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“Won’t do it with him near,” Erik seethed again. He closed his eyes as if battling some internal thoughts that were vicious and cruel. “Get him gone, or I challenge him, and your like-a-brother dies. Your choice, Warrior.”
“We sang the song, Cursed King,” I said gently. “Before the fighting, there was a song for Lump. I sang it. A song of blood brings life for the one you love. Those were some of the words.”
“And the rest?” Valen snapped.
I swallowed. Hells, this was the path, the twist of the song of seidr. The more I thought of the tale and its song, the clearer it became. “Trust and let it be, in this, a-a-a tale of land and sea. Let it be, Valen.”
Stieg looked at his king imploringly. Valen hesitated, but slowly rose and stepped away from Tor’s unmoving form.
He dropped his axes. “As you say.”
Erik gave a slight hiss at the Night Folk king as he shoved his way toward Torsten.
Sol lifted his tear tracked face. His deep blue eyes seemed to shade to a cruel black when he saw Erik. “Get him back. You don’t touch him, sea fae.”
“Lump.” I rushed to his side. “Did you not hear Junius? This is part of your song; I feel it. That’s why the wards went up. Torsten has a song. Let it be.”
“Out of time, earth fae.” Erik glanced at Tor. “He’s half in the Otherworld. Can’t bring back the dead, now, can I?”
“Son,” Arvad tried again. “It’s the only chance you have.”
“He could kill him.” Sol gripped Tor’s tunic.
“Heisdying,” Silas broke, and pointed out the truth none of us—Sol most of all—wanted to admit.
“He will,” Arvad added. “He will die, son.”
“No, he—”
“Moments,” Arvad said with more force. “You have moments. I’ve been around enough death to know when a soul is leaving the body, Sol. This is a chance. A gift of fate.”
Sol’s mouth tightened. He trembled as he fought to keep the anguish from spilling out. With a furious kiss to Tor’s forehead, he whispered softly against his consort’s ear, then stepped back as Erik replaced him by Tor’s head.
“Keep everyone back,” Erik told Stieg. “I can’t lose the song or he’s a dead fae for certain. It’ll look like I’m killin’ him. I’m not.”
Stieg took a place between Erik and our folk, then watched with a bit of curiosity as the boy lowered to his knees at Torsten’s head. He winced. There was a pain in his leg, and the Ever King fought to hide it desperately.
With the blood on his palm, Erik placed it over the flow of gore in Torsten’s chest.
Accustomed to Silas’s voice, his low, silky rumble, it was a bit of a shock to hear the smooth, higher sound of the Ever King. Sea fae found power in their voices. Almost like seidr. Perhaps it was a bit of proof we were all connected. We were all fae folk, if we could look beyond our bloody skirmishes, we might find true peace someday.
Erik closed his eyes, bloody hands over Tor’s wound. His voice grew in intensity. A hum from deep within his chest. Slow, haunting, steady.
Until Torsten’s body spasmed.
“Stop!” Sol roared. Arvad wrapped his arms around his son’s shoulders, holding him close. “Stop it.”
“Lump.” My voice cracked. “Let it be. Let it be.”
Blood spewed out of Torsten’s mouth the longer Erik sang. The boy’s shoulders slumped. His voice grew softer. His fingers trembled. The song was draining him.
A little more, sea fae. A little more.
I clung to Silas’s arms, unable to breathe, unable to move, until Tor’s body ceased spasming. Until the blood stopped flowing over his lips.
Erik stumbled. He caught himself on one of his hands before he fell to the side. Stieg went to the young king’s side, propping him up. The boy swatted him away and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“Wound’s closed,” he said, weaker than before. Erik didn’t try to hide the limp as he stood and rubbed his upper thigh. “That’s all I can do. Hope you didn’t wait too long.”
