Page 126 of The Shadow Path
“But in Éire,” Godrik said, “the wolves have been driven from the island. The fae hold sway over the human throne. The court belongs to Cian, not to Orla.”
Dru stared at nothing, and Carys couldn’t read his expression.
“Your brother and his wife killed my Shadowkin,” Carys said softly.
Dru finally looked at her.
“They killed Seren,” she said. “Regan may have been the glove, but your brother—Regan’s father—was the hand in that glove. And he killed Seren to keep her from revealing that they were creating a land bridge. They killed her with no thought to what it would do to Cadell. To Lachlan. To the entire country of Cymru.”
Duncan had been silent up until then. He’d been watching all of it from the far corner of the library. “Your brother’s not only a murderous bastard,” he finally said, “he’s a shit king. Every fae creature in Briton is in danger now because of him.”
The blank expression that Dru had been wearing cracked just a little bit.
“You don’t have to do this for yourself,” Carys said. “It’s not about your own ambition, Dru. This is about the safety of every brownie, every sprite, and every wild fae in Briton.” She looked at Naida. “Naida is the most peaceful fae I know. She shouldn’t have to hide who she is or run from London because your brother wants more power.”
“This is not about me,” Naida protested. “Do not make this about?—”
“Fine.” Dru’s voice wasn’t rough or emotional. It was smooth, seductive, and commanding as hell. “You want me to take the fae throne?”
He stood, and his presence filled the room. The fire leaped in the grate, the shadows grew deeper, and his voice took on an echoing quality that shot fear directly into Carys’s heart.
“I will take the fae crown.” Dru turned to Naida, then looked at Carys. “But remember that you asked for this blood. Not me.”
The massive faemound was back in Dafydd’s courtyard—only this time it was nearly as big as the mansion itself.
It didn’t look like a fae mound anymore. It looked like a fortress.
Dragons were dispatched to Alba and Cymru to share the news that Diarmuid mac Lir had returned to the Shadowlands and was claiming his crown.
A pall had settled over Southern Anglia, and the Great Serpent hadn’t been seen in days. The river fae were silent, and the sky was unseasonably cloudy.
Apple trees that had been setting fruit had begun to wither as wild fae and tree sprites fled deeper into the old woods. Flowers fell on the ground and were trampled by the hooves of horses as Harold called every able-bodied soldier from his vassal lords.
Carys sat on a stone bench in the muddy courtyard in front of Dafydd’s house, staring at the bustling activity of the remaining Cymric soldiers as rain began to fall on the ever-rising green mound.
There was a muddy ring around Dru’s fortress where wolves were circling. Every now and then, a cloaked fae or a small group of them would emerge from the woods or the lane, pause at the sight of the wolves before they walked to the fort, reached a hand out, and melted into the earth.
They were tall and short but mostly tall. Slim as willows and furtive as foxes. The fae came at all hours and were often accompanied by animals. Rabbits and dogs were common. Owls were often perched on top of the fort. Ferrets and weasels scampered about, and one small, round fae even came with a bear that trotted behind her, his breath huffing steam in the cool morning air.
“Quite the parade.”
Carys turned and saw Naida watching Dru’s fort in the dying light of the afternoon. The breeze was filled with flower petals from a bright pink hawthorn that had sprung up overnight on the top of the hill. Every time the wind moved, pink petals drifted in the air.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Naida sat beside her. “You’ve never spent time in the court of Temris, the halls of the aes sídhe.”
Carys had done her homework after her first trip to the Shadowlands. Aes sídhe was the Éiren name for the high fae—the “mound people”—also known as the race descended from the Tuatha Dé Danann and the old gods of Éire.
They were the dominant fae of Briton after they had conquered the legendary Fomorians. They were the most powerful practitioners of magic and the supernatural race that controlled the gates to the Brightlands.
And their capital, not so coincidentally, was in Temris, the same place the Éiren kings and queens ruled.
It was these fae—not the ellyllon like Naida or the wild sprites or the humble but powerful brownies—who decided what human souls lived as Shadowkin and which ones became nothing more than magical wisps that congregated by the gates.
These were the fae who had insinuated themselves into the human power structure.
These were the fae Dru had been born to rule.
