She had stolen my mates. My comfort. My destiny.
I had no idea if Rainn or Tormalugh were safe. The bond was too shaky to tell.
With every moment back in the Aos Sí, I felt Shay Mac Eoin’s heartbeat throb, as if I had stolen it and placed it under the scarred mark over my heart.
I wanted to follow the golden threads all the way back to my Shíorghrá.
Rage and agony warred in my body.
“The Dagda is my father.” My voice was steady, but anger lurked under the surface like a barracuda. “My mother is Belisama, god of the waves, and my father is the Dagda.”
Cormac let out a thready laugh. “And I thought my bloodline was fecked. I think you win this one, Princess.”
“Do you think she ever intended to tell me?” I met his gaze. “Or maybe she did tell me, and I was too stupid to remember.”
“You’re not stupid.” He said fiercely.
My fist tightened on the staff. “Aren’t I? Balor ravaged my bonds with Rainn and Tormalugh, and I didn’t even know. Iforgotthem, Cormac.”
“I’m sure they’ll forgive you.” He told me. “Death is an extenuating circumstance.”
“I’m so fecking blind!” I grabbed a handful of rotting leaves and tossed them. “I’m up to my eyeballs in meddling gods.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t think those eejits can find a clownfish in a coral reef, let alone form a plan of any sort.”
I lifted a brow. “Balor seems to be doing all right.”
“Balor is a monster, glamoured to the gills, and running on revenge.” Cormac waved a hand. “She was expelled a millennium ago to live in a cave. I’d wager that our enemy is a little less sane than we've given her credit for.”
“Insane gods can do a lot of damage.” I glared at him.
Cormac reached out and ruffled my hair. I snapped my teeth at him.
“Why did the Dagda give me this?” I wrinkled my nose in disgust and brandished the small staff. “If the Kraken was Dagda... My head hurts.”
“The High Throne was made of the Dagda’s eye.” Cormac nodded knowingly. “Balor called it Dagda’s magic.”
“The High Throne. The eye.” I shuddered, eying he staff like a sea snake. “If it’s Dagda’s magic, the staff is highly likely to make meinsane.”
“You are the Mad Queen’s daughter,” Cormac smirked. “Though having met her, I wouldn’t say she was mad, as such.”
I ignored him and changed the subject. “Lugh defeated Balor in the Battle of Mag Tuired,” I said. “Dagda wants us to find him.”
“We don’t worship Lugh in Tarsainn.” Cormac rubbed his chin. “I only know the tale of Lugh the Craftsman.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Lugh is the grandson of Balor and Dian Cécht. He defeated Balor with a spear of his own making. Right in the eye. For some reason, all the stories showed Balor as a giant, with a single eye—the source of their magic.”
Cormac’s lips pursed. “I’ve seen below the glamour. There is no eye. There is simply nothing.”
“Lugh might make us a weapon to defeat Balor.” I offered. “Though where to find him...”
I had been born in the icy waters of the Twilight Lake, amidst the frosted shore and the eternal darkness of the Night Court.
I had seen sunlight, barely—in the slim line of sunrise on the horizon, where the Day Court border shone on the lake, and the false sunlight of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
The sun felt different. Hidden behind a thin layer of cloud, the sky was a watery blue. The morning air was crisp, butdamp. Flowers lined the forest path, the likes of which I had never seen before, with fluffy purple heads swaying in the wind, or feathered yellow petals.
The Court of Teeth had sounded rather ominous when Dagda had said it. A place of beasts and monsters, not unlike Charybdis.
