Cernunnos chuckled, tugging on the reins to bring the deer to a stop. “You think highly of your pet.”
Anger was a cold, cold thing coursing through Cillian’s veins, nearly choking him. “I think I’m not going to let you kill him or Aisling.”
“I have no intention of killing the herald.”
The way Niamh sucked in her breath couldn’t be a good thing. Cillian didn’t know what Cernunnos meant by that, but he didn’t care about word games right then. All he cared about was dragging Bran and Aisling back to his side and never letting go. He took another step forward but rocked to a halt from the arrow that lodged itself in the ground mere inches from the toe of his boot. He stared at it, at the warning it likely represented, and weighed it against the fact the archer hadn’t aimed for his heart.
“I have no intention of giving up what’s mine,” Cillian replied. He lifted his gaze from the ground to meet Bran’s wide-eyed one, the other man staring back at him from the bottom of the hill, Aisling wrapped up tight in his arms. From what he’d seen, Bran would need his hands free to cast his magic using a witchmark, but he couldn’t do it if he was holding on to his sister.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, deep and threatening. Niamh came to stand by his side, the air crackling around her from the scattered bits of lightning crawling over her hands. “You heard my prince. The witch and the girl do not belong to you. They have been claimed.”
“Only one wears a collar, and pets die as easily as the next,” Cernunnos drawled dismissively.
“You would not risk the herald.”
“Neither would you. Do not bring your storms, Lady of Sky and Lightning. I will ruin you if you try.”
“You aren’t touching Niamh either,” Cillian snapped.
“Your possessiveness has not changed at all. Perhaps I shall take you all to the Summer Court and let the Dagda deal with each of you for my amusement.”
“You despise the Dagda,” Niamh said.
“One can despise a king and still play politics.”
“Is that what you want to do here?” Cillian asked. “You want us to bargain for our lives?”
Cillian had no desire to do that. He was tired of being someone else’s pawn, and he wasn’t about to let this asshole use Bran and Aisling against him. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hand, the cold rage inside him scratching at his skin, itching to be released. The ground cracked underfoot, his bootheel catching on a divot. He glanced down and saw they stood on iced-over dirt, the edges crawling down the hill in fits and spurts. His breath came out in soft white puffs, the temperature dropping substantially.
Niamh tackled him to the ground, arrows whistling through the air where he had stood. They hit ice, sliding down the hill. Bran screamed his name as the Fae soldiers lunged toward the siblings, everything drowned out by the crackling strike of lightning bolts all around them.The lightning didn’t melt the ice, winter kept alive by the rage pouring out of Cillian.
Niamh kept hold of him, covering his body with her own as the stink of ozone filled the air. Magic erupted around them, bright and golden, a witchmark conjuring up a barrier that kept the arrows that made it through the lightning storm from reaching them. Cillian’s heart clenched at the feel of Bran’s magic all around them, keeping them safe as they slid to the bottom of the hill.
His feet hit ice, the ground leveling out. They skidded to a stop, Fae shouting all around them. Niamh wrenched herself to her knees, thrusting one arm toward the gray sky above and the roiling storm clouds that seemed to obey her every command.
Cernunnos was a pillar of brightness in the descending gloom, haloed by magic, the antlers on his head burning with it. The garland of blue flowers tangled there lashed about his head. But it was the bits of brightness in the dead forest beyond the Fae lord that made a quiet sort of terror crawl up Cillian’s spine.
Lights.
It didn’t matter that Niamh had said the lights wouldn’t harm Fae. Bran and Aisling weren’t Fae, and Cillian wasn’t about to risk their lives to the monsters in the wyrding.
He staggered to his feet, slamming a fist against the wall of Bran’s magic he couldn’t get past. “Bran! Get over here!”
“I’m trying!” Bran shouted back. He had Aisling pressed up against his side, one arm wrapped around her shoulders to hold her close. His other arm was thrust outward, fingers moving as he drew witchmarks in the air, casting magic that pushed back the few Fae managing to get close to them.
Cernunnos rode his deer forward through the lightning storm and wasn’t touched at all by any of it, flanked by some of his soldiers. His own magic seemed to bat the lightning bolts aside, all his attention on Bran and Aisling, and like hell was Cillian going to give them up.
“Don’t you fucking touch them!” Cillian yelled.
A Fae lunged toward Bran, sword cleaving through the air when his momentum abruptly stopped. Blood sprayed from the Fae’s throat, pouring out of a thin cut that didn’t look like it had gone that deep. TheFae clawed at the wound, skin going gray and pale behind their helm as they crashed to their knees, bleeding out in seconds. A shadowy blur moved to the next soldier, magic heavy and thick in the air, tasting like metal in the back of his throat as Cillian breathed.
Niamh let out a huff as she got to her feet. “Finally.”
“What?” Cillian asked dumbly.
“Carrick found us.”
Another cut, another waterfall of blood, staining the dirt and ice all around them crimson. Niamh’s lightning disappeared, thunder a mere echo in his ears as Cernunnos’ deer reared on its hind legs, kicking at the person who danced close. Cernunnos snarled something in the Fae language, his magic calling up roots from the earth that couldn’t pin down Carrick dancing through the soldiers like an angel of death, if Fae even believed in that sort of thing.
