I felt the creature above me as a network of waterways. The collection of blood in every organ. I knew next to nothing about anatomy, especially that of a beast I couldn’t even see, but I reached out and stilled its blood—imagining a river halted by my magic.
The beast gasped, its jaws relaxing, as it slumped over, dropping the full force of its weight on my body. I tried to wriggle out, but it weighed too much. Magic was one thing, but my physical body was another.
Another howl echoed through the forest. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, feeling my muscles burn as I reached out again with my magic. There were several more wolves in the camp. Bríd’s blood soaked into the ground. The older Fae was silent now, but not dead.
I gripped each of the wolves until they fell to the ground. Dead, or at the very least, unconscious.
I sank down, dropped my head back to the wooden floor. Exhaustion clung to every bone in my body. I blinked, my vision milky, but returning. The dead wolf stank of blood and decay.
I wasn’t sure how long I was pinned under the corpse of the beast. My arm knitted shut, but the pain did not disappear so easily.
Finally, the weight left my chest as a figure stood over me. The body kicked away with the force of swatting a fly.
I looked up to find Bríd, stained in blood, her milky eyes unseeing as she held out her hand.
“What did you do to me?” My voice was hoarse. “You stole my sight.”
Bríd sighed and retracted her hand as I scrambled to my feet, clutching my injured arm. “Those were Lugh’s wolves.” She told me. “Unfortunately, you were caught up in my punishment.”
“That was a punishment?” I spluttered.
She squinted and looked away, her face blank. “I am Brígid.” She declared with the force of a feather. “I am the reason Nuada is dead. I betrayed my own people, and for that, Balor killed my queen.”
I opened my mouth and closed it again.
Nuada’s secret was not mine to tell, but Brígid’s guilt was so palpable I could taste it on the air—like rotting fruit.
“My husband, Bres, was once King of the Fomorians. Balor was his most loyal soldier and deadliest weapon. Bres threatened to kill my child if I did not betray the Tuatha Dé Danann. It was I who opened the gate to the sacred halls. It was I who walked towards Nuada, whom I trusted with my life. And it was I who watched her die, by Balor’s hand, before the Fomorians came.” She rubbed her hand over her lips, her breath coming in shaky gasps. “Manannán mac Lir sent you to me because only I know where Lugh is.”
“And Lugh defeated Balor before.” I surmised. “Is Lugh here, in the Tuatha Dé Danann?”
Brígid shook her head. “He lives in the Forest of Teeth, in the Aos Sí.”
Any words died on my tongue.
The Aos Sí?
“Go to the river, God-Child. Twenty paces north.” Brígid stepped back. “Someone is waiting for you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Rainn Shallows
The water lapped the shores of Siren Cove as the blood of the beast mixed with the Kraken’s ink.
Scylla’s bloated body floated on the surface, the head attached to its distended stomach by sinew no wider than a spider's web.
Shay crawled out of the water, coated in iccor. Panting, his eyes wide in disbelief as he flopped down onto his belly, right in the sand.
“I am not doing that again.” Shay groaned, tilting his head to the side. The Nymph gave a soft moan and closed his eyes. “Wake me up if the Kraken decides he’s still hungry.”
Rainn exhaled a soft laugh, unable to believe what he had just seen.
Shay Mac Eoinneverused his magic like that. Rainn had been half convinced his friend was lying about being a Nymph at all. But that display? If he hadn’t been running for his life with a behemoth on his tail, Rainn would have clawed his skin off to find carnal release.
He shook his head, slapping his cheeks. “You are one frightening creature, Shay Mac Eoin.”
The Nymph gave a delicate snore, already asleep in the sand.
