A blade flashed bright silver, slicing across the deer’s ribs. Blood exploded from the shallow-looking cut, and the deer let out a horrific sound that made Cillian want to cover his ears. Cernunnos vaulted from the jeweled saddle as the deer ran off, leaving a blood trail behind.
The shadow darted their way, sliding to a halt between them and where Bran and Aisling stood. The new Fae was garbed all in black, cloth and leather alike, half a dozen knives and stilettos attached to his body. Even the bits of armor Cillian could see were painted a matte black, all of it matching the Fae’s short black hair. He held a blood-coated stiletto in one gloved hand, his other glowing with magic. Sloe-colored eyes looked right at him in a face that carried a thin scar curving between both eyes and over the bridge of his nose, ending on his left cheek.
Cernunnos straightened, eyes snapping with fury. “So the Lord of Blood and Earth has abandoned his loyalty to the Winter Court.”
“My loyalty has always been to my prince,” the new Fae said in a low, dangerous voice, looking away from Cillian. “Heis the Winter Court.”
“Medb will shorten your leash for this folly.”
“She can try.”
“Carrick,” Niamh said in a tense voice. “We can’t leave without the witch and the herald.”
“I saw the collar,” Carrick said, never taking his eyes off Cernunnos. “Seamus is dealing with the lights.”
Cernunnos raised a hand, magic spinning like a small green vortex at his fingertips. The roots all around them ripped free of the earth, straining against magic Cillian couldn’t see. “Is this the side you choose?”
“We certainly aren’t going to side withyou,” a new voice spat.
Some of Cernunnos’ remaining soldiers spun to face the Fae that stepped out from behind a tree, black blood covering the blade of the sword he carried. He was dressed much like Carrick, though he was a little taller and broader, and wielded his sword as if he wasn’t bothered by the weight of it. His hair was a strange, dark moss green, though Cillian couldn’t see the color of his eyes. A pair of thick silver cuffs embedded with labradorites were sealed around his wrists, reminding Cillian of the ones Ainmire had made him wear.
“Ah, the fallen knight,” Cernunnos mocked. “Here to fail at your duty again?”
“No,” the Fae who could only be Seamus ground out.
Cernunnos eyed them all, not looking the least bit concerned at being partially hemmed in after losing more than half his soldiers and his ride. Part of that reason came from the way he had Bran and Aisling dead in his sights. “You children cannot best me.”
“We don’t need to. We just have to outrun you.”
Cernunnos smiled as he laughed, and Cillian didn’t realize he was screaming until his throat shredded from the sound. Molten magic tore through the air toward Bran and Aisling with a strength he knew—somehow—that Bran wouldn’t be able to counter. That it would kill them, and the last thing Cillian wanted to do again was live his life without Bran in it.
Bitterly cold power exploded from the center of his soul, wind howling through the trees as a wave of ice and cold erupted outward. The concussive force of winter iced over almost everything it touched, turning the Fae soldiers into frozen statues. Trees became solid ice, and the ground looked as if it had become a frozen river. Snow flurries spun through the air, falling across everyone. Cernunnos was forced back, feetsliding over ice as the fury of winter lashed at him, driven by Cillian’s rage.
He didn’t know where the magic came from—how it worked—only that it was his. That this power cutting through his skin and spilling out of him was a season that could last forever if he so wished it.
Blue-white lines of magic ran up his arms from fingertips to shoulders like ice fissures. His fingertips were painted blue from it, all the power of winter cascading out of him, and there was no standing one’s ground in the face of a blizzard like that.
So Cernunnos—sly as he was—didn’t.
The Fae lord wrapped himself up in the roots of the dead trees, disappearing into the earth. The Fae soldiers left behind died as a group, frozen into statues that would never breathe again. Cillian staggered forward, knees wanting to give out, but before they could, Bran was there, arms wrapping around his torso to hold him up.
“I got you,” Bran said through chattering teeth. “I’m here. Pull it all back. You have to.”
“I can’t,” Cillian gasped. “I don’t know how.”
“It’s instinct. It’s intent. Make Nature bend to your will. You’re so stubborn. Iknowyou can do it.”
Cillian closed his eyes, trying to do what Bran said, floundering in the wake of magic that had brought winter to their small little area in the wyrding. He struggled to grasp it all, to understand the wealth of power that pulled at him, begging to be used, to be set free, as if it were some living thing. And maybe it was. Maybe that was what Nature had always been.
Bit by bit, Cillian wrangled his magic into some semblance of control, feeding it back into himself in a way that felt right, until nothing was left of it outside his skin. He wrenched his eyes open, wavering on his feet, the frozen statues of the Fae soldiers around them like something out of a fairy tale.
The only Fae still standing were Niamh, her crew, and the two new arrivals, as if his magic had known not to touch them. Aisling was tucked in close, he realized, her arms wrapped around Bran and her face buried against his shoulder. She was dirtier than she had been when he’dfound her in Pelham’s forest, shivering from the cold, and Cillian wanted nothing more in that moment than to get her somewhere warm.
Niamh seemed to read his mind when she said, “We need to leave.”
Seamus came closer, his eyes never straying from Cillian. That same, almost worshipful look in them that still shined in Niamh’s filled his gaze, making Cillian look away. “Verlin is expecting us.”
“We put him in danger if Cernunnos reports of our transgression to the Dagda.”
