Faerie Rising: The First Book of Binding (The Books of Binding 1)

by A. E. Lowan

  Lana made soothing noises and coaxing gestures. “It’ll be okay.”

  “How? I have all these memories, and they’re filling up my head and swirling around… How will this be okay? Tell me how this will be okay.” He folded himself around the much shorter Lana and pressed his head to her shoulder.

  “Just trust me, babe. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Senán stiffened. “Trust you…” He looked up, rage distorting his face, and gripped her by her arm.

  “You’re hurting me, Jeremy!”

  “Trust you?! You said that before, and then you threw me into father and his flunky. You left me!” He shook her like a terrier. “This is your fault!”

  Etienne lunged forward, the others a step behind him.

  “Oh fuck this!” Lana jerked one of her daggers free as her body was being whipped back and forth and hammered Senán in the temple with the pommel. The prince dropped like a stone, taking her to the floor with him.

  Cian helped Etienne pry Senán’s fingers off her swelling arm and then checked his friend. “His skull is cracked.”

  Lana snorted, sliding her dagger back into its sheath. “Hard as his head is, it won’t do him any lasting harm.”

  Etienne glanced down at the boy… at his brother… and nodded. “He’ll be fine, Cian. He’s sidhe.”

  Lana put her hands on her hips. “So, who carries nutters here out?”

  Etienne looked pointedly at Cian.

  Cian was staring with worried compassion at Senán, but scowled at Etienne as soon as he felt his gaze and turned to his coterie of knights. “Can two of you please escort Prince Senán, Rocio, and Chuck back to the healers?”

  Etienne pointed at the apartment door. “You go with them.”

  Cian shook his head, stubborn and defiant. “I stay here. You’re down a few people.”

  Etienne turned to the tall knight. “Take him with you.”

  The tall knight gestured for two of his number to pick up Senán and gave Etienne a level stare. “If I do I withdraw my coterie. Our job is to protect the young prince, not you and the Darkling half-breed.”

  Cian lifted his chin a little, his green eyes challenging even as they kept flickering towards his mad, injured friend. Senán. The entire reason they’d come here to begin with.

  Etienne wanted to tie him up and toss his skinny little sidhe butt in the elevator, but he was out of choices. “Fine,” he said, his voice on the edge of a growl. “You and your knights stay. You, take these three down. No need to get them killed.”

  Chuck looked disappointed. “I thought we were gonna save the world.”

  Etienne clasped the security guard’s good shoulder. “You already did. You saved our lives. Now let us return the favor.”

  Chuck smiled at that and nodded. “Good luck up there. He’s got a roof access through that door there. Only place left for him to go.”

  Scoithín sheathed his longsword, drew Keeper, and gave Etienne a grim nod. It was time.

  Etienne waited until the elevator door closed on their wounded before turning to Cian. “Stay in the back. I don’t want you hurt.”

  Cian nodded. “I don’t want you hurt, either.”

  Etienne’s expression softened and he gave Cian a small smile. He was going to get hurt, there was no avoiding it. He was just a half-breed with a gun. But maybe having a coterie of sidhe knights and a champion would make a difference in the long run. He took Cian’s shoulders. “For Winter.”

  Cian smiled. “For Winter.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Etienne was right behind Scoithín as they emerged onto the building’s roof. Standing on the very edge of the knee-high overhang was a tall sidhe lord with short, ice blond hair, bearing a large great axe and wearing a dark gray suit. He did not look happy as he watched the battle play out below, his grip on the elaborately wrapped haft white-knuckled with stress.

  Prince Midir and Grief.

  Midir turned his head as their party slipped from the roof access doorway, immediately schooling his features to bland boredom… and then his ice blue eyes lit with genuine pleasure to see Cian, arriving last. “Have you come to watch my triumph, sweet prince?” He stepped backwards away from the edge, dropping gracefully down to the graveled roof floor. “Come and watch with me.”

  Etienne looked down. “Not much to watch. Looks like you’ve already lost.”

  Midir tapped his leg with the side of the axe. “I don’t lose.” He held his hand out to Cian. “Come, boy.”

  The coterie of knights shifted positions, ranging out to give themselves room to fight. The tall one drew his sword, a signal for the others. “You cannot have him.”

  Midir’s mouth twisted into a cruel grin. “I’ve already had him.” Grief gleamed in Midir’s hand and then the ancient prince was moving in a lethal dance too fast for Etienne’s half-mortal eyes to see, too fast for him to lean into the gun rig’s magic. Metal screamed with men as they were carved open, heavy sidhe steel no match for Grief. A weight knocked into his side, driving him down to the rough gravel of the roof and he smelled Lana’s shampoo in his face. Was she all right?

  From his back Etienne watched Scoithín leap over him, Keeper in hand, and lunge at Midir as the great prince hacked at one of the knights. As blade parted suit fabric Midir spun, parrying the champion’s strike. On the backswing he severed Scoithín’s head and kicked the body from the roof, leaving Keeper where the faerie champion had dropped it. He stomped the head, crushing the skull, and then strode forward and grabbed Cian, pulling the boy by his arm to his side. “I told you to come here.”

  The tall knight found his feet again, blood pouring in a torrent from his many wounds, and held his sword in his shaking hand. “And I said you cannot have him.”

  Cian’s eyes widened.

  Midir sneered at Cian. “You do pick rather pathetic guardians, boy.” He spun Grief once.

  The tall knight nodded and flickered his eyes within his helm towards Keeper once, then saluted with his sword.

  Midir moved in a blur of motion.

  Lana was off Etienne in an instant, Keeper in hand.

  Metal screamed as the knight was dismembered.

  So did Cian. “Anraí!” Etienne realized it was the knight’s name. He hadn’t bothered to learn it.

  Lana moved to spear Midir, but he was already in motion, dancing past her thrust and snatching Cian back into his arms with a grin. “Well, well, we do seem to be at an impasse, here.”

  Etienne rocked to his feet, Agmundr in hand. He hated witty banter, so he remained silent, looking for the opportunity to shoot. Ceallach wanted the great prince alive. Etienne wanted Cian safe. He would do anything to make that happen, including angering the Unseelie king.

  Midir pulled Cian closer and brushed his thumb along the boy’s armored arm. “You want me dead. I want the same of you. None of us really have an interest in killing the child. I don’t suppose I could tempt you both. I’m sure my new kingdom would have room for a couple of junkyard dogs. What do you think, boy? Shall we keep them as pets?”

  Cian stilled. “The problem with junkyard dogs is they bite.” He lashed out with his teeth, biting through the suit jacket sleeve and into the meat of Midir’s arm, savagely biting down with all his considerable strength until fabric and flesh ripped free.

  Midir roared with pain and rage and flung Cian away with enough force to fold the corner of one of the great metal structures on the roof around his slender body, knocking the boy senseless. Midir dove after him with Grief, but Lana parried the swing with Keeper, the sound of impact ringing like an angelic chime. Lana cried out and Etienne watched Keeper’s blade drop as her arms went numb from the force of Grief’s blow. Midir caught Keeper with the hook of the right axe blade and neatly disarmed her, flipping the great blade off the roof. Grief rose again. Etienne raised Agmundr and fired.

  Midir jerked backwards, a crimson wound blossoming above his collarbone. Damn. He would heal like a human, but that was not a let
hal blow, and now he had the prince’s full attention. He aimed again, determined… and barely heard Lana’s cry of warning before Grief came whipping around, Midir again moving too fast to be seen. He jerked back, the rig giving him speed, and watched as if through thick water as the axe cut through where his hand had been.

  Right through Agmundr.

  Etienne’s chest clenched. Bullets and powder rained to the gravel. Keeper was gone. Scoithín had fallen. Agmundr was destroyed. All they had left were two half-breeds and an unconscious prince.

  They were going to die up here.

  Midir stabbed at Etienne with the wicked, tear-shaped pommel and he jumped back and away. He might die, but he wasn’t going to make it easy. The longer he stayed alive, the more chances Cian had to get away. To get back to Winter.

  Lana rushed Midir and leapt high, wrapping her legs around his neck and knocking him off balance. The great prince staggered and pulled her off, holding her out at arm’s length and squeezing until her face turned purple. “I’ll teach you to jump on people, you rabid little weasel.”

  Etienne drew his Glock from the back of his pants and fired.

  Midir’s head jerked back.

  Etienne rolled his eyes. Of course, now he scored a head shot.

  Midir threw Lana across the roof to come to a skidding halt next to a groggy Cian and turned on Etienne, his forehead bleeding but the bullet already sliding out as the wound closed. “It is about time you learned the difference between a Son of Dagda and a minstrel’s bastard.” He spun Grief.

  Etienne backed away and emptied the rest of his magazine into the approaching prince, to no effect.

  Midir swung Grief back and brought it down to take Etienne’s head… just as Lana barreled into the ancient prince again, daggers out, and hit him with her full weight. The blow went wide, missing his neck and sparing his head but punching through armor and flesh and chewing through collarbone and ribs and lung until Grief’s entire head was buried in his chest. It was strangely painless.

  Etienne watched them stagger backwards over the edge, his and Lana’s combined weight tearing Grief from the great prince’s hand, Midir’s leg catching on the low ledge as Lana stabbed him over and over. He wanted to grab her, to snatch her out of the air, but all he could do was grip the hilt as the weight of Grief dragged him to his suddenly weak knees on the rooftop. And then they were gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Just as they emerged from the utility tunnel Brian saw the black-armored body fall, impacting with the thick mud with a dull splat. His legs carried him forward past Legolas and Thranduil before they could call him back, before thought could fully engage. He rushed to the knight’s side, only to find the body flailing about without a head.

  Where was their head?

  The two Unseelie knights joined him. “Scoithín,” Legolas murmured. He looked around. “We have to find his head. He may yet survive.”

  Brian searched as well, the ground slick and littered with debris and discarded bodies. The battle had been here and gone and all that seemed left of it were black and golden knights mopping up pockets of resistance. “I didn’t see it fall with him.”

  After several minutes of frantic searching they all three looked up. “It’s still on the roof,” Thranduil said, sounding lost.

  Scoithín’s body kicked once more and lay still.

  As they watched, another object flew from the rooftop and plummeted towards them. Brian’s eyes widened and he pushed Legolas out of the way just as a sword drove itself into the mud at their feet. It was long, straight, and had a curious, reverse curve to the blade. He reached out and pulled it from the thick black goop and a shiver ran up his arm.

  It was another named weapon.

  “It is Keeper, Hero.”

  Brian’s mind turned to Courage, riding his hip. Keeper. This was the blade Scoithín had been tasked with carrying. “Is it okay that I’m holding it?” They must have been fighting Midir up on the roof and were losing.

  “Yes. It has chosen you for a reason, my Hero.”

  Brian’s blood ran cold. Was this his Destiny, then? He was only eighteen and had been a Hero for a single day. He blew out a breath. If it was, he would face it.

  “Fear not, Hero.” Courage sounded somewhat amused. “I did not choose you for such a short journey. Heroes are capable of many acts before their ultimate Destinies."

  He looked at the sword. Then what did he need to do? He looked up. Get this back up to the roof where it could be put to use? Yes, that must be it. He looked for the building entrance…

  “Look out!” Jessie cried.

  Bodies pitched over the roof edge and plummeted down, forcing Brian and the knights to dive out of the way. It was Lana and a strange man, landing in a tangle of limbs, daggers, and blood.

  Lana lay limp but the man seemed barely phased. He rolled to his knees with a roar of rage and wrapped both hands around Lana’s throat, squeezing down with all his strength. “I’ll rip your head off, half-breed!”

  “Now!”

  Brian rushed forward and drove Keeper through the man’s back, jerking to a stop before he pierced Lana. The man cried out in pain, blood spraying Lana’s unconscious face, and without warning the blade sprouted chains that latched onto the man’s wrists and ankles and pulled up short, prying his hands from Lana and binding him painfully to the blade.

  Brian blinked. That was different. He moved around the coughing man and knelt beside Lana, her throat swelling and purpling with bruises. “Winter! We need you.”

  Winter rushed forward, stepping carefully around the bound man, and knelt in the mud beside Lana. “She’s not breathing,” she muttered and palpated Lana’s throat. “Her hyoid bone is broken and her trachea feels crushed. She’s suffocating.” Winter dug in her bag, pulling out a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a scalpel, and a pen.

  Jessie’s eyebrows rose and she moved to hold the bag open for her mistress.

  Brian looked from wizard to wizard. “What are you doing?”

  Winter doused the scalpel with the rubbing alcohol and handed the bottle to Jessie, who doused Lana’s neck from chin to chest. “She needs to be intubated. She needs help to breathe until her body can heal the damage Midir caused. So I’m making an alternate access point for the air. Jessie, fish out the water bottle and get me a dose of the painkiller, please.”

  “With a… pen?”

  Winter took the pen apart and threw the innards into the purse, creating a tube. She cleaned out the inside with the alcohol and nodded. “Yes.” She then took up the scalpel and made a precise cut just above the meeting of Lana’s clavicles, just below the swelling, blood welling up around her fingers, and neatly popped the pen casing into place. Immediately air whistled through the tube and Lana’s chest rose, greedy for oxygen. Winter began taping it in place.

  Brian breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, that was one of the cooler-”

  Lana’s eyes snapped open and she came up swinging.

  Brian caught her hands before she could batter Winter, and Lana began coughing while Winter held her tube in place.

  Winter stroked Lana’s dark hair and murmured soothing things while Lana coughed and shook. After a moment the succubus tried to say something around the swelling but nothing came. She then looked up at the roof, and then back at Winter and pointed, lips parted with wonder.

  It looked as if the sun was rising high up there.

  Etienne did not feel the gravel dig into his knees. All he could feel was a warm, numb sensation. He knew somewhere that he could not breathe. That blood flowed hot from his mouth and tickled his neck, his chest.

  He knew he was dying.

  But before his eyes was his mother’s glittering court. His father Chretien, alive once more, playing at her feet. He saw himself in great regard, the favored son… and then he saw himself suddenly cast out of the light to be anyone’s meat. His mind turned to the dwarves, to the years of sweat and pain that he had traded for Agmundr, for peace of mind.
>
  Agmundr was gone.

  He saw the years he had wandered alone and lonely along the borderlands, a hunted thing. Hungry. Outcast. Exiled.

  But there was one shining light in all that time, and he felt her draw near.

  Bess.

  She shone through the light that surrounded him, and finally - finally - he could see her beautiful face. Her round cheeks and her full lips. Her bright eyes, so full of love. She smiled at him and held out her hands.

  He did not feel the roof smack him in the back, knocking Grief loose from his chest. Instead he smiled as warm hands touched his chest and through the brightening light he could hear a voice… but it was not the one he expected. Instead of Bess’s deep, earthy voice welcoming him home the voice he heard was light, anguished, and begging him to stay.

  Etienne blinked hard, past the light and the blood loss, and saw Cian kneeling beside him, incandescent with the power that he was pouring into Etienne’s body. Etienne opened his mouth to tell him to stop, that he was too hurt, that Bess was here to take him home, but his mouth was full of blood and his lungs would not work. The power only grew, filling Etienne’s body with growing agony and ecstasy, until his spine bowed with it, digging his heels and head into the gravel. Etienne saw a twin glow and raised his hand, his own flesh radiant with magic. A shuddering breath filled his lungs and he coughed a spray of blood.

  The power grew until it drew an undulating scream from Etienne, his heels beating against the rooftop… and then it stopped as if someone had blown out the candle. Etienne collapsed, weak and sweating, just as Cian fell sideways, limp.

  Cian! Etienne rolled up on his armored elbow, bracing for pain even as he tried to get to Cian… but it did not come. He looked down to see his jacket and shirt tattered, Agmundr’s rig split in two, but beneath the blood and torn fabric he was smooth and whole. Unblemished. His brows knit. Unblemished? He flipped the fabric back to reveal unscarred skin. No burns, no glyphs, no old injuries. His heart clenched. How much had Cian given for this?