“Do ye know Fallon Moireach?” Kane asked. She had to, otherwise how would she know what form to appear to him in?
“I am quite familiar with her,” Gwyndolen said.
“Then I bid ye ta take me.”
“You seek the druid, not me. Should I be insulted by this, warrior?”
Gwyndolen wondered if he would lie in order to catch her favor and if he did, she would be none too pleased at his attempt at deception. A faerie never takes lightly being told she is admired when indeed she is not. Especially for the purpose of obtaining a favor.
Kane pondered whether to answer her with the truth. She might refuse his request if she thought he desired someone other than her.
“Aye,” he finally answered.
Better to be denied his petition than to anger a faerie. Even so, she still might lop off his head. Fooling with an immortal was a dangerous thing.
Gwyndolen admired his integrity. Her daughter had done well in choosing a mate. “If I take you to the otherworld, you may never escape.”
“As long as Fallon be with me, ‘twill no’ matter.”
“If I refuse to release you from my enchanted gaze you will forever be mine.” Gwyndolen offered him the consequences of acquiring the interest of a fae. “Your body will be shared. You will lose your wit. You will die there.”
“Without Fallon, I will die here.” Kane pointed to his chest. “She be in yer place and ‘tis where I wish ta be.”
Gwyndolen had heard enough. The warrior would sacrifice his mortal existence in this world—sacrifice his life, his mind, just to be near her daughter. “I then choose to honor your request, warrior.”
Slowly her gaze began drifting toward him, but Kane immediately looked away.
“Will ye force me ta believe ye are her in your place of dwelling?” he asked. It would be pointless to allow the fae to seize him if he knew not the difference.
A wise man, Gwyndolen mused. “I assure you on my honor that you will not envision me any other way than in my true body and face, warrior.”
Allowing the glowing drape to fall, the queen revealed her identity. “Regardless, you may desire me over her anyway.”
Before Kane could sort what was happening, the faerie’s head snapped toward him. He saw Fallon’s face, Fallon’s eyes.
The faerie lied!
She seized his gaze.
Kane fought it.
But he was unable to refuse the fae. Her hold on him was strong. She reached for him, and taking her outstretched hand Kane mounted the horse behind her, as she twisted to side sit on the horse’s back, her eyes never leaving his.
And Gwyndolen smiled, seeing how handsome Kane Siosal was. She then sighed. If he wasn’t so favored by her daughter, she would keep him for herself.
“Fear not, warrior,” she said to him. “This journey won’t be long,”
The mist swirled all around them, growing thicker. With a slight buck, the queen’s horse sprinted forward and began to trot, though no sound of hooves was heard beneath them.
As for Kane, he was oblivious to the air that blew warmly against them, oblivious to the sights of the celestial air that grew around them, and of the fog that transformed to a glittering mist as they traversed the veils. He was in awe, a blissful sensation streaming through him, his coherence abating as more and more he became mesmerized by the beautiful fae.
Within moments, they reached the aperture of the palace, and Kane slid from the horse, pulling the faerie down and into his arms. He wanted to kiss her and bent his head to do so, but she commanded him to stop.
Kane obeyed.
“Not now, lover.” Gwyndolen sighed, wishing she knew of Kane Siosal before he and Fallon crossed paths. The man was, by far, too sensual for the mortal realm, even when ceding to the faerie trance—especially when ceding to the faerie trance. It would be so easy to make Kane her love slave, for in this condition of mind no resistance would be offered, and his body would surrender all.
Sliding to her feet, Gwyndolen strolled through the palace doors, Kane following behind her as she knew he would. She bid Kane to wait outside and then entered the great hall just in time to hear a crash and a grunt as Fallon smashed a crystalline platter over Moros’ head. A trickle of blood streamed along his temple.
Moros turned on Fallon, ignoring the blood and the blow, and lunged toward her, but Armond stayed him with a wave of his hand, keeping Fallon safe.
“You’re pissing me off, you old faggot, I mean fairy,” Moros growled at Armond. He picked a sliver of broken crystal from his hair and flicked it through the air.
“Very naughty, Aori,” Armond returned. “I told you that I refuse to let harm come to her.”
“What goes on here?” Gwyndolen asked. The great hall was a chaotic mess—broken crystal, a splintered chair, pillows scattered everywhere.
A few faerie gazed through the roof top with great amusement.
“Fallon has completely broken his allure on her,” Armond answered.
“‘Twas quite simple, as well,” Fallon added.
Moros scowled at her.
“And I have discovered somethin’ in yer absence, Mother.” Fallon ignored his sour expression. “The Bryan feels pain.”
Armond bellowed a roaring laugh. “Your daughter is a delight! She wounds him, and he mends, and then she wounds him again! This has been great entertainment, Gwyndolen, great fun!”
“Where have you been, Gwynnie?” Moros leaned against a nearby pillar.
“Oh, just round and about seeking a gift for my daughter,” The queen fae answered. “And I told you to stop calling me Gwynnie!”
“A gift?” Fallon looked at her mother. “Where be it?”
Gwyndolen smiled warmly at her daughter, but then turned her attention to Moros, her expression turning cold. “Will you release your claim on my daughter?”
Moros swiped at the gash on his brow. Within an instant it vanished. “I don’t think so.”
“It seems she’s giving you nothing but trouble.”
“If Armond would cease interfering.” Moros leered at the king fae. “I would have her obedience and her body.”
To that, Fallon snorted.
“Her full obedience is something that will evade you, Moros.” Gwyndolen stepped further into the palace. “Nevertheless, I still want you to release her. You don’t deserve my daughter.”
“Whether or not I deserve her is beside the point. I claimed her and now I have her.”
“Be that as it may, my Greek fae, there is another who does deserve her and has much, much more of a claim on her than you do.”
Moros looked upon the queen with a wary gaze. “What do you mean?”
Gwyndolen raised her arm in a summoning motion and Kane, abiding her, stepped into the hall.
“Kane!” Fallon’s heart skipped and she flew toward him, wrapping her arms around his chest.
He stood motionless, unresponsive to her embrace.
Tipping her head back, Fallon saw that his sight was set upon Gwyndolen. And there was a haze in his eyes that filled her with worry. “What have ye done, Mother?”
“Under his own request, I brought him here. He is enamored by my gaze.”
“Nay! Kane look upon me. ‘Tis Fallon.”
Fallon. Kane’s heart battled with his wayward mind.
“Release him, Mother!” Fallon lent pleading eyes to Gwyndolen.
“Of course I’ll release him,” Gwyndolen responded. “I never had intended to keep your warrior.”
But before she withdrew her faerie allure, she studied Kane’s face. He was fighting her enchantment.
Armond saw it too. “The warrior is strong of will. A superb human specimen.”
“Come to me, Fallon,” Moros ordered, and to Kane he said, “She will never be fully yours, Gael.”
“Ye can no’ covet what ye never owned aforehand, fae.” Kane glared at him, his eyes revealing intense control of his mind.
Moros drew back momentarily. The Gael’s
mind was freed.
And Gwyndolen beamed her delight, for he broke the spell of his own accord.
Kane’s attention shifted from The Bryan to Fallon and then to the female faerie who delivered him. His eyes swept back and forth between the two females a few times and then he understood. It was Fallon’s mother whose sight he caught, and she was indeed nearly identical in appearance to Fallon with one exception, she was pure fae and emanated an ethereal, faerie appeal.
But it was Fallon who appealed to his heart.
“Fallon,” Kane called to her.
She looked directly at him and smiled.
Spreading his arms with invitation, Kane beckoned Fallon, and she moved toward him, stepping into his embrace. Kane wrapped his arms around her possessively. He rested his chin atop her head and speared The Bryan with an angry gaze. “I have come ta retrieve ye, love. Ta take ye home with me.”
“You can’t have her!” Moros boomed.
“It appears, fae, that I already do,” Kane answered, finding his arrogance. His arms tightened around Fallon as he looked to the faerie queen. “I bid ye, send us home.”
“I’m afraid she can’t do that, mortal,” Armond answered.
Kane shifted his attention to the faerie who spoke. “And who, faerie, might ye be?”
“Armond,” he returned. “The fae king.”
The king? Kane was a bit surprised at his sinewy form and his youthful appearance, save the long white hair that stretched nearly to his thighs. He assumed that the ruler of faeries, who likely was long in age, would be of the more stately kind, plump and spoiled. Then again he was immortal and immortals failed to grow old.
“I beg ye then ta tell me for what reason we can no’ return,” Kane asked him.
“Fallon accepted Moros’ invitation and only he can absolve her.”
Kane studied Fallon’s face. The angst he saw there told him it was the truth. But he would never abandon her. If it meant remaining in the faerie realm then Kane was determined to stay.
Brushing his knuckles along her cheek, Kane spoke softly to Fallon. “I will no’ leave ye.”
“There is another way.” Armond spoke.
“No!” Gwyndolen yelled, for she knew exactly what the king was about to say. “The mortal can’t possibly win.”
“What be the way?” Kane’s interest was caught by the king’s statement, particularly if it meant taking Fallon home.
Gwyndolen shook her head. “Armond, no!”
“Yes, Armond.” Moros smirked. “Do tell us what the faerie decrees say.”
“A challenge!” Armond’s voice boomed. “Battle each other for her.”
It echoed so loudly through the faerie realm, the sound of it aroused the interest of the other fae in the mist. A few of them materialized within the great hall, curious to see what events were unfolding.
“A challenge for Fallon?” Moros’ smile widened. It was a contest he was most willing to accept. There was no way on earth or faerie realm the mortal could win such a bet.
After all, the Gael was a mere human, but Moros was a god!
“If this be the only way, then this be what I shall do.” Kane nodded.
Moros laughed. “Then say the words and I’ll accept!”
“I challenge ye fae, for Fallon’s hand!” There was no mistake this time that Kane was entering into a bargain with the man-fae.
“And I’ll meet that challenge!” Stupid mortal, Moros thought.
“Nay, Kane!” Fallon looked upon him, her voice pleading, her face expressing worry. “Ye must reconsider.”
“‘Tis done.” Kane cupped her cheek and bent to kiss her lips. “Have faith in me.”
In all honesty, Kane was clueless as to what he was doing. Having attempted to down The Bryan before, he knew it would be a difficult undertaking.
Kane stared at Fallon. For her sake, he had to try. There must be a way to accomplish the task, other than what the goddess instructed him to do.
Fallon turned away from him, the worry changing to fear. And looking around, she was amazed to see that from floor to ceiling the hall now rallied with a multitude of fae, eager to witness the battle. Fallon searched their faces for help—for sympathy, but found none.
Her eyes fell on her mother.
Gwyndolen furled her brows at her daughter’s hopeless expression “How will we determine a winner?”
Her question was directed to Armond.
“Simple,” Moros answered before Armond could. He tapped a finger to his lips. Now where in one of my mortal lives had a confrontation of this sort occurred before? He smiled in remembrance recalling the challenge’s terms.
Holding out his arms, Moros spun around the hall, presenting himself most arrogantly to the faerie congregation. “The one who dies first, loses.”
Chapter Thirteen
Fury mixed with Fallon’s fear. She was angry that the fae, the king, The Bryan, her mother … Kane … oh Kane….
He could never win this.
“Ye can no’ kill what can no’ die!” Fallon yelled her protest. “Forbid this competition!”
Shrugging at Fallon, Armond turned to the warrior and then to Moros. “Choose and agree on your weapons.”
“Magic!” Moros proposed. He beamed a smile as the faeries present chortled at his ridiculous suggestion.
“That would hardly make the match even, Moros, since the human has none.”
“Then, pistols at twenty paces!”
Armond shook his head. “That is not a consideration either.”
“And what’s wrong with a show down?” Moros held out upturned palms. “Any of us here could produce a couple of guns.”
Fallon and Kane exchanged befuddled glances. Neither of them knew what The Bryan was speaking about.
“First and foremost, Aori.” Armond tipped his head in disapproval. “The mortal has never seen one, since they do not exist in his century. Secondly, if I recall hearing, during your human stint in the military you trained to be a crack shot.”
“There’s nothing to it,” Moros proposed. “You just stick your finger through the little hole, take aim and pull the trigger … boom! The deed is done.”
“Swords,” Kane spoke up. Enough was enough. It was a weapon he knew well.
The fae assembly around them began to murmur amongst themselves, excited to see a sword fight, but all became silent when Armond lifted his hands.
“Will both opponents settle for the blade?”
“Aye,” Kane said.
“Sure,” Moros agreed with a shrug and a cocky tilt of his head. “Why not?”
“Death! Death! Death!” A few faeries began chanting loudly and the remainder followed.
Kane’s attention swept around the hall. There were fae everywhere—atop the pillars, standing on the floors, some peeking through the translucent ceiling above.
“Bloodthirsty barbarians,” he mumbled beneath his breath.
“Death! Death! Death….”
Fallon touched his arm. “There is no’ understanding ta the meanin’ of life when one can no’ expire from it.”
Kane flinched. Fallon was half-fae and of course would feel some offense at his comment.
He bent to speak in her ear. “I be sorry, Fallon. I did no’ mean….”
“‘Tis fine,” Fallon touched her hand to his lips stopping him from saying more. Stretching up onto her toes she kissed him, and then realized it might be for the last time. Fallon closed her eyes and beseeched the sacred spirits to spare him.
Her heart bled tears at the thought of losing Kane.
“I should no’ have doubted you.” Lifting her lids, Fallon looked upon him with regret. “I know you did no’ betray me.”
Kane gently stroked his fingertips along her hair, looking at her tenderly and sighing heavily at the same time. “I would nev’r betray ye, Fallon.”
“This cannot be a fight to the death, Armond!” The sound of Gwyndolen yelling above the noisy incantations had both Kane and Fallon look
ing up. “Moros is on reprieve. He will not die!”
The king pondered that for a moment. There was never a time when mortal human fought immortal faerie to the death, and the human won. Least not a time he could recall. In fact, he could only assume it would be impossible.
Of course his thoughts made sense. An immortal cannot die.
Armond supposed it was unjust to have the warrior engage in a futile contest. What would be the fun in that if they all knew the outcome?
“Silence!” Armond roared, and with the exception of a few faerie giggles that resonated in the air, the hall quieted. “The one to disarm will be deemed the victor.”
“I have no doubt I can take off both of the Gael’s arms.” Moros snickered.
Again the faeries tittered and mumbled.
Armond lifted an irritated brow. “Don’t misconstrue my meaning, Greek.”
Walking to the great hall’s center, Armond motioned for Moros and Kane to come forth. They approached, standing face to face, both with snarling mouths and narrowed, hate filled eyes fixed upon one another.
With his palms turned downward, Armond curled them both into fists and touched them together briefly before spreading his arms outward and away from each other. He opened his hands with a jerk, and a clanking sound was heard. Kane and Moros looked downward. Two golden and brilliantly polished, jeweled swords lay athwart at their feet.
Armond backed away until he was amongst the crowd.
“Begin.”
Kane bent, and with speed so remarkable the faeries gasped, the blade was in his hand.
He slashed it upward.
Moros mirrored the movement a fraction of a moment later, and he too slashed his blade upward.
They both jumped back, groans of pain spewing from both of their mouths.
The faerie congress murmured. Fallon shrieked and curled into her mother’s embrace, squeezing her eyes closed.
“Oh see there,” Moros laughed. “The mortal bleeds.”
Passions of the Flame Page 11