by Jessi Gage
Protect my people in my stead, he prayed. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he thrust his dagger deep.
It bit through thick, leathery skin and collided with something hard. The stone, he hoped, and not merely bone.
A red glare, like an angry sunset, punched from the dragon’s chest. The beast shrieked.
He’d hit the stone! The heart!
But had it been enough?
Whether he’d done enough or not did not matter now. He could do no more. He had given his last bit of strength to defend his goddess and his people as best he could.
He would never sire an heir. The portrait above the queen’s throne would never become reality. But if he’d done enough, his people would go on. The world would go on, and Danu would once again sit her heavenly throne.
He fell with the dragon, fist still fused to the seated dagger.
The beast’s wings opened to catch the wind, but one wing crumpled. The dragon spun and twisted as they raced toward death.
The force of the fall wrenched Magnus away from the dragon, but before he released the dagger, he gave it a final twist. More red light poured from the wound.
For you, my love, he thought, and he opened his arms to his fate.
Chapter 31
Finally!
After hours of trudging through snow, Danu stepped from the forest into an open plain. No longer surrounded by trees, she could see Magnus’s army in the distance. From here, they appeared no more than a grouping of black ants against the white ground. Still, the proof that they—and her king—were near enough to lay eyes on had her heart pounding.
Back at the cavern, Travis had told them about the Remnant, and about Vera’s vehemence toward the children. It seemed Magnus’s army might be up against more than a murderous demigod, but also a group of fierce cave-dwellers who longed for the extinction of wolfkind so they could rule the land. It had not taken much convincing for Verden to agree that he should lead his men to Magnus’s aid. What had taken much convincing was that he allow her to come along.
At first, Verden had demanded she remain with Anya, Travis, and the handful of men he’d commanded to guard them. But when she’d refused and begun dressing herself—with Travis’s help—in warm furs and boots found in the cavern, none of the men seemed willing to lay hands on her and force her obedience. So, with Verden scowling, and his men keeping their distance, she’d simply walked out of the caves behind them. Now, hours later and with aching but blessedly warm feet, she was moments away from laying eyes on Magnus.
Magnus, who had loved her last night with his whole body and heart. Magnus, who made her body soar and her heart rest with a wholeness she’d never felt before.
She couldn’t bear to be apart from him any longer, and so she’d determined to find him and stand strong by his side while he faced Hyrk. He had her stone, true, but he did not have her eons of experience in dealing with the evil demigod. Her presence and council could mean the difference between him besting Hyrk or losing to him. She refused to allow Hyrk to win.
But something was wrong. As they neared the army, there seemed to be too much darkness on the ground, as if the snow had turned to ash...and as if fallen men lay scattered among those still standing.
“No!” she cried, running toward them. She was not the only one running. Verden’s men raced ahead, swords drawn, battle cries slicing the air.
Death was an expected part of war. It should be no surprise to see men struck down in the midst of battle. But when there were so few wolfkind left, each one lost was a true tragedy. Even more distressing was the lack of a visible enemy. What had caused this charring? How had these men fallen?
Hand over her heart, she pushed her legs to carry her faster. Even as she searched for some sign of her king, she waited for the souls of the fallen warriors to seek their peace. They would enter her breast, and she would comfort them—each and every one—and see them through to their reward in the afterlife. She braced herself for them. She willed Magnus not to be among them.
But the souls did not come to her.
For two thousand years, her only connection to her people was to welcome their souls when they passed on from mortal life. It was the one thing that had remained the same in captivity as it had been in freedom. Now, it was gone.
The one who held her deity now held those brave souls. Seona. The wounded human who had nothing but bitterness for wolfkind.
Would Seona offer these souls kindness and comfort? Would she honor each one, treasure the moment each precious essence came into contact with her own?
No. She would not.
Fury and loss erupted from Danu in a scream as she reached the army and fell to her knees. All around her were men who had been burned, as if somehow the snow had caught fire. After tragically losing their lives in a battle that should have been hers alone—a battle she had set into motion with her stubborn pride—they would have no comfort. Perhaps they would not even receive their reward of heaven.
The tragedy of it was unthinkable, and yet it unfolded around her. Death was all around her.
But the destruction was not total. Many warriors still stood, including Verden’s men. They held their weapons but they faced no opponent. A sloping bank dropped to what she assumed was a river, though the water was too low to be seen. Perhaps Hyrk was down there with the Remnant Travis had told them about.
But no. The men still standing were not peering into the ravine. They were looking to the sky.
She turned her face upward to see what captivated them, and her heart dropped to her stomach.
A great, red dragon with crumpled wings fell at great speed, and with it a single man. Her man.
“Magnus!”
While she watched in horror, her king and the dragon tumbled into the ravine. An almighty thud shook the ground. She cried out, voicing the agony of her shattered heart.
Just then, a dead man on the ground beside her moved. Fingers like charred wood gripped her arm like a vise. She tried to pull away, to run to her beloved, but the dead man held her fast. “Help me,” he groaned.
* * * *
Duff paced within his shadow, agitated, helpless.
Seona’s cries for help intensified.
If she would not or could not let the souls pass, her agony was bound to grow even worse. What did that mean for the souls seeking rest? Would they linger in the mortal realm like ghosts? Remain with their bodies? He shuddered, not wishing such a fate on his worst enemy.
If only he and Seona were joined by Sacred Tradition already! They would be one. Her power would be his power, and her pain would be his pain. He could share in the suffering and lessen it for her. Perhaps he could even figure out how to send the souls through to where they belonged.
Of course! The bargain they’d made was to be wed in exchange for his freeing her. They had specified no timeline. There was no reason they could not speak the Sacred vows before she was free.
“I’ll help you,” he said. “But first, you must fulfill your end of the bargain. Repeat after me.” He called to mind the enchanted vows of the Sacred Tradition.
Before he could say them, she screeched, “You bloody blighter!” She writhed in pain but was able to summon a tongue lashing for him. “You’ll get my power then leave me. I knew you were no different from the rest—” Her words were cut off by a pained wail, as if even more souls were bombarding her.
Anger and sympathy warred in his chest. She was so jaded she mistook his intentions. “Seona, listen to me,” he said firmly. “I’ll not abandon you. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. What I meant to say was that perhaps I can allow the souls to pass through. But you have to give me that power by saying the vows. Then I will share in your power, yes, but also in your pain. I will be able to help you.”
The way she panted and wheezed concerned him. How much pain could she bear? She had the body of a goddess now, but a weakened one with a large portion of her power away from her in the mortal realm. What if the souls seeking re
st became too much for her? He couldn’t lose her so soon after finding her.
“Quickly. Repeat after me.”
It seemed to cost her great effort to turn her head to study him—or his shadow. How he wished he could be more than a voice to her! He would be once they were joined. Danu’s power, once inside him, would cause Arwan’s curse to slough off like an old snake skin. He would be free from darkness at last, and the first to lay eyes on him in eons would be Seona.
“All right,” she said, distress clear in her pinched voice. Her stomach jumped with her sharp breaths. “I’ll do...anything.”
“By the holy and perfect Sacred Tradition,” he began, quickly but clearly.
She repeated after him.
He released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Relief filled him at her cooperation. This would work. It had to.
“Good. Now say, By the Way of All Things.”
She uttered the words between whimpers.
“I Seona of the mortal realm,” he said, and she repeated. “In the body of the Goddess Danu...Bind myself to Duff, Lord of Darkness, Cursed of the Fae.”
Seona faltered. “Bind myself to—och! I canna! ’Tis too much!”
“Say it,” he urged. “Say it and mean it, and then I can help you.” He grabbed the bars, heedless of his sizzling flesh.
She ground out the words.
“For now and evermore,” he finished.
She repeated the last of the incantation, and he uttered his side of the vows as quickly as possible.
Heat like a shot of whisky bloomed behind his breastbone. His body bowed, and he felt a tug, like a cord going taut between him and Seona. It worked!
He had not been sure it would. The cold-iron bars between them might have created a barrier to the magic. But it had not. They were well and truly joined.
Seona was his wife, and he her husband. They were one.
Duff, Lord of Darkness, Cursed of the Fae was a bachelor no more.
He was a god.
The scent of burning flesh came from his hands, where they’d fused to the bars. With a shout of pain, he wrenched his charred flesh away. The wounds would heal, but slowly—or perhaps not so slowly. While he watched, the skin mended itself. The wounds on his wrist faded as well.
He only marveled at the speedy healing for a moment before a hundred invisible javelins slammed into his chest at once. With the pain came flashes of happy family meals, joyful celebrations, times of mourning, and tranquil moments. Wolfkind souls trying to leave the mortal realm.
Too many faces, settings, and emotions assaulted him, and they kept coming. It felt as though the very fabric of his very mind were expanding to contain the memories of these souls, and by the realms, it hurt.
The pain blinded him. It wiped his mind of all but agony. Falling to his hands and knees, he forced himself to remember what he’d been trying to do. Ah! He must allow the souls to pass through to the afterlife.
He tried. As he did when using his Fae powers, he concentrated on what he wanted to happen. He imagined the souls moving from his body into heavenly light. Mentally, he made a focused beam of his new power and willed it to assist the souls.
It didn’t work.
He kept trying, and it kept not working. What was he doing wrong?
While he’d never been a god before, he was no stranger to power. As a Fae, he could sift through space and time with no more than a concentrated thought. He could create illusions by simply imagining what he wanted others to see. Why couldn’t he do this?
Before he could conceive of an answer, the dungeon around them shook. Rock began falling from the walls. The bars of Seona’s cell shuddered then crumbled to dust. The torches around the dungeon flickered out, and they were plunged into darkness. Into shadow, where he could move freely.
Long adapted to darkness, his eyes adjusted in an instant. As soon as he spotted Seona, he dashed to her and scooped her to him. He curled around her so the rocks falling from the ceiling would not hurt her.
A sudden flash of light blinded him. A crack of thunder deafened him. Then all was quiet.
Chapter 32
A scream stuck in Danu’s throat.
Her lover had just fallen to his death alongside a dragon, and a dead warrior now beseeched her for aid. Her head spun. She could not make sense of it all. It was too much.
“Help me,” the dead man said again, but he was not dead. Somehow, he still lived despite obviously fatal wounds.
“I—I’m sorry,” she told him. She wished she could help, but there was nothing she could do. As a mortal, she had no power to heal wounds. Even as a goddess, her healing powers must be tempered with the laws set forth by The Sacred Way of All Things. Miracles, such as healing the gravely wounded, were to be rare events, and The Sacred Way must be consulted beforehand.
Charred fingers crackled as they squeezed her arm. The man’s wild eyes pinned her in place. His agony was clear.
“I’m so sorry. I wish I could ease your pain.” Aching for him, she covered his hand with hers. It was all she could do.
Why was this man’s moonsoul still in his ruined body? He should be welcomed into the afterlife with all the comfort and praise befitting a fallen warrior. Even within Hyrk’s cell, Seona should still have this one power. Or did she not know how to use it?
Of course! Of course Seona would not know how to care for moonsouls. No mortal would know how. Now those souls were trapped in their bodies. How many fine men lay suffering when they should have found their eternal rest?
Panic seized her. “Magnus!” His broken body was beyond the riverbank, out of sight. He must be in as much agony as this poor man.
“I’m sorry,” she told the burned man. “I have to—” Before she could finish, thunder sounded.
The sky was not dark enough for a storm. Still, the clap was so loud it nearly deafened her. A flash of brilliant light surrounded her. She slammed her eyes closed against it, and when she opened them, she found herself separated from the warrior and standing within a transparent sphere. She instantly recognized it. This was one of the globes her father favored for observing the affairs of mortals.
Growing up, she would often run into his study and throw herself onto his welcoming lap. Out the window would be a shimmering sea of such globes stretching as far as the horizon and beyond. Her father would summon one forward, and it would hover within the window frame. He would explain its contents, sometimes a small scene involving a single mortal, sometimes a group of mortals, sometimes an entire kingdom or empire. With a loving but firm hand, he would touch the surface of the globe, and things would change inside. A mortal would fall to his knees in worship, a family would rejoice at a child’s healing, a battle would tip toward one side.
Never did she imagine she would occupy one of his globes.
At once, she was overcome with shame. Her face heated, knowing her father saw every detail of this disaster. Her realm had fallen into such disarray that the most powerful and ancient member of The Sacred Way had come to—to what?
She could think of only one reason her father would pull her out of mortal time and deposit her within a globe for his scrutiny. She had proven her complete and utter inability to care for the realm The Sacred Way had entrusted to her. She had shown she was not capable of wielding the Sacred power of Creation. Her father had come to take it away from her. He had come to punish her.
Cheeks wet, she fell to her knees. “I’m so sorry.” She hung her head. “So sorry.” She could say no more. Her throat closed with regret.
“Daughter.” Her father’s calm voice made her tears fall faster.
She’d only wanted to make him proud, to show him how much she’d learned and how devoted she would be to her realm, her tiny little corner of the created universe.
She kept her head low, too ashamed to show her face.
“Danu, my fierce princess. Look at me.” His kind, loving tone made it worse. She’d rather he lose his temper with her. She deserved his wrat
h.
Every millimeter she raised her eyes was a battle. She did not want to be seen. She did not want to be known. She never thought she’d long for the solitude of Hyrk’s dungeon, but she did now. She wanted to hide. Like a coward.
No. I shall face my father like the goddess I am—or was. I will take responsibility for this mess.
Gulping down a hot lump of shame, she tilted her face to the sun. The brilliant orb broke through the wintry clouds and shone with her father’s glory. She could not look directly at it, her mortal eyes weak. Instead, she kept her face upturned, but closed her eyes.
“Father,” she said, and she rose to her feet, chin jutting.
From the sky, her father smiled upon her. She did not see it, but she felt it. Her whole body warmed as if she rested on the shores of Faerie without a care in the world.
“I am ready for my punishment,” she said, bracing herself for her father’s displeasure now that the greetings were over with.
The air around her cooled, and she imagined her father’s frown tucked within the frame of his pure-white beard. “Does the vixen punish her kit for escaping the talons of the eagle?” he asked.
She frowned. “No. Of course not. But if I am the young fox you speak of, I have escaped nothing. Hyrk has won.” She motioned to the bank, to all the dead men. Her aching heart pulsed with the knowledge of what lay in the river behind her, Magnus’s body, possibly with his moonsoul still locked within, every bit as helpless as she had been in Hyrk’s dungeon. “I have allowed the eagle to terrorize my people. To all but extinguish them. I have failed you.” She ducked her head, unable to face her father’s glory while she built the case against herself. She had lived for millennia, but disappointing her father made her feel like a child again.
He sighed. The wind of his breath stirred the locks of her hair. “My sweet Danu. Always longing to please. Striving for perfection.”
“I am a goddess,” she said. “Or I was.” Her inexplicable presence within a mortal body was yet another reason to be embarrassed. “I am supposed to be perfect.”