“Of course I do.” Slight derision curled Irian’s lip. “His dirty boots tread my demesne; his coaxing words whisper through my trees; his vulgar scent carries on my winds. He is here to break Eala’s geas and set the swan maidens free.”
My pulse resumed, pumping fear through my veins. “He’s only trying—”
“He is welcome to try. I rejoice his efforts. I bear him no ill will.” Irian’s voice was black metal and broken magic. “But he does not deserve you.”
I stared at him. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you love him, yet he is wooingher.” Shadows unfurled like wings at his back and made a night sky for his moonlit eyes. “If I had your heart, I would not be dancing with another.”
A surge of emotion streaked through me—I tasted wet earth and bitter leaves in the back of my throat. I reached out and gripped Irian’s arms.
“Show me.”
For a long moment, Irian stood motionless. Then his hand on my wrist flicked out, sending me swirling out into the revel. My gown blossomed pale around my knees, and the world blurred into smears of color and light. The music had changed again—drums throbbing like a heartbeat beneath a secretive melody. Swaying figures slid away from us, but I barely noticed anyone but Irian. Beneath the force of his gaze, all my nights with Rogan faded to nothing.
Irian caught me against him, twining my fingers in his as he slid one powerful arm around my waist. If I worried our heights would make dancing difficult, I was wrong. We fit together well.Toowell. An intoxicating thrill skated along my bones as we began to move—a swaying dip, the world tilting on its axis. We glided across the grass, our steps quiet and sure beneath the hypnotic beat.
The revel melted away, until I was alone with him, caught between the arching branches and the night sky and the trembling light of a thousand lanterns. Irian’s eyes did not leave my face, andI shivered beneath his gaze. I wondered how I’d ever thought his silver eyes cold. They were liquid with heat, igniting my blood. His palms burned my skin. His face tilted down toward mine.
I didn’t see the gleaming blade slashing toward my throat until it was too late.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Irian’s shadows moved before I could, shoving me backward.
I stumbled. Fell.
The long silver claíomh sailed through the space I’d been standing, its tip embedding in the soil by my feet. Screaming rent the air.
I wondered if it was me.
The red-haired Gentry warrior wrenched the sword back up, swung it again. This time, Irian lunged forward and blocked it with his shoulder, the sharpened metal skidding off his ceremonial armor. He caught the next strike between his crossed gauntlets. He twisted his arms, hauling the blade out of the attacker’s grip and flinging it away. The sword disappeared into the crowd of wedding guests, who scattered like leaves in a high wind.
The Sky-Sword appeared in Irian’s hands so swiftly I never saw him draw it. With smooth, deliberate control he drove it through the Gentry warrior’s throat. The bride’s brother choked, coughed, grappled at the shard of midnight splitting him in two. Irian twisted the blade, slashed sideways. The young man’s head lolled off his neck. His mangled body dropped to the ground. Blood spurted out, staining the delicate moss black.
Instinct overcame shock, and I pushed myself to my feet. The guests had all dispelled, and the figures who replaced them were not there to dance. Blades rang from scabbards and glinted in the scattered light of shuddering lanterns. Many of these warriors also had scarlet hair; a few sported glaring yellow eyes and aquiline noses.
Ah. Another point being made.
“You flout the geas of hospitality? You attack the tánaiste of the Sept of Feathers at a wedding beneath the Heartwood?” Distaste contorted Irian’s face. “Far have you fallen from the dignity of your ancestors.”
The fénnidi who moved toward him were grim.
“Not as far as you,” snarled one as he hefted his weapon.
Below us, the earth shuddered. Discarded bouquets scudded across the ground, driven by a wind that struck my nostrils with the faint odor of rot. Irian flexed his arms, and beneath his onyx torc, tattoos lengthened and sharpened, black as his shadows. Thunder grumbled above the canopy of the Heartwood, and tendrils of lightning crackled along the length of the Sky-Sword. Briefly, Irian glanced at me. His eyes no longer shone like moonlight—they flashed like steel. His expression warped—regret chasing anger and humiliation across his face—before it settled into feral, violent lines.
“Chandika,” he said in the moment before the men surrounded him. “Take her andgo.”
Cool, slender fingers closed around my arms and dragged me away. If I’d had a moment longer to think—if I hadn’t still been in shock from the attack and surprised by Chandi’s sudden presence—I would have fought harder to stay. As it was, I tried to wrench my arms out of her grasp, craning my neck to look back over my shoulder. But I didn’t have my knives or my armor, and I was dressed in a stupid gown that caught around my legs and threatened to trip me. Surely I could still do something,helpin some way—
“Stop fighting me!” Chandi dragged me into the waiting forest. Flowers and leaves showered down around us as we fled, and between the trees, faces stared with hollow eyes. Silver branches pulsed with molten veins. A creature with a face like the shifting shadows on a forest path thrust bright antlers into the dim.
Behind us, steel rang against steel. And one of the swords was singing.
“I can help him,” I protested.
“You can’t.” Chandi slowed, finally looked at me. She, too, wore wedding finery—an exquisite lilac gown that made her eyes glow like suns. “You would only get in his way.”
