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Torin didn’t betray his disgust. He simply watched as she squeezed her wrist until she was satisfied. He understood what the hag had meant. The hags feasted on the blood of traitors. Unlike vampires, they didn’t take it directly from the bodies. They would slit throats and drain the creatures and drink down what came out. Glannis had had a bit too much. If brownie and ogre blood did that to a figure, someone should put the bitch on a diet.
Still, he watched as Una chanted over the pitcher. Witches, hags, priests. All the same with the bloody chanting. It bored Torin. He would outlaw chanting when the time came. It was all he could do not to roll his eyes as the hags called out to some dark goddess with an unpronounceable name. Religion. He would definitely get rid of that.
Finally, Una pronounced the spell done and brought it to the mute dead girl. She seemed so solid, but Torin knew it was an illusion. If he stared hard enough, he could see a thin sliver of bone. It sat on the rock under the girl. Her form shimmered briefly, and the bone was solid. The hags had insisted on keeping one small piece of each dead royal in an ornate box. They had saved one of Bronwyn’s fingers. They held a piece of the queen’s skull. Only Seamus had been spared. His body had burned in the fire that had raged.
Una nodded before carrying the pitcher to the dead girl. “Reveal yourself.”
She tipped the pitcher over. The ghostly fog spread like water falling. It engulfed the girl, and as the fog cleared, someone very different sat in her place.
This girl was thinner but of the same build. Her hair was shorter than Bronwyn’s and not done up in elaborate braids. Her much darker hair was pulled back in a single bun, and her face had gone a horrible blue. There were distinct hand prints around the girl’s throat. She was dressed in plain clothes, the type worn by those who served the queen and her children.
Maris kneeled, staring at the girl. “This is not the girl I saw. This girl is named Eionnette. She was one of the girls who kept Bronwyn’s clothes. This is not Bronwyn.”
Glannis held her wrist and nodded toward the queen. “Yes. We rather thought that when we used the bone to bring back her image. Worry not, Your Highness, we’ve already tested the queen’s skull. She’s very dead. And, of course, you killed Seamus yourself.”
“Seamus is very dead. I know that.” Torin felt weary. Seamus was, once again, standing in the same room, his ghostly eyes passing judgment, though this time there was a hint of fear there, too.
“But his daughter is alive.” Una passed a hand through the ghost girl, and it faded with the fog, leaving behind a single small bone. All that was left of the girl.
Seamus’s eyes flared, and Torin was pretty damn sure if his dead brother could kill, he would have his hands around the hag’s throat.
Torin made a decision. He could scream and wail and beat his chest, but it would give his brother a sense of satisfaction. Seamus had known his daughter was alive. He’d hidden it for years. He’d hoarded the knowledge like a treasure trove of gold that kept him alive.
Torin had thought his victory over his brother complete, but there was one last battle to win.
He kept his voice calm, his demeanor kingly. “So Bronwyn killed her servant and ran?”
Glannis laughed, the sound more like a nasty cough than actual joy. “No, Your Majesty. Bronwyn Finn never showed a single talent for magic. It tends to start early. She would have shown an aptitude, and her parents would have placed her with a mentor.”
Una tapped her nonexistent lips with a bony finger. “I’ve been thinking about the Unseelie princess, Your Majesty.”
He gritted his teeth. It made perfect sense. She was the one they couldn’t vet. She was the one Maris hadn’t been able to keep out. “Then Gillian McIver is still in Tir na nÓg, too.”
Glannis smiled. “Oh, yes, Your Majesty, and she’s the reason why we’re going to find them. The Unseelie have a particular magic about them, even when the magic is pure and white. It’s a signature of sorts.”
Maris looked up, her pale skin a rosy pink in the light of the fire. “You’ve found them?”
Una shrugged. “We’ve found a strong Unseelie signature in an agricultural district. We believe that the Princess Gillian saved Bronwyn and attempted to get her out of Tir na nÓg. If we’re right, she failed, and Bronwyn has been hiding here.”
She waved a hand across the back cave wall and a small map lit up, the provinces of Tir na nÓg flaring. There were two provinces glowing with color, one stronger than the other.
“That’s Tuathanas and Aoibhneas.” Tuathanas was a bright red, but Aoibhneas was a pink. “Are they in both places? Tell me it’s Aoibhneas. I hate those freaks. The mayor is an utterly insane man, but he turns out to be quite adept at both politics and defense. I would love a good reason to torch the whole town.”
Maris rolled her eyes. It was a point of contention between them. “And where would you get your horses? Where would the palace get the confections we’ve come to love? Aoibhneas produces many of our luxuries.”
“And many of our radicals.” The sooner he killed them all the better.
“It matters not, Your Majesty,” Una argued. “The princess is in Tuathanas. The color is much brighter there, and the Unseelie magic has been going on for much longer
. I wouldn’t be surprised if the other was caused by some passerby. It’s strong but temporary. See, it’s already fading, but Tuathanas is going strong. This is where to send the troops.”
His brother’s ghost was gone again.
Torin took a long breath. One last little girl to kill.
“I’ll send the troops tonight.”
Chapter Seven
