by Donna Grant
Fury contorted his visage. His one good eye was locked on Bran, but with one word, Bran stopped Cael in his tracks.
As Cael toppled to the ground, the sword once more appeared in Erith’s hand. She turned, slicing her blade at Bran. Just as her weapon hit the spot where he’d been, Bran teleported away.
“Eoghan!” she shouted, knowing that the Reaper would get himself and the others away.
She rushed to Cael, sliding on her knees beside him. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
“No,” he ground out, pushing her hand away. “Get away . . . from . . . me.”
“Cael, I can help.”
His eyes squeezed shut from the pain. “Trap.”
“I don’t care. I left you once. I’m not doing it again,” Erith told him.
Death was afraid to move him, so she erected a dome of magic around them that no one could get through—not even Bran. Then she put her hand on Cael’s chest.
He moaned from the pain, lost somewhere between consciousness and sleep. She used her magic to push him deeper into that oblivion to help him get away from the pain. It was a chance she took, because she might not be able to get him back.
When his body relaxed, she let herself search for the magic Bran used. She’d seen many things, but never an orb of purple magic before Bran. Erith wasn’t sure how Bran had created it, but she had to find a way to reverse it before it was too late.
“I’m here, Cael,” she said again, stroking the intact side of his face.
The fact that his body wasn’t healing worried Erith the most. So she searched for the poisonous magic. If she thought it would be difficult to find, she was mistaken. It was everywhere throughout Cael’s body. In every bone, every muscle, every vein.
Erith then tried to remove it. She stopped the moment Cael cried out in pain.
The sound of laughter made her jerk her head up. Bran stood about a hundred yards away with his hands behind his back, a smug smile upon his face.
“I promised him that you’d watch him die. I don’t go back on my word,” Bran stated.
Erith got to her feet and grabbed her sword. “Let’s finish this. Unless you want to run away again.”
“We will finish it, but not until I see this final part.”
She glanced at Cael to see that his chest no longer moved. Bran forgotten, Erith dropped to her knees and put her ear to Cael’s chest.
He was still breathing, but barely. If Cael were to die, he would do it with dignity, not with Bran watching.
Erith met Bran’s gaze. “Don’t make me come hunt you.”
“I’ll be waiting,” he promised.
Erith took Cael’s hand and teleported them a dozen different places before she brought him to the isle that led to her realm. To her surprise, the Reapers were waiting for her. She met Eoghan’s gaze before she got to her feet and moved back.
Without a word, all thirteen of them lifted Cael and walked through the doorway to her realm. She followed, closing the portal behind her. If Bran had set a trap, he wouldn’t be able to get through.
The women were there, but their smiles disappeared when they saw Cael. Erith led the procession into her tower and up to her chamber, where they laid Cael on the bed.
Erith stood looking at Cael, lost in her thoughts, enough that it took her a bit to realize that she wasn’t alone. Erith turned her head to find Eoghan.
The Reaper pulled his gaze from Cael. “What do you need from us?”
“Nothing.”
“We’ll be here.” Eoghan started to turn away but then paused. “Where did you send Xaneth?”
Erith frowned, having completely forgotten about the Fae once she reached Bran’s, but she hadn’t seen him since they returned to Earth. “I didn’t send him anywhere. He never did his part of the plan.”
“I guess he decided not to help us.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think he’d do that.”
“Then where is he?”
“Send a couple of Reapers to see if they can find out where he’s at.”
Eoghan’s jaw worked as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide whether to voice it or not. Finally, he said, “I’ll tell the others.”
Erith watched him leave before she turned back to Cael. He hadn’t uttered a sound since she’d tried to pull Bran’s magic from him. When she searched him again, the purple power had bound itself to Cael’s magic, making the two almost indiscernible.
“Nay,” she whispered when his breathing stopped for several seconds before his lungs filled with air again.
She used her magic to try and pull him back from oblivion. When he didn’t wake, she slapped at his face, soft taps at first, before she began to hit him in earnest.
“Wake up! Cael, you have to wake up. Please,” she begged.
But there was no denying the truth. He was fading.
The tears she had kept at bay began to fall. She crawled onto the bed beside Cael, resting her head on his shoulder as they’d done after making love.
“Bran was right,” she said with a sniff. “You were my favorite. I thought I’d kept it hidden, but obviously, not well enough. You were my favorite because I’m in love with you. I should’ve told you. We finally get together, only to have you taken from me.”
She paused, waiting to feel his chest move. When a full minute passed with no stirring, she closed her eyes as tears poured down her face. She put her hand over his heart.
As Death, she had control over a Fae’s soul. But when a Reaper perished, there was no coming back. She didn’t know why. She’d spent hours trying the first time a Reaper had died, to no avail. Now, she’d lost the one person she’d thought would always be there.
She squeezed her eyes closed and opened her mouth in a silent scream she didn’t dare let free. The pain of losing Cael was worse than she could’ve imagined. She felt as if she were being ripped apart, torn in every direction. The grief was sharp and keen—and a million times worse than any other emotion she’d ever experienced.
With one blow, she had been rocked to her very foundation.
The tears suddenly stopped as she opened her eyes and gave into the wrath that rose up with the force of a volcanic eruption.
Bran had done this. Bran had taken away the only person she’d ever loved. And he would pay.
Painfully.
But first, Erith would spend more time with Cael. She used to lament the time she had. Now, she wished for even a minute longer with Cael so she could talk to him once more. To hear his voice, see his smile, and look into his silver eyes.
She swallowed as the heartache and anguish returned. Mistress of War waited to attack Bran, but for now, she was still Erith. For Cael.
“I will never forget the first time I saw you on the battlefield,” she said through her tears. “You were utterly unstoppable. Every decision you made led your army closer to victory. And your skill was unmatched against every opponent who came between you and success.
“I would watch you for hours, growing more impressed each time. I saw a lot of warriors, but none could compare to you. Then, your gaze met mine that day. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. You were everything. For the first time, I’d found someone I wanted to get to know, someone who made me . . . yearn.”
She smiled, sniffing. “I spent more time observing you than I have any other being in the universe. I didn’t know what I was feeling at first, but it became clear that it was love. Even when I formed the Reapers, I couldn’t stay away from you. You pulled me back like a moth to a flame. And did you ever burn bright.
“There’s only one other time I’ve ever been as furious as I am today, and that’s when you were betrayed. You, of all people. I should’ve realized the jealousy of others. That is one emotion I often forget, and one I should’ve learned by now. To realize that it is partly what drove Bran to turn on us only makes matters worse.”
Erith lifted her face to look at Cael. She could almost pretend he was sleeping. Almost. She rose up on her
elbow and looked down at him, blinking through her tears. Then she placed a kiss on his cheek.
“You will always hold my heart, Cael. There is no other for me. I wish I could’ve been brave enough to do something about my attraction centuries ago. When I think about what we could’ve had, I—”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. The words stuck in her throat. She rested her forehead against his cheek and allowed herself another few minutes of tears. Then she rose from the bed and wiped her face as she embraced the fury and the past.
That first step was the hardest. Erith wanted to rush back to Cael and hold onto the shell of the body despite the fact that his soul was gone. She’d never fully understood why others did such things.
The wailing, the holding onto a body that was cold and lifeless. Now, she knew the heart-wrenching truth of it. And the pain of it all bore down on her shoulders with the weight of the entire universe.
But she stood tall. For Cael. For herself. For the Reapers and those they loved.
Erith walked from the room and slowly made her way down the staircase that lined the wall of the tower. When she finally reached the bottom, she realized how quiet it was. She walked outside and stood listening, searching for the others.
She was drawn toward the lake. As she made her way through the forest, she spotted the couples off by themselves, holding each other and talking.
Then there were the other Reapers. Aisling perched on one of the thick branches that ran along the ground as she absently ran her hand down the silky fur of a fox that sat beside her. Cathal and Rordan stood together in silence, while Bradach, Dubhan, and Torin were by themselves.
It was Bradach who saw her first. His silver eyes searched hers before he frowned and hung his head. Erith kept walking until she emerged from the forest.
She turned and faced the group that now stared at her expectantly, hoping for good news but bracing themselves for the worst.
Twice she tried to form the words. Finally, she managed two. “He’s gone.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
The words had been spoken, but Erith still refused to accept that they were true. In her mind, Cael was merely resting until his body could heal.
She would believe that until the end of time.
Her grief was so overwhelming, so devastating that she was crushed under the weight of it. Cael, a warrior unlike any other, had been taken by someone like Bran.
With her sorrow so great, even the birds had stopped singing. The entire realm reflected her emotions. She knew the others were waiting for her to say something, to give them a command, but she couldn’t think about anything but Cael.
Of losing him.
Tears burned her eyes, tears that she was determined not to shed. She’d cried as she lay beside Cael. That would have to be enough until she defeated Bran.
But her decision mattered little to the anguish within her. One tear fell, then another and another until she lost count. They streamed down her face to drop from her chin to the ground. She couldn’t control the violent, desperate emotions swirling and churning within her, and then she stopped trying.
She let them coalesce, melding together until she could no longer tell grief from anger. They were bound together, wrapping around her like armor.
Erith drew in a shaky breath as the last tear fell. She finally looked at the others. Thirteen Reapers stood before her, stoic and armed, and among them were five women. Their sadness shifted to wrath, for they too had lost a devoted Reaper and friend.
“You’re going to need someone to take Cael’s place,” Cat said as she wiped the tracks of tears from her face. “I ask that you allow me to fill it.”
Erith was so used to refusing such requests that it was on the tip of her tongue before she realized it. Then she paused and looked at Fintan. He gave a nod, telling her that he supported his woman’s decision.
“We would be honored,” Erith told her.
Ettie licked her lips, her eyes red from crying. “We all want to join you.”
“This realm is sealed, and I’ll seal it again when we leave. But I’d feel better if there was someone here who could defend the others if things go badly,” Erith said.
River, looking healthy, rubbed her swollen belly as she cried softly. “I’m a burden.”
“Nay,” Kyran told her. “This child is a gift. We all want to protect it, as well as you.”
Erith walked to River and laid a hand upon the woman’s stomach. The baby kicked her palm as if it knew she was there and was proving that it was fine. Erith gazed into River’s pale blue eyes. “I’m not losing any more of you. Do you understand?”
River nodded, her tears coming faster.
“Do you understand?” Erith asked as she looked around the group. “Bran will not win. He’s taken Cael, and nearly killed Eoghan. It’s time this stops.”
Aisling lifted her chin, her lashes spiked from crying. “What about Xaneth?”
“If he’s with Bran, I’ll strike him down myself,” Erith stated. “If he’s not, then once Bran is dealt with, we go looking for him.”
And she had a pretty good idea of where to start—the Dark Palace.
Thea sighed loudly. “We all know my mother hates Xaneth. She wants him dead. He’s the only one who has a claim to the throne.”
Erith looked at Fintan. “You and I are going to take a quick trip.”
Fintan didn’t ask where, just walked to her side and waited.
“We won’t be long,” Death told Eoghan.
Fintan fell in step beside her as she strode to the doorway. Once they were through it, she took his arm as she teleported them.
When they arrived at their destination, she looked at Fintan as she dropped her hand. “Nothing to say?”
He shrugged as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I had a feeling you’d bring us here.”
“Call him.”
Fintan held her gaze as he said, “Balladyn.”
In a blink, the King of the Dark walked through the double doors of his quarters. He stopped short when he spotted them. “What the fek?”
“I don’t have time for pleasantries,” Erith told him. “I’m going to put this as succinctly as I can. We’re fighting Bran, and there is a good chance he’ll win. He’s formed an alliance with Usaeil.”
Balladyn softly closed the door behind him as he glanced at Fintan before returning his red gaze to Erith. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Usaeil always thinks of herself. But why are you coming to me?”
“You know why,” Fintan stated.
Balladyn shrugged. “I want to hear it.”
Erith was past the point of being insulted. “Bran has forcibly taken your people. He’s changing them, giving them additional magic that increases their power. We want you to join us.”
“And if I don’t, Bran will come for me?” Balladyn asked, brows raised.
“Don’t forget Usaeil.” Erith took a step toward him. “Do you know who I am?”
There was a long silence before the king bowed his head.
“Say it,” she ordered.
His lips were tight as he said, “Death.”
“Bran escaped the prison I sent him to for betraying and killing his fellow Reapers. He is my responsibility. Unfortunately, he got the advantage by syphoning not only my power but my life force, as well.”
Balladyn raised a brow. “You look fit to me.”
She produced the black sword, which made the king take a step back. “You know this?”
“It belonged to the Mistress of War.”
Erith glanced at the weapon. “I’ve been known by many names. Mistress of War and Death are but a few.”
Balladyn’s red eyes darted to Fintan, who gave a nod of confirmation. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because I believe Usaeil has taken Xaneth.”
“So?”
Fintan dropped his arms. “Xaneth is the queen’s nephew.”
Balladyn nodded slowly. “He told me. If he’s g
one, no doubt Usaeil has him.”
“He was helping you as well as us when he joined Bran’s army,” Erith explained. “We attacked Bran, and Xaneth never showed as he was supposed to. Since Usaeil and Bran are working together, I believe she saw him and took him.”
Balladyn ran a hand over his jaw. “So what do you want me to do? Help you fight Bran, or look for Xaneth? I can’t do both. And if I know Usaeil, she’ll either kill Xaneth quickly, or she’ll hold him, torturing him at her leisure.”
“I’m banking on the latter. Xaneth helped us a few times. I owe him. But before I can repay that debt, I need to take care of a bigger problem.”
“Bran,” the king said. His gaze returned to Fintan. “I want the truth from you. You are the infamous assassin, Fintan, aren’t you?”
When Fintan’s red-rimmed, white eyes met hers, Erith gave him a nod of approval.
Fintan drew in a deep breath. “Aye.”
“I knew it,” Balladyn said with a grin.
Erith caught the king’s gaze. “I know what Usaeil did to you. I know how you fought the darkness for centuries before you became Dark. I know how deeply you love a particular Light Fae. I also know of your partnership with Ulrik. More importantly, I know how badly you want to deliver revenge not just to Usaeil for her betrayal, but to Bran for taking your people. Because, despite being a Dark Fae, there is still good within you, and you want to protect your people—something no other King of the Dark ever did.”
Balladyn turned away to walk to where his library was. “Don’t try and make my decisions sound like they were good. I know what I am now. I’ve accepted it and embraced it. My path with the Light ended the moment Usaeil left me for Taraeth to kill.”
“If Taraeth had, I would’ve offered you a spot with the Reapers.”
Balladyn’s head jerked to her.
Erith smiled softly. “Every Reaper is a warrior who was betrayed and killed.”
Balladyn’s eyes moved to Fintan before he nodded slowly. “A part of me wishes I had died that day.”
“Your story wasn’t finished,” Fintan said. “It still isn’t.”
Balladyn closed one of the books and looked at Erith. “I’ll join you.”