Words and their intent mattered, especially for the fae.
Medb went still in a way that would’ve made Jono’s hackles rise if he were in his werewolf form. He stepped closer to Patrick, claws piercing the skin at the tips of his fingers. Fenrir rumbled through his soul, but didn’t speak.
The Cailleach Bheur tilted her staff in Medb’s direction. “You made a bargain. You will keep it, or your word will be worthless.”
Medb’s eyes narrowed to slits before she blinked them wide again and smiled in a way Jono didn’t like.
“I am not one to break my word. Twist it, as Cú Chulainn has done, well. We all speak with twisted meanings these days. It is how the stories made us, after all. Our stories change with the generations. We are forgotten and remembered andmisremembered, and death is never a guarantee for gods when our histories are written for the masses to worship,” Medb replied.
Jono’s ears picked up a distant, heavythump. Then another, and another. He dialed up his hearing, trying to pinpoint the noise, but it was difficult to distinguish what it was through the rest of the sounds in the palace. The ice that coated the floor and which had numbed his toes carried the vibrations as the scent of ozone grew thicker in the air.
“Patrick,” Jono growled, half turning toward the throne room entrance. He didn’t want his back to Medb, butsomethingwas coming their way.
“You may bring Órlaith to my Court and not give her over. That is your right within the words we spoke and the bargain we made. You brought her here before winter solstice touched the sky, which means the mage is free to go. But I claim my price was not met in full.”
“I kept my side of the bargain,” Gerard snapped.
Medb shrugged one thin shoulder. “My price was Órlaith’s life. It was not met.”
“Yes, it fucking was.”
The vibrations in the floor got heavier, the sound of what had to be footsteps getting louder in Jono’s ears. Patrick unsheathed his dagger and gripped it tight. The heavenly fire that spilled from it gave off a warmth Jono could feel against his chilled skin.
“I was prepared for your half-truths. I have not lived this long without knowing the way words cut.”
Gerard ground his teeth so hard Jono heard one break. “You accepted the terms.”
“I did, under the assumption you would pay my price. And the bargain brought you both here, to my Court, as it was asked of me. Because you, Son of Lugh,” Medb said with a hard glint in her eyes, “your family hasmissedyou.”
The entrance to the throne room seemed to grow in size, the walls around it shifting by way of magic to accommodate the space made to allow a giant to walk through.
“Oh, we are so fucked,” Patrick muttered.
“So,sofucked,” Nadine agreed with wide eyes as she raised her shields around their group.
Jono watched as Gerard rotated his weapon around to point the notched spearhead at the new threat, the expression on his face seemingly carved from stone.
“Balor,” Gerard said, with all the loathing Jono heard in Patrick’s voice when he spoke about Ethan.
Jono took a deep breath and shifted, letting Fenrir take control.
22
Balor broughtwith him the heat of a scorching sun that poured out of his body, melting the ice on the floor. The immortal’s craggy face was dominated by a large closed eye in the center of his forehead that Patrick did not, in any way, want looking at them. The tyrant king of the Formorians was at least two stories tall, with a bald head and a protruding jaw. He wore a gold crown and carried a wooden club that looked as if it was made from an entire tree trunk trimmed of its branches and roots.
Patrick wasn’t sure how Balor navigated the world around him while effectively blind, but the god moved with an uncanny knowledge of where everyone was.
“Cú Chulainn,” Balor said, teeth gnashing together around the name.
“You know, I don’t see the family resemblance, Gerard,” Patrick said offhand as he took a couple of steps backward. “Your great-grandfather is kind of ugly.”
“None of us get to choose the blood we carry in our veins,” Gerard retorted.
“I’m gonna make a wild guess that spelled bullets won’t cut it here,” Keith said as he aimed down the barrel of his rifle.
Gerard scowled, gripping his spear tightly. “You’d be right.”
“If you go into a berserker rage right now when we don’t have an exit strategy, I will take you off my Christmas card list,” Patrick told Gerard as the Unseelie fae courtiers started to scatter.
