by Scott, Amber
“My king,” Quinlan gasped, awash with intense relief. “Thank all that be.” Unable to get to his feet, he pointed at Jamison. “He…he….”
“Enough, lad,” Niall said, turning a dark look on Jamison, raising his blade. “D’you have any notion what pain I’ll wreak upon you should any soul in my land die by your choices here today, Jamison?”
“My lord, let me ex—.”
Niall had Jamison by the throat before another word could escape. He lifted the smaller, yet still brawny man off his feet, growling. Jamison’s face grew red as he struggled against his king’s angry grip. Niall spat, shoving Jamison backward. The man landed, stumbled and fell. He stayed upon his arse on the ground, his face mottled with rage.
“I dare you to run,” Niall said, leaning over him long enough to stare him down then backhand him. “Where is the lass?” he asked Quinlan, his disgusted gaze on Jamison.
“In the tunnels,” Danny said, popping up from a crouch nearby.
Niall straightened, giving Danny his attention. His eyes narrowed on him. “You’ll take us to her, lad. At once.”
Danny screwed his mouth from side to side as though to ponder this deep order. He snapped his fingers then retrieved the wooden staff from the ground. Quinlan’s throat felt scalded and his limbs were shaky yet he got to his feet. The idea of Niall aiding his rescue of Ailyn should propound his relief. Instead, his gut filled with foreboding. Something wasna right here. Something more than a blue bleeding Fae man’s throat slit or the havoc that came before.
Danny had set off, though and Niall kicked Jamison in the back, encouraging the man to his feet. Then he offered Quinlan an arm to steady him as they strode to follow.
“My lord, I know where she is,” Quinlan said, preferring to stand on his own despite his weak feeling legs. “No need to take them with us. Surely better that you take them back to Tir Connail and I join you there with her.”
Niall halted, grunted thoughtfully. “Aye, I ken your concerns. Ho there, Daniel!”
Danny paused. He’d gained a bit of distance in his eagerness but Quinlan could see his youthful demeanor had receded to his appropriate age. There was the Daniel Quinlan had come to know. It was too great a space to see the man’s eyes, to gauge if the consequences of his betrayal was taking hold of him.
Or if there were no consequences for the man to stomach because he’d acted in collusion all along.
Nay, Quinlan could not believe it. There was no motive that matched up to Daniel’s actions. Why aid Ailyn, get the parchments, put his life at risk only to draw Jamison to Quinlan at the final hour. Jamison stood a pace to Niall’s left, a small grin on his face.
A sick realization hit Quinlan square in the gut.
Ailyn’s mother’s message.
Three elements joined to harness ultimate power. If Ailyn was but one of the three critical elements, another being the bloodstone, the last element was the power of love.
“Daniel, bring me the staff,” Niall ordered.
Impossible. How could Daniel have ever foreseen that Quinlan and she would meet that fateful night? His mind was spinning tales. It was reeling. Overwhelmed from the events. The hairs on Quinlan’s arms stood on end as he watched Daniel consider Niall a moment then obey. He slowly walked back toward them, the wooden staff in his hand. The heaviness of a man grown in his gait.
Breanne’s vision might have pointed Daniel toward matchmaking possibilities. But how would he know Ailyn would be there that night? How would Daniel or Jamison know for that matter? How would they orchestrate Quinlan interrupting her path, unless…?
Dread crawled up his spine. His gaze swung from Daniel to Niall. He did not expect his king to be watching him, searching his face. Awaiting the truth to sink in?
“You are right, Quinlan.” Niall paid no mind to Jamison joining his side. “Dragging these two along is a waste of good man power.” He jerked his head toward Jamison. “They’ll be of better use to me at the rite. And to be sure, muddled orders enough already.”
Quinlan stepped back, shaking his head. “I dinna believe it.”
Niall closed the space between them as Daniel approached. “You dinna need to believe it, Quinlan.” His breath smelled of mead. “That is the undeniable thing about truth. It is what it is no matter what we do, no matter how we fight it, refuse it, or twist it. There it is. True all the same.”
“You sent me to the rite to meet Ailyn, not for lifted cattle at all.” He needed to hear the words. “You knew of Breanne’s vision and placed me in her path to test if we would attract.”
Niall shook his head. “No such luck as that, lad. Kristoph saw the power between you both. But attraction is not so powerful as love. For that insight, my beloved wife deserves credit.”
“Una?!” He couldn’t believe it. Not of Breanne’s mother. She was far too kind a soul, too giving to ever scheme and lie. Even if it were in her nature, she’d been so ill for so long now.
“As she lay in bed one night, weak, pale, contemplating her death,” Niall said and to his credit, emotion choked his words. “She considered that it would have been verra nice to see you happily wed afore she parted. She feared Breanne had broken your heart.”
Quinlan’s heart did break now, thinking of the woman’s fate. “And look at the honorable man who won her heart. Why, my liege? How?”
“Can you truly not understand?” Niall said, pain welling in his eyes. “Would you not give anything to save your love’s life?”
Ailyn’s sweet face came into sharp focus in his mind. Aye, a thousand deaths he’d give for her life. What he wouldn’t face to simply know she lived to see one more dawn. But such things were not up to him. Fate had plans man should never twist or tempt.
Daniel came to an abrupt stop a few feet from them. His visage was becoming wizened. Jamison’s grin spread wide as if anticipating a great show. Quinlan backed up, shaking his head. “I’d not sacrifice a hundred lives for one, no matter how dear I held that one.”
“You say the words. Let us see if you prove them true. Take us to her.” Niall’s eyes hardened. “Now.”
“You’ll have to kill me first.” If they killed him, they’d lose the missing element needed to rejoin the two worlds. Quinlan glanced past his shoulder. The cliff wasna so far away. A furlong at best. Given the chance to run, he could leap it. Aye, it would most likely be the end of his days. But it removed their power.
His gaze took in the three men. Niall distracted by pain but intent on coercing him. Jamison fairly gnashing his teeth in anticipation of forcing Quinlan’s compliance. Daniel aging by degrees watching him, widening his eyes then looking down at the staff in his hand.
The key.
Ah, thank Brigit and Christ himself. Daniel wasna among their lot at all. Instinctively, Quinlan went for his blade. It wasna there. He’d left it for Ailyn near the mouth of the cave. She likely couldna even wield the heavy steel but he’d thought it better to leave behind, giving her some protection, than to attempt the cliffs with it.
Ailyn would do well enough without it, though. She might not yet know her own power, but he trusted she would when the time came. That time might come sooner than he could control, though. The sky was darkening with signs of a storm. The air shifted, the power in it tingling his skin.
“If you take us to her, I promise you’ll both live, Quinlan. What better wish could I possibly grant you than to live the rest of your days at your love’s side?” Niall asked.
Did his king realize forcing him would not work? Quinlan retreated another step fully anticipating Jamison to pounce. “You dinna ken the power you mean to test, Niall. It canno’ save Una.” The lie was the best he could give. “The power Ailyn can conjure with the bloodstone doesna mend. It destroys. It will destroy both races. Una, you, me included.”
Niall laughed hollowly. “Nay, lad. Love unlocks the power. Love will heal Una. What remains after will be a new world we will all bravely face. Together.”
The frustrating thing w
as how compelling Niall’s logic was. Much could be said of the power of love. To heal. To give life. And in the wrong hands, to end kingdoms and inspire wars. The smallest shake of Daniel’s head quieted whatever small doubts Niall’s words conjured, though.
If Niall’s aspirations were truly so noble, he’d not resort to betrayal and murder to attain them.
Daniel’s short gesture holding the staff told Quinlan that he was trying to get the key to him. Brilliant, except Quinlan hadn’t a clue what to do with the thing if he was able to obtain it.
He felt opportunity press upon him. Either leap to his death or fight to his death.
Daniel decided for him. Drawing the wood to the darkened sky, he shouted. “An aimsir láithreach. Osclaím!”
Niall drew his sword, Kristoph’s blood sticky dark azure still coating the sharp steel. “What are ye about, Danny?” he asked, his tone menacingly low.
Thunder crashed around them. Lightening lit the sky. The wind howled, the energy in it swirling, expanding. Open, Daniel had commanded, much like when he’d opened the passage. Quinlan instinctively sought out signs of a portal. His gaze searched the trees beyond the clearing, darting back to the men. Too late. They’d seen his glance and followed it.
They clearly understood Daniel’s intentions. Jamison lunged for the staff. But Daniel had aged to a man’s prime and deftly outmaneuvered him. Treating the staff as a weapon, he flipped it in his fist and brought it down on Jamison’s shoulder. The burly man fell to his knees, crying out in agony.
Niall lunged for Quinlan, the closer of the two.
For an older, larger man, his king moved with conviction. Quinlan ducked the first blow but the second caught him in the midsection. Whatever shred of deference that Quinlan might have held onto for his liege vanished. Quinlan dropped low, kicking Niall’s legs out. As the older man fell to the ground, Quinlan brought an elbow to his jaw.
Another man would have been knocked out cold.
Quinlan heard movement in the wood. His heart punched against his ribs. Ailyn! Nay! If they saw her, they’d never be stopped. To his left, Daniel wielded the staff against Jamison’s blade. Somehow the man had gotten to his feet. Blood dripped from his mouth but he attacked Daniel with a vengeance.
Quinlan moved to aid Daniel, but Niall grabbed his ankle, slicing a blade across his outer thigh. White hot pain seared up his body. Quinlan fell to the ground, blocking Niall’s arm then catching his wrist. He wrestled his king for the heavy steel, his mind begging Ailyn to stay put, wherever she was, stay put.
He managed to rid Niall of his weapon but lost its use himself when it flung with a thud out of reach. Niall grabbed him by the throat. Rain began to fall. Thunder crashed around them. Energy prickled in the air. A low hum reached his ears. A low droning hum and a beating.
The rite.
Niall twisted his legs around Quinlan’s body and in an instant had him on his back. His meaty hands circled his neck. Spittle hit his cheeks as the older man demanded, “Do you hear it? It is time. The ceremony has commenced. You canno’ stop the magick, Quinlan. No more than I can. Now where is she?”
Quinlan coughed, struggling at the tight hold.
He squeezed harder. “Where?” He raised Quinlan up and thumped him hard back onto the ground. “Where is she?”
Pinpoints of lights filled Quinlan’s darkening vision. The rite? Memories of painted, writhing bodies filled his mind. The noise in the wood. They could already have her. She wouldna know to stay away. He’d not told her of her mother’s words. “You’ll have to kill me first, my lord,” he gasped.
Glittering with madness, Niall’s eyes bore into his. “So be it.”
He punched Quinlan’s squarely in the jaw, diving for the far flung sword. Quinlan pushed past the throbbing pain, grabbing fistfuls of dirt to throw in the man’s eyes. Darkness fell over them, darker than a moonless night. Somewhere to his right he heard a gurgling yelp. He prayed it wasna Daniel’s last breath.
A flash of lightening cut through the sky, revealing Niall above him, sword raised. Behind him another blade glinted in the flash, its hilt all too familiar.
Quinlan’s heart all but seized. Nay! Ailyn, nay! His voice was lost in the pain of battle, in the terror gripping him. He couldna watch her die. Let him die. Not her. Any among them save her.
As though the magick heard his plea and became amused, tendrils of gold swept around them, churning with the wind. Their light exposed Ailyn’s brave stance behind Niall. It illuminated Daniel upon the ground, his tunic blood-soaked, his chest heaving. It brought his entire life’s misguided efforts, wasted days and burgeoning hopes into sharp focus. If he could do ought right, it would be this.
She would live. Her world would remain untouched, her people safe. She would see the chance to live her days until old and gray and be able to think fondly of him.
He would protect her.
Quinlan scrambled to his feet as Niall lowered his sword. A grin spread over his face. “Aye, lad. Let your love for her abound. Let it spawn the magick and heal Una. Give your people what they need. Give me my wife back.”
Niall had not yet noticed Ailyn. Or perchance needn’t acknowledge her.
“I failed you, lass,” Quinlan said.
Chapter Twenty-four
Ailyn’s arms shook from holding the sword. His words tore at her. “Nay. You’ve failed no one, Quin. You’ve acted most honorably.” The gold wisps around them muted to pinks and lavenders. The humming in the air grew louder. The rain fell heavier, dampening her hair and clothes.
His thigh was bleeding. The large man attacking him backed away, a thick sorrow emanating off of him. She could feel his pain. Sorrow so deep. The kind she’d only witnessed once—in her mother. The kind that drove men—and women—to dark desperation.
The man backed into the woods, laughing, clapping his hands.
Ailyn lowered the sword as Quinlan rushed to her. “You’re wounded.”
He shook his head. “We canno’ be here together, Ailyn. Do you understand? I should have told you, lass. Your mother came to me, she explained the elements. They dinna need Maera, lass.”
“You’re not making any sense.” She touched his face.
He pulled her hand away, looking at her palm. Violet shimmer glowed on his cheek where she’d touched him. Giving her a push, he stepped back from her. Ailyn winced. “What is happening?”
Quinlan looked to the trees. The glow of a bonfire danced in the shadows. He looked toward the sea. A low groan from the two men on the ground seemed to quicken his concern. He scowled, returning to her and forcefully taking her hands.
“I dinna ken the enchantment of it, lass. I only know how hard my heart beats for you. I only know that together they will use us to destroy both our worlds. Our only chance to save either world,” he said, swallowing. “Is to part.”
She feared his meaning. His surreptitious glances to the sea could not mean ought else, though.
The humming became more distinct. The man emerged from the shadows, his inky sorrow trailing behind. Then another man, bare-chested and painted in white followed. A woman, her naked breasts bobbing in rhythm with her steps. Quinlan pulled her back toward the cliff. She dug her heels in, understanding what he could be asking of her—that one of them jumped.
Or both.
“I canno’ stop how I feel, lass.” The wind howled. Or was it the spell winding around them? “I love you. As I’ve loved no other. Larger, more deeply than I fathomed existed.”
Her heart swelled with a maelstrom of emotions. Fear. Joy. An ache so thorough and sweet. The light around them swirled. A gasp of appreciation emitted from the growing throng of worshippers. Quinlan frowned at the sound, again pushing her away from him. The beating hum matched her own pounding heart. She reached for him but he jerked his hand away as he retreated.
Her body cringed fairly as much as her heart.
Aye, she logically followed his intentions. But logic had no place inside magick. They were creating
the spell pulsing around them. Their emotions were driving the force that could end her world. She should be thinking of her kingdom, of her brother. Instead she ached for him and only his nearness seemed to soothe the pain separating created.
Seeing him there on the ground, his life in peril had annihilated her final resolve. She loved this man. She needed him. As much as the air in her lungs. “Quinlan, dinna reject my hand. I thought you were dead. Nothing can be worse than that,” she pleaded. She could not live without him. No world was worth saving without him in it. But how could she convince him not to choose death? “Surely we are stronger together than apart. Dinna think to face this alone.”
He paused, taking in their surroundings. The rain, the dark, the glow. The growing number of worshippers carefully pressing toward them, chanting. He turned toward the sea, so close now. Mere paces and one of them could easily jump.
Or be pushed.
A woman’s screech from the sea’s direction made Ailyn turn as well. She knew who it was before Quinlan rushed to the craggy edge and confirmed it. “Maera,” he called
“Please come away from the edge, Quinlan.” The desperate glow coming off of the men and women crowding closer filled her with revulsion. There had to be another way. One that didn’t risk his life.
He shook his head. “I can reach her.”
Sharp guilt stabbed at her. So readily she would have forsaken all just to be with the man she loved. Shame washed her face with color. This wasna his battle. Yet he fought it with her. She joined him at the lip of the cliff, peering down.
Maera was standing there, reaching up for them, her fingertips just brushing Quinlan’s. The howl that rent the air also tore at her heart. Colm’s snout showed first, then his body came into view. Patches of hair were missing along his fur. He limped. A dark crust of blood showed on his coat along his left shoulder.
Quinlan inched forward, grasping for Maera whose desperate stare met Ailyn’s gaze. She looked down at Colm. Her hand pressed to her belly. Her princess could not seem to say the words but Ailyn did not need to hear them to know.