Chapter 39

Ch. 39: Julian

"Stop!"

My shout makes the cavern ring like the inside of a bell, startling everyone. Thankfully, it has the intended effect, and the two fae taking aim at Ingrid and Freya turn to look at me along with everyone else.

All attempts at hiding abandoned, I stand in full view at the edge of the crevasse, one of Rhiannon's knives held to my own throat. My hand shakes and the blade is razor sharp. A trickle of blood from an accidental cut adds credence to my self-directed threat.

Darragh appears as comically surprised as everyone else but recovers more quickly.

"Ah, there you are," he says, as if pleased to see me. "Like father, like son, I see."

As he'd revealed his plans, I had scanned the room from the shadows, searching for an escape, but there were two armed fae guarding the only way out — not counting the chasm in the floor. Meanwhile, the longer he talked, the more obvious it became that I couldn't let myself fall into his hands. Finally, I'd spotted one of Rhiannon's knives, abandoned where she'd dropped it near Halloran, and a desperate solution had presented itself to my mind.

Snatching up the knife, I'd been creeping closer to Darragh, keeping to the shadows around the pillars, when he'd finally reached the end of his little speech and moved on to the demonstration phase.

With Ingrid and Freya in mortal peril, I'd acted without conscious thought and turned the blade on the only person within reach: myself.

"Stop, or I'll do it. I swear."

Darragh smiles easily, as if amused by the antics of a child, but the tension in his stance betrays his alarm.

"Go ahead," he says. "End yourself. You're not the only leanan sidhe here."

"Rhiannon will never help you," I say, glancing at my grandmother for confirmation. "She'd rather die."

She nods firmly, a look of fierce determination in her amethyst eyes.

"I'm sure she would," Daragh agrees, "and so she shall — along with everyone else here — if you fail to cooperate."

"And what if I do cooperate? You'll let everyone go home? Somehow I doubt it."

"You and the alpha are all I need. I've no use for the others. If you surrender, they may leave unharmed."

"What about the children?"

"The children are the skinchanger's business, not mine. Take them if you like."

"And what happens to them after Spring Lakes becomes ground zero for your supernatural disaster?" I shake my head. "I can't let you do this."

I tense my muscles and dare a glance at Dane. As his mate, I know that this is the worst thing I could do to him, but I'm out of options and out of time. I don't want to die, but as I'd listened to Darragh outline his crazy scheme, I'd finally understood the dilemma my father had faced. To my own surprise, I find I share his conviction: better to put myself beyond all reach than to let a madman use me for harm.

Dane sees and understands this as our eyes meet, and every layer of his heart is laid bare in his face: fear, pain, and the kind of love that will never die.

"Julian..."

The sound of my name on his lips is a sweet parting gift, and I shut my eyes. One swift, determined motion, and—

"The children!"

Startled, I open my eyes and see Halloran leaning forward, staring at me with a burning intensity.

"What?"

"It's how the skinchangers raise their young," he says, kicking free of the fungal webbing and struggling to his feet. "They take human children and replace them with their own offspring, to be raised by human parents. It's how they learn to blend in seamlessly with their prey."

I frown at him. As fascinating as I'm sure the life-cycle of a skinchanger must be, it seems like an odd topic of conversation with which to engage a man about to off himself for the greater good.

He's clearly brought it up for a reason, though, and if he's got a plan that doesn't involve suicide, I'm willing to listen.

"Skinchangers don't feed from victims until they're adults," he continues breathlessly. His gaze darts towards the passageway as he speaks, and I follow his line of sight.

The two fae who had been guarding it have left their posts, moving to flank me. Clearly, they're trying to get close enough to grab me from either side and prevent me from carrying through on my threat. Halloran's attention isn't on them, though.

In the gloom of the tunnel's entrance, I catch a glimpse of a pale face and a shock of red hair. I've never been so happy to see Derek Erickson in my life.

He's directly in line with Darragh's back, and the pillars and shadows partially obscure him from view. If he can get close enough to attack, he might have a chance at turning the tide.

"How is being kept in a cave like this better than death?" I ask loudly, as Darragh turns to see what I'm looking at, drawing his attention back to myself.

His brow shining with nervous sweat, Halloran continues his strange lecture with feverish passion.

"Once the skinchangers hit puberty, the adults retrieve them and bring them back the Shadowlands. Their human doubles are returned unharmed. Mostly."

By this point, my arm is getting tired and I'm starting to feel a little ridiculous, holding a knife to my own throat, but I play along nonetheless.

"What's your point?"

"The skinchangers maintain a mental link with their victims," Halloran says quickly. "It's how they absorb their personality and memories. But the link goes both ways. The human children remember everything their doubles do in their stead. When they return to consciousness, it's like waking from a dream in which they watched themselves from afar. Disconcerting and psychologically damaging, but better than the alternative. Wouldn't you agree?"

He looks pointedly at the knife in my hand.

Meanwhile, Erickson has emerged from the passageway and made it halfway across the cavern's broad, shadowy floor. He's closer than he was, but still too far away to make his move.

I have to keep Darragh and the other fae occupied long enough to give him his chance.

"What about in the past?" I ask. "When Julias Hart blocked off the caverns, there were children missing from the town. I didn't read anything about them coming back. In fact, it looks like they're still here." I point with the knife at the pillar farthest from Erickson.

"The skinchangers were sloppy and impatient back then," Halloran says. They moved too quickly; tried to take the human children before their own were already. That was how they'd done it in the past: a child disappeared for a few days, weeks, or even months, and then returned... changed. It made sense that the child wouldn't be quite the same after whatever ordeal they'd undergone—even that they might never speak of it again."

"Changelings," Dane says, having glimpsed Erickson as well and caught on to the plan.

"One origin of the tales, yes," Halloran says.

"Enough of this," Darragh snarls impatiently, and gestures at the fae who had flanked me.

The fae charge, but so does Erickson. With a wild yell, he leaps from the shadows and grabs Darragh from behind like a defensive tackle bringing down a quarterback. The two crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs, and no one waits to see who comes out on top.

Dane and Freya spring into action, each attacking one of the armed fae while Rhiannon takes on the two guarding her and Halloran.

The last pair have drawn their bows but seem uncertain where to aim. They can't get a clear shot at Erickson as he wrestles with Darragh, shooting me will do no good, and the rest are engaged in close combat.

The fight is fast, fierce, and furious. Dane and Freya grapple with the two fae holding spears, engaging in hand to hand combat against their armed opponents. Despite their disadvantage, the pair quickly gains the upper hand. Dane yanks the spear from the fae's grasp, twirls it through the air, and knocks her feet from under her.

Freya fights dirty and hard, mixing traditional martial arts and street fighting techniques she learned who-knows-where. Evading the jab of her opponent's spear so narrowly the blade cuts her cheek, she ducks within his defenses and punches him in the throat. He goes down hard and stays there.

Rhiannon had taken on both fae guarding her and Halloran, Halloran still seeming too weak and sick to fight. He leans against a pillar, looking about as useless as I feel, as Rhiannon executes a deadly, ballet-like dance.

The two fae fighting her are skilled as well, but Rhiannon is next level. Her movements blur together, too quick for me to see. She lays one adversary low and then the other in quick succession.

Erickson has not fared so well. Though stronger than a fae man, pound for pound, he's not as quick or agile, and Darragh had gained the upper hand. Now Erickson lies at Darragh's feet with a bloodied nose and a blackened eye. He lifts himself on one elbow, apparently not yet ready to cede the victory, but from the dazed look in his eyes, I can tell he's not up for much more.

Fortunately, Darragh ignores him, all his attention on Rhiannon as she turns on him with murderous intent, wielding a vanquished opponent's spear.

Unarmed himself, he points at her and backs away. "Kill her! Shoot, already!" he screams, gesturing at the last two fae on their feet.

Swiftly, they raise their bows, take aim, and fire.

Their shafts fly true, but they do not strike Rhiannon.

Instead, Halloran moves more swiftly than I'd thought him capable, throwing himself between his sister and the deadly missiles aimed at her heart. Now he falls, twin shafts buried deep in his breast.

Rhiannon screams, but rather than turn her rage on Darragh, she falls at Halloran's side, cradling him in her arms as he struggles to breathe.

Chest heaving, Darragh points again. "Kill them both," he says, as the archers reload their bows. "Finish them."

"Darragh, no!" I shout, grasping Rhiannon's knife by its blade and raising it for a throw. I have absolutely no training in knife throwing, however, and imagine that if I hurl it at him, the worst it might do is bounce off his chest, handle first.

Rhiannon had two knives, however, and she dropped both after freeing her brother from the entangling nets. I had picked up one; someone with better throwing skills had found the other.

That's the impression I get, anyway, as it flies through the air and buries itself in Darragh's throat, and I follow it's swift trajectory to it's origin.

Freya, taught as a bow herself, dropped into a crouch, her extended hand revealing the point from which the missile flew.

Darragh chokes, crutches at the blade protruding from his throat, stumbles to the side, and falls into the yawning abyss without a cry, vanishing into the dark like a dropped stone.

The armed fae wheel, their aim raking the cavern in search of new targets, but with their leader vanquished, they seem at a loss. Dane takes advantage.

"Enough," he says, letting his Alpha power flood his voice as he stands and raises a fae spear. "Enough bloodshed. Go, and take your chances in the Shadowlands, or stay and help us. If you want to fight, you can join your captain there. Make your choice."

At his side, Freya holds another spear, ready to cast. If her skill with a knife is anything to go by, her aim rivals that of a fae.

The archers exchange glances, then lower their weapons as one.

"We had no choice but to follow him," the one called Alyth says. She nods at Rhiannon. "Ask my lady, there. Vouch for us with the Council, and we will help you."

Rhiannon looks up sharply from where she kneels at Halloran's side, her pale face streaked with tears. Then, to everyone's surprise, she speaks. Her voice is a rough whisper, raw from disuse, but it carries throughout the chamber.

"Did Father sanction this? Does your king know what Darragh intended?"

The fae exchange glances. Finally, one of the female warriors speaks.

"No, milady. Prince Rian's mission is the only one of which is he aware."

Halloran reaches up to grasp her sleeves, speaking between shallow gasps.

"Julian. Father hoped... he might be persuaded to come home. He... has missed you, and wished... to make amends... by honoring your grandson at Court. But... Julian's place is here, with his heart's mate... As yours once was."

Rhiannon looks up and addresses the other fae in a slow, rough whisper. "You are guilty of treason, then. But if you help us, I shall vouch for you. I cannot promise the Council's forgiveness, but you shall have mine." She strokes Halloran's sweat-dampened brow. "As do you, my brother."

The fae exchange glances again, and Alyth, who seems to be the leader now, speaks once more.

"We will help. As a sign of good faith, we place ourselves in your hands." Unstringing her bow, she hands it to Dane. The other fae does the same, passing her weapon to Freya. "We are at your command."

Rhiannon nods. "Tend to your wounded. Then free the children and wake them."

She tosses the pouch of smelly herbs to Alyth and turns her attention to her brother once more.

"The curse is broken, then?" I ask, coming to kneel at Halloran's other side.

Rhiannon glances up at me and nods. "Yes. If I needed any more proof that it was Darragh who betrayed me, I have it now. With his death, my voice is my own again, though it comes at a great cost."

"You've... lost so much, already," Halloran gasps. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth in a steady stream and his face is colorless. "I couldn't let him... hurt you any more. If only I'd... known sooner, I..."

"Shh." Rhiannon smooths the hair away from his brow. "You are forgiven, brother. Darragh fooled many with his lies, myself among them. You did not know."

Halloran's gaze shifts to me. "Julian... I'm sorry. I should have told you everything... from the beginning. None of this would have..."

He chokes and coughs, blood flecking his lips. I grimace at the two arrows protruding from his chest.

"Try not to talk," I say. "We'll get you help. We'll get you to Faerie, and you'll heal, just like I did."

He coughs and smiles weakly. "I'm afraid... there isn't time for that. Even if I... could make it out of here... the standing stones..."

"But we're right under them," I say, looking to Rhiannon. "You know how to open the doorway, don't you?"

"Yes, but not from here," she says as tears fill her luminous eyes. "The Shadow, Fae, and human realms are close; but only through the human realm of Earth can we pass between them. We must return to your world first, and from thence into Faerie."

"But Darragh's plan—"

"Was to tear a hole... in the fabric of reality," Halloran interrupts, grasping my hand. His voice is thin and almost soundless, and he struggles to draw breath between words. "Julian, it's all right. I've... lived more years than you know. More... than I've deserved. I only wish... I had more time to know you. I would have liked... to see where fate leads you... someday."

"You still can," I say, refusing to give up. I twist to look at Freya and Dane. They're busy tending to Danni and Ingrid, but Freya catches my eye and comes over to examine Halloran and I move aside to give her room. "There must be something we can do."

She barely glances at his wounds before she shakes her head. "Fae shafts fly true. I doubt even Fae magic would save him. Best say your farewells while you can." Touching her hand to her forehead, lips, and heart, she bows her head. "May the goddess bless your journey, friend," she says, and rises to her feet.

I take her place once more, my heart constricting around a growing seed of grief. I barely got a chance to know the man, barely trusted him, but he's the closest link to my father I have, besides Rhiannon — part of a family I never knew I had — and now I've got to say goodbye.

"It's alright, Julian," Halloran whispers, reading my thoughts and squeezing my hand weakly. "I've only... one request."

I nod. "Anything in my power, I'll do."

His gaze shifts to Rhiannon.

"I'd... like to go home," he breathes, his words so faint I read them on his lips more than I hear them. "Please. Take me home."

Rhiannon nods, tears slipping down her cheeks as she leans to kiss his brow.

"You have my word, brother. You shall lie upon the highest tor, beneath the widest sky, above a wild sea; and when the bright sun sets, the silver stars of Faerie will grace your resting place with their light."

His breath catches and his gaze grows unfocused, as if he sees the vision she has painted for him with her long-lost words.

"Sleep now, dear brother," she whispers. "I know that you are not to blame. You are forgiven, and you have my love."

"Rhiannon... I..." His gaze fixes on something only he can see; and then, with a last, soft exhalation, he is still.

She shuts his eyes, folds his hands upon his breast, and, bending, kisses his brow.

A hand on my shoulder startles me, and I look up to see Dane at my side. Gently, he helps me to my feet.

"Are you okay?" he asks, holding my shoulders to study me.

I shake my head and wipe my eyes. "No. Not really."

"Me either," he says, and folds me in his arms. I let myself rest against his chest for a moment, listening to the calming beat of his heart, until with a steadying breath, I pull away once more.

"What now?" I ask, glancing around. Erickson sits with Savannah in his arms. She appears sleepy and confused, but oddly calm. I understand why as I watch the other fae freeing the remaining children. They speak to them softly in the Fae tongue, charming them into a dreamlike state to keep them from becoming frightened or upset. "What will happen to them?"

Rhiannon answers me, wiping her eyes as she rises and joins us. She'd snapped the arrows off and lain them at Halloran's side, folding his hands upon his breast.

"We will bring them to Faerie," she says. "They are already too out of time for your world. There are many childless fae who will be happy to raise them as their own."

"How will we get them back through the caverns?" I ask.

Rhiannon shakes her head. "We will enchant them, and I will guide the way."

Exhaustion weights my limbs like lead, and grief weighs my heart as heavily, but relief lightens the load a little. It doesn't feel as if we've won, but at least it's over.

I risk a glance at Halloran's body, mindful of his final wish.

"Alright," I say, leaning against Dane's side. "Let's get out of here. Let's go home."