Finola was silent.
“Your father?—”
“Cian is not my father,” Finola snapped.
“Your mother’sconsortwas about to march you and your army into battle against Anglian troops, and you wouldn’t have even known it was happening,” Carys whispered. “Wehadto break the enchantment.”
“Why are the Anglian forces arrayed against us? We are allies of Anglia.”
Carys’s heart sank. “Do you even know about the children?”
Finola stepped back. “Whatchildren?”
“You and King Harold have been drawn into a fight that belongs to those two fae princes.” Carys pointed over her shoulder. “Cian tried to use you to break the Queens’ Pact, but this battle is not yours. It’s not Harold’s. This battle is between Cian and Dru to see who will control the fae of Briton.” She let out a breath. “And that isallthis is about.”
Finola looked around, and Carys knew she’d been right. The woman had no idea what was happening, but now she had an army behind her, and she needed to regain control.
The fae commanders were dead. The sorcerers were ashes.
The princess was back in charge of her army.
Princess Finola mounted her horse and spoke quietly to her commanders, who fanned out across the ridge.
The princess shouted something over the line of troops, and those within earshot cheered. Then she spoke again at longer length. After she finished, her soldiers fell silent, murmuringamong themselves, but Finola turned to face the battle between Dru and Cian, her face a stoic mask.
Duncan walked over to her, and Carys ran to his arms, holding on as Dru and Cian fought and the earth itself seemed to weep from the blood spilled between them.
Dru bled silver from his head, his pierced side, and a long slash across his neck.
Cian’s blood was a shimmering gold, and he was in worse shape than Dru. His right leg was weeping blood, and he leaned to the left, hardly able to stand.
The older knight who’d been holding Duncan walked over to translate. “The princess told the army that Prince Cian of Temris has been challenged for the rule of the fae throne,” he said. “But that since this was a rightful challenge on the sacred ground of Saris Plain, where the offerings to the old gods were given, we must watch in witness with our Anglian brothers and sisters. That we must respect the judgment of the gods, who will declare the winner.”
“Druwillwin,” Duncan said. “Is your princess prepared to recognize the reign of Diarmuid mac Lir?”
The man’s eyes flashed with derision. “That’s fae business, human. No business of mine.”
Carys turned her eyes back to the stone circle and realized Duncan was right.
Druwasgoing to win.
Cian looked faded and broken, and with every strike of Dru’s silver sword, every roar from the wild fae around him, the dark prince grew taller, greater, more and more powerful.
The red crown on his head dripped with silver blood, and every place his blood dropped to the grass, a pool of water formed until the plain itself appeared like a shallow sea reflecting the stormy sky.
Clouds gathered over the plain, and a swift darkness covered the land. The watery shroud opened and rain began to fall, but when it touched Carys’s lips, it was seawater that touched her tongue.
Cian of Temris stumbled back, then fell forward, dropping to his knees as darkness covered the land.
“Cian, son of Elatha, old god of light.” Dru’s voice was an echo like thunder over the sea. “Don’t you know you are in the Shadowlands?” Dru’s smile was wicked as he drew his sword back. “You have no power here.”
With one stroke, the black-haired fae swung his sword, and Cian’s head fell to the ground.
Gold blood poured from his body, and his blood watered the land.
In the distance,the last of the Fomorians howled in anger, leaping over their dead and driving their monstrous and mangled bodies toward Dru and the wild fae army.
The wolves turned and lined up, the Anglian and Alban armies turned toward the awakened foe, and the Éiren armies—newly awake to the Fomorian threat—began to beat their shields as low, droning horns sounded from behind them.