Enemies show their true face.

Every distraction feeds Chaos.

And the end of every path leads to Sacrifice.

For more information, check out Claire Farrell's blog or email the author.  Sign up to the newsletter to be notified of new releases and receive occasional coupon codes for free copies, or like the Facebook page for more regular updates.

Turn the page for more books by the author.

Books by Claire Farrell:

Chaos Series:

One Night with the Fae (Companion Prequel)

Soul (Chaos #1)

Fade (Chaos #2)

Queen (Chaos #3)

Usurper (Chaos #4)

Blight (Chaos #5)

Kings (Chaos #5.5)

Ava Delaney Series (Completed):

Thirst (Ava Delaney #1)

Taunt (Ava Delaney #2)

Tempt (Ava Delaney #3)

Taken (Ava Delaney #4)

Taste (Ava Delaney #5)

Traitor (Ava Delaney #6)

Awakening (Ava Delaney Volume I – Books 1-3)

Uprising (Ava Delaney Volume II – Books 4-6)

Lost Souls Series:

Tainted (Ava Delaney: Lost Souls #1)

Tethers (Ava Delaney: Lost Souls #2)

VBI Series:

Demon Dog (VBI #1)

Cursed Series (Completed):

Verity (Cursed #1)

Clarity (Cursed #2)

Adversity (Cursed #2.5)

Purity (Cursed #3)

Cursed Omnibus (Entire Cursed Series)

Stake You Series (Completed):

Stake You (Stake You #1)

Make You (Stake You #2)

Break You (Stake You #3)

Short Story Collections:

Sixty Seconds

A Little Girl in my Room

Other:

Death is a Gift (A standalone banshee novel)

Zombie Moon Rising (A Peter Brannigan Novella)

Ghost Moon Rising (A Peter Brannigan Novella)

Upcoming Releases:

Sacrifice (Chaos #6)

Tithes (Ava Delaney: Lost Souls #3)

Harbinger (An Evans Pack Story)
