Chapter 38

Ch. 38: Dane

I pull the clinging fungal strands away from Ingrid's face and neck, check for a pulse, and exhale with relief when I feel a slow but steady beat drumming against my fingertips.

"She alright?" Freya asks, masking her anxiety for our sister with a casual tone.

"Cold and unconscious, but alive," I confirm. "Danni?"

Freya presses a hand to Danni's neck. "Same. The shit must have some kind of sedative property. I bet it keeps the skin-changer's victims alive while they take their time draining 'em."

"We can speculate later. Let's get them awake and get the hell out of here first."

Freya gets back to work without answering. I half listen as Julian and Rhiannon pull Halloran away from the wall and attempt to wake him. A strong odor assaults my nostrils, and I turn to see Rhiannon crushing something beneath Halloran's nose. Whatever it is, it works, and he bolts awake, coughing violently.

I'm about to ask Rhiannon for some of whatever she used on him when Ingrid stirs and moans feebly.

"Dane?"

"Yeah, baby sis. We're getting out of here. Just hold tight."

"Ugh... I feel sick. My head hurts."

Gingerly, I probe the back of her head with my fingers.

"No obvious injuries," I say. "Probably just a side effect of whatever shit they drugged you with. You'll be okay, just as soon as—"

An alarmed hiss interrupts me, and I twist just in time to see Julian blend with the eerily glowing wall. On the opposite side of the cavern, flickering shadows, the shuffle of footsteps, and the low hum of voices give me only seconds' warning before a troop of armed fae enters the chamber.

There are seven of them, armed with bows and spears. The one in the lead is tall and pale, with long dark hair worn in a plaited braid. He resembles Halloran enough that I assume he must be Darragh. There's no sign of Erickson, and I hope that means he got away and hasn't joined the corpses in the passageway.

As the fae flank us and raise their weapons, Freya and I share a quick glance. Bows and spears may not be the most sophisticated armaments, but in the hands of fae they're deadly enough. We're outnumbered, and with Danni, Ingrid, Halloran, and the children still incapacitated, we can't risk any rash moves.

We raise our hands in surrender.

Darragh smiles as he approaches, his thin lips spreading in a handsome, though sharply cruel grin while his lapis-hued eyes reflect the faint gleam of the fungus.

"Well, well—what a strange reunion this is! And still keeping strange company, dear sister," he says, glancing at me and Freya. "You always had such charmingly... eclectic tastes."

Rhiannon glares at him mutely while Halloran struggles to raise himself on his elbows, still tangled in the fungal webbing from the waist down.

"Darragh, you son of a bitch," he rasps. "I should have known you were behind this."

Darragh crosses the cavernous space, his steps echoing lightly around the shadowed chamber, and comes to stand before his twin siblings. The other fae move into position without being told, like the highly trained warriors they are. Two guard the passageway with ready bows, two cover Freya and me with wickedly long-tipped spears, and two flank Darragh.

"I suppose you should have," Darragh says. "But you always were a little dense, brother."

"This again?" Halloran scoffs. "I thought we had settled our differences."

"Differences!" Darragh laughs. "That, brother, is the issue at hand. I am just as much our father's son as you are. All I've ever asked is to be treated as such."

"And you have been," Halloran says, his voice gaining strength as he recovers himself. "He raised us as equals; he's always acknowledged you as his son."

Darragh's lips twist with disdain. "His illegitimate half-human son, yes. Not as his heir."

"Is that what this is about? The succession?" Halloran shakes his head. "You know I've no interest in politics. If it were up to me—"

"WELL, IT ISN'T!"

Darragh's voice ricochets around the chamber like a scatter of bullets, the barking echoes making everyone jump.

He rubs his jaw and takes a breath, reining himself in with a visible effort. I make a mental note that the man has a temper, and scan the chamber for signs of Julian.

"It isn't up to you," Darragh says, more calmly. "And don't tell me you'd be happy to cede the succession to me if I asked it of you. No one gives up power once they have it, and you'd be no different."

"What then?" Halloran asks. "You would rather keep company with monsters than accept your honored place in court, simply because you are not first in line for the throne?"

Darragh smiles sharply. "Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven, is how it goes, I think."

I cast Freya a sidelong glance, but with fae arrows aimed at our hearts, neither of us dares to move. Werewolves can heal from terrible wounds, but a direct strike to the heart, especially with an arrow smeared with wolfsbane, is certain death, and the fae know their business when it comes to killing wolves.

"So, what? You intend to colonize the Shadowlands? Become a king among monsters, instead?" Halloran asks.

Darragh begins to pace like a cliche villain with the heroes at his mercy, and laughs. "You always did lack imagination, brother. No, I do not wish to be a Prince of Hell; I wish to be Lord of All."

Halloran stares at him. "All? All of what, Darragh?"

The other man turns on his heel and stalks back across the length of the cavern, his black leather garments gleaming in the eerie bioluminescent glow.

"Everything. faerie, the Shadowlands, and the human world each have their strengths and their weaknesses: rich in some resources, poor in others. Imagine if we had full, stable, and constant access to all three."

"That's insane," Halloran says. "Opening a portal between faerie and Earth is crazy enough. But the Shadowlands? That would be... catastrophic."

Darragh merely nods, hands clasped behind his back.

"Yes. A cataclysm would be inevitable. Magic would bleed through from faerie, wreaking havoc on human electromagnetic systems. Their infrastructure, their communications networks—all would come crashing down. In faerie, the dilution of power would have unknown effects, but more than likely some of our defenses would crumble, releasing massive amounts of unpredictable magical power into the world. And from the Shadowlands... Well, who knows what might come? But one cannot have light without darkness to balance it—and balance is what I seek, brother."

"Balance?" Halloran gasps. "Do you have any idea how many humans would die?"

"Of course," Darragh says, inclining his head. "But consider the numbers rationally. There are, what? Eight billion of the creatures now? Even if nine-tenths of them perish, a sufficient population will remain."

"Sufficient for what?"

Darragh shrugs. "Breeding... and labor."

"Slaves, you mean." Halloran's voice is a whisper, his blue eyes wide with horror. "Darragh, what you're talking about isn't balance. It's the end of three worlds."

"And the beginning of a better one," Darragh says easily, turning on his heel and pacing back across the polished floor. "Human lives and memories are brief. Things might seem bleak for a time, certainly; but soon enough, they will forget the old ways and appreciate the new. In the meantime, the fae will arise and conquer, and an era of true prosperity will dawn."

"Hypothetically," Halloran says, catching my eye with a desperate, sidelong glance. "You have no idea if that's what would happen. For all you know, all three dimensions might implode. And for what? Because you're not Father's heir?"

"I was his heir," Darragh snaps. "Until Father lay with the sister of the Summer Queen, and you two came along. Children of pure fae blood—royal blood, no less. I went from being Father's sole heir to a distant, barely acknowledged third choice."

"I thought that's not how it worked with y'all," Freya says, daring to speak up despite our peril. "I thought as long as one half of the equation was fae, the result would be a hundred percent fae, too."

He turns towards her, head tilted to the side. "Indeed. We are like you Wolves, in that regard. The child of a human and a Wolf will inherit the traits of the Wolf and be as much a Wolf as any other. But are there not those among you who value your 'pure lineages' enough to start wars over them? Humans are no different. They divide themselves into nationalities and races, but all are equally human. You wouldn't guess as much from the way they behave towards one another, as I'm sure you are well aware."

"You saying the fae are racist?" Freya asks, her brows lifting towards her hair.

"If 'human' and 'fae' may be called races, then yes," Darragh says. "Children of 'pure blood' like my dear brother and sister, here, will always be valued above those of 'mixed heritage,' such as myself. Unless, of course, they carry the gift of the leanan sidhe.

He turns his gaze on Rhiannon, and she glares back at him defiantly, the fierce purple flash of her eyes reminding me of Julian.

"It was your idea, wasn't it?" Halloran says. "To have Rhiannon open a portal?"

Darragh nods. "Yes, though I got it from the skinchangers, originally. The passageway in those caverns is ancient—as old as the land—and the skinchangers used it for generations. Their population was always small, and the local human tribes were wary of the caves, but the two coexisted for centuries. Then different humans came and built a town on top of it, and the skinchangers did what any animal will do when the supply of food increases. They began to breed. In time, their numbers increased to the point where snatching stray humans no longer sufficed. They devised a plan whereby they might replace the entire town and establish a permanent population in the human realm. Unfortunately for them, they moved too quickly, and the humans noticed."

"They sealed the caverns off," I say.

"They did," Darragh agrees, "and doomed their own children. Those that had been taken to the Shadowlands remained trapped here to perish, while the skinchangers stranded on the other side were forced to eke out a careful existence among humans. Most were eventually hunted down and eradicated by the likes of Julius Hart."

Darragh's grin sharpens as he looms over Rhiannon.

"How ironic when, almost a century later, our dear sister derailed my own plans by falling in love with none other than Hart's descendant."

With a feral snarl, Rhiannon launches herself at Darragh, knife in hand, but his guards are ready. Blinded by fury, her attack lacks finesse, and she's thrown to the ground. Halloran catches and pulls her back, and with a razor-sharp spear-tip at her throat, she stops struggling.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Halloran breathes, looking up at Darragh over Rhiannon's shoulder. "The Wolves. You set them up."

Darragh nods. "I needed the conflict to continue for an incursion to gain the support of the courts, and I imagined that with her lover dead, Rhiannon would be willing enough to give herself to the cause once more. Unfortunately, I... miscalculated her thirst for vengeance. She wasn't supposed to kill them all—certainly not the Alpha. We needed him."

Struck by a sudden realization, I swear. "Fuck. The land-bond."

"Perhaps you're more clever than I've given you credit for," Darragh says, turning to me with a lifted brow. "Yes—the land bond is a critical ingredient in this ritual. An alpha's life is bound to the land and the land between our worlds is connected at thin places. It is the power of this bond, coupled with the gift of the leanan sidhe to transform will into reality, that will tear a rift between realms. Without an alpha's bond, the ritual is null."

Turning, he stalks back across the room, his eyes sweeping the cavern like a hawk in search of prey. I've been doing the same whenever his back is turned, looking for Julian, but if he's still here, he's got the 'unseen' thing down pat.

Darragh sighs. "With Rhiannon banished in disgrace, the Shadowlands sealed once more, and the Conflict at an end, I put my ambitions aside for a time. With only my brother between me and the throne, things seemed less urgent. I was content to wait. And then I learned about Julian Hart."

He approaches to stand before me.

"Imagine my surprise when I discovered that not only did my sister have a grandson, but that he was a leanan sidhe as well. Moreover, an alpha Wolf had come to Spring Lakes, and—" he laughs aloud, "—against all odds, the pair had fallen in love. I couldn't believe my luck. All I needed was for you to bond with the land, and then I'd make my move. For an entire year, I watched and waited, but it seemed you were content to let things be. So I gave you a little encouragement. A push in the right direction."

"You reopened the Shadowlands," Halloran says, aghast. "You let the skinchangers through."

He nods. "And Rhiannon followed, as I knew she would."

"Well, jokes on you," I say. "I haven't completed the bond yet. If you hadn't kidnapped my sister, I would have."

"I had to," Darragh snaps. "You were about to ruin everything. Stupid brute. For the greatest power, you need to complete the bond at the thinnest place, where the most power bleeds through between realms. At the standing stones—not some nameless ridge with no significance."

I glower at him. "The center of my territory is where my heart lives. My home."

"A sweet, but flawed sentiment," Darragh sneers. "If you wish to protect what you love, you should seek the greatest power to do so. But as you seemed determined to do otherwise, I was forced to step in and reveal myself prematurely and... inspire... you to act. Sadly, you failed, but fear not; it's all worked out splendidly in the end, thanks to the ever-impetuous Julian. You're exactly where I want you, and all that remains is for you to complete the bond and submit to my will."

"I thought you said we needed to be at the standing stones?"

"We are." He points at the arched dome above us. "We are directly beneath them. In this place, the three realms of Faerie, the Shadow, and human 'Earth' align perfectly. We are exactly where we need to be."

I glance up at the vaulted ceiling, down at the chasm in the floor, and at the seven pillars surrounding it. I suppose if any place looks like a conduit between realms, it would be this one.

"What makes you think I'll cooperate?"

Darragh arches his brow at me. "I don't expect you to. But by the time I've stripped away everything you love, and after a certain amount of suffering, I imagine you'll do as I ask."

"There's just one problem with your plan," I say. "Julian's not here."

"I think we both know that isn't true," Darragh says, smirking, and gestures to the fae holding bows. He points at Ingrid and Freya. "Alyth, Sylv. Kill the spares."