“We don’t have a choice, Morgan!” Grief filled my mother’s eyes. “She cursed us! If she dies...”
“So do we,” my aunt croaked.
“No, little sister. Death would be a blessing.” My mother jolted at seeing a group of Unseelie fae leap toward them. Instead of pulling out a weapon, my mother held up her hands. Hissed words chanted from her mouth.
The man’s body went up into the air, his neck snapping with a chilling pop before plummeting to the ground in a heap.
What the fuck?A squeaked cry came up my throat, shock and terror stumbling me back even more.
Was my mother a Druid? A witch?
Morgan stayed next to her, and between them, they slaughtered the group of fae. Ones fighting for the king.
A pained howl burst from my mom, her hand grappling for her sister again, her legs bending until she hit the ground.
“Eabha!” Panic filled Morgan’s voice, dropping to the ground next to my mom, her hand rubbing her arm.
“She’s coming—oh gods no—the baby is coming now.” Tears poured down my mother’s face, her hands clawing at her sister in terror.
“I need to get the rest of our group. Maybe Finn will know what to do!” Morgan started to rise.
“Yes, go get them.” A man’s voice came from the side, jerking my head to him as he sauntered up. “Then I can destroy your perfidious clan all at once.”
“Oh gods.” My mouth parted, taking in the old man I had grown to love at one time. Strength and power curled off him. Carrying a staff, he looked pretty much the same except his back was straight, his frame less feeble and worn.
“Tadhgan...” Morgan sucked in sharply, stepping back, fear in her eyes.
“Finally tracked you down. Not a surprise you are fighting forher.” He slammed his staff into the dirt, power vibrating through the ground.
My mother groaned, hissing out short breaths, her face creased with pain.
“You touch her and I will kill you, old man.” Morgan stepped in front of my mom, guarding her.
“You really think you can take me? I was there the day you were born. You are a child, Morgan. It’s heartbreaking to know your father destroyed all hope for you. You and Eabha could have been magnificent.”
“My father was a great man,” she bellowed.
“Your father was a traitor,” he shot back.
A scream came from my mom, her legs parting as she huffed and grunted. Magic snapped and sizzled, raining down as a deep, long cry shredded my mother’s throat, howling into the night.
Suddenly I was no longer in the field, but inside the castle, I could see the battle going on outside the window. But in this room, a man lay dead on the floor as two dark-haired girls stood over a woman in a breathtaking gown, a crown on her head. Aneira.
One girl who looked very much like a younger version of the Unified Nations’ current ruler, Queen Kennedy, grabbed a sword off the ground. The moment she touched it, magic burst the blade with light. With a cry, she swung the blade down, driving it through Aneira’s neck, her head rolling off with a whoosh of magic.
I felt the magic hit me. The wave of unbelievable power.
In a blink, I was back outside with my mother. The baby was crowning, my mother crying and screaming, not in happiness, but in terror, pain, and sorrow.
She pushed again, the baby slipping all the way out.
Thunder rolled and cracked.
The wall was falling with the Seelie Queen’s death, spreading out in a ripple effect like a bomb. Waves of her magic hit the land like a tsunami, tearing the last bit of wall down and slamming directly into my mother and the newborn still covered in afterbirth.
My mother’s head fell back as the baby wailed with life, the cry spiking through the air, magic enveloping the child.
Crack!
