Page 29 of Crownless Heirs

And it was the steadiness in it that made her believe him. She turned just enough to meet his eyes.

“Eyes forward, firelight,” he said. “No matter what you hear.”

She turned back to the path, and the voices multiplied. Laughter spiraled through the trees. Some tones mocking; others scraped low in a wail. They spun around the group, disorienting them as dark shapes flickered at the edges of her sight, darting between the trees with a twitching, ephemeral speed. They never fully formed, always retreating before she could focus, but they watched. Kyron spoke then, as if he sensed her look.

“Don’t look,” he said, eyes locked forward. “That’s what they want.”

She forced herself to ignore the brush of movement that ghosted across her arm, the sound of laughter behind her, the voices calling her name. Each step became a battle against the urge to turn her head. Something tugged at the edge of her shirt, and Maelan shifted closer to her.

Just then she heard Eirin. His voice sounded exactly as it had the last time she had seen him, full of quiet strength and concern, and it reached through as the darkness closed in around her but she refused to let it fool her and just when she thought she had regained control, the voice that broke her resolve also broke her heart. It was her father’s voice. The sound hit her like a blow, pulling her back to a place where she’d always felt safe, always loved. Her lungs refused to expand. Her heart slammed.

She turned; she couldn’t stop herself. She reached for the figure in the mist; he shouldn’t have been there. It was him, but not fully formed; it wasn’t exactly a shadow either. It stood in the shape of her father, flickering at the edges as if it were struggling to hold itself together. Pain seared through her skull as if lightning had struck it, and the world cracked around her. The air split open with a sound she felt more than heard, and in the space of a moment, the figure lunged. Before Maelan or Kyron could move, it reached for her, and she was gone. The silence that followed was deafening, a hollow stillness that pressed into the space where she had been. The shadows receded just enough for them to see she was gone, and the voices fell silent. Maelan stood frozen, hand still half-reached toward where she had stood. Kyron said nothing, his eyes narrowed in fury that had nowhere to go. Only two figures remained in the Forest of Fate.

13

Bé Chuille

The shadows closed in around Sorcha like drowning hands, pulling her downward through a void that seemed endless. She twisted and kicked, her body reacting on instinct, but the grip on her limbs only tightened. The skeletal fingers scraped against her skin, clawing at her as they dragged her toward the abyss below. With a sudden, jarring force, she was flung forward, her body striking cold stone with enough impact to knock the breath from her. The hands vanished, leaving her sprawled and gasping, blood bubbling from her mouth as she coughed. Ahead, the air shimmered in front of an altar; the distortion rippling across her vision. There was no figure standing there, yet Sorcha could sense them. As she pushed herself to sit up, she watched the altar. It loomed at the center of a clearing, carved from stone but also forged from the forest itself. Roots and limbs crawled across its surface, as flowers bloomed in impossible golds. They twisted and wrapped around a statue of what appeared to be a woman. A shadow appeared and stood before the altar; it was tall, and its face a smoky haze — a man made of shadow. A fae who preyed upon fear. She realized it was the Fear Dorcha. Her gaze locked on his form, but the longer she looked, the more her thoughts rebelled, screaming for her to look away before she unraveled entirely. He tilted his head slightly; the movement unsettling. “The child of the sun stumbles into the darkness,” his voice dripped with anger and amusement in such a way it made her skin crawl. “How bold.”

Sorcha forced the words out as she spoke them. “Where am I? Let me go!”

The Fear Dorcha chuckled deep and sinisterly. “Oh, I think not. You’ve wandered into our forest, little flame. And now, you must prove yourself worthy of leaving it.”

Low growls reverberated through the darkness, and Sorcha froze, eyes widening as she turned toward the sound. The shadows parted, peeling back in thin, trembling strands, and a creature emerged that felt like it had been dragged out of a nightmare. The hound stood nearly as tall as she was, its body slick and black, its fur shifting like oil across its body as smoke curled off it. Twin silver eyes locked onto her; canines the size of her hands dripped with a thick red liquid as it growled.

She had heard the stories. Everyone had. The hounds of the Fear Dorcha didn’t just stalk their prey; they consumed them whole, and seeing them now, she understood how. His facial features formed as he spoke, “Let’s play a game, shall we?” He mused, his eyes widening.

“Fuck you,” she spat as blood dripped from the corners of her lips. “Play with me and I’ll make you a deal.” His eyes filled with excitement as he continued. “You can’t fight it. You can’t kill it. You must tame it. If you do, you’re free to go.”

Sorcha looked to the creature and then back to him. “Tame that? that’s impossible! I’m going to die!”

But before she could protest further, the hound lunged. Its teeth sank into her, the pain instant as it teeth sprouted through the bottom of her arm. She screamed and tried twisting away, but the beast held on, dragging her backward across the stone floor. Letting ago the hound struck her chest, knocking the wind from her lungs as she heard a crack under the weight. Its breath scorched her throat, and the snarl that followed rattled through her bones.

Her magic flared in response, heat burning at her fingertips, but before she could summon it, the Fear Dorcha snapped his fingers. In an instant, the fire vanished, stolen from her before it could form.

“No, no, little flame,” he said with quiet amusement. “Not like that.”

She kicked and clawed, striking at its sides, but her efforts had no effect. Its strength dwarfed hers. Every movement took more from her than she could afford to give, and her body began to falter. She began to feel as if she were drowning as more blood poured from her lips.

And all the while, the Fear Dorcha said nothing as he watched, a smile wide across his twisted face. The beast suddenly lapped at something in the air and appeared to look like it was eating, but what? It opened its mouth, its massive maw larger than her head; she was ready for it to chomp on her when it inhaled deeply. Her heart pounded as adrenaline mixed with pain, but even through the chaos, she began to understand. It was feeding on her fear. Her breathing slowed as she forced stillness into her body. Meeting the hound’s gaze, she steadied her voice.

“You will never bite me again.” The words gargled out, but they were fierce enough.

The growl deepened, and it lunged once more, its jaws open wide, but she didn’t flinch. Teeth brushed against her throat but stopped just short of piercing her skin. It then bit into her shoulder. Her vision blurred white, but she refused to react to it as it pulled her and threw her to the side. She swallowed her fear, the pain and the fury. Burying all of it beneath the surface. She reached out slowly and laid her fingers on its head when lunged again. The hound went still, and as if frozen, its eyes went wide as it took in the sight of her. It just stared at her, refusing to break eye contact, and then it bowed. Though her body trembled and was bloodied and aching, she felt victory settle over her when a sudden explosion of power burst through her.

The Fear Dorcha’s laugh rolled through the forest, dark and amused. “Now that is something.”

She barely registered his voice. Her vision blurred at the edges, thoughts fraying as exhaustion pulled at her. The pain hadn’t vanished, but the hound remained by her side. It was watching over her when it whimpered, and terror flooded Sorcha. Her eyes searched for the reason the hound seemed frightened as the air shifted once more, the rippling space before the altar thickened. Out of its depths, a figure stepped through. A woman. Her form both radiant and terrifying. The night itself seemed to shape her, and her hair flowed as if the endless night sky had been stained with blood. Her eyes, the color of obsidian and bottomless.

A path opened up behind her, an enormous staircase of stone illuminated by glowing orbs lined along the walls, flowers and vines encasing the entrance. The sounds of birdsong and water drifted from the chambers. Sorcha watched as she approached; even the Fear Dorcha took a step back. Sorcha knew this was no ordinary fae. Bé Chuille tilted her head, and her gaze cut through the space between them.

“You walk my forest, yet do not know my name,” she said, her voice devoid of amusement. “You stand before Be Chuille.”

She knew her name, and according to legend, she was supposed to be dead. Sorcha tried to rise, but shadows curled around her wrists, pulling her back down.

Be Chuille’s lips curved slightly, though it was not so much a smile as it was a moment of personal satisfaction. “Let’s see what hides behind that fire.”

Sorcha’s skull ignited with pain, splintering through her mind as her thoughts were ripped apart. Something monstrous clawed through her memories, shredding her consciousness. She was paralyzed; her body was no longer her own. Though she could no longer hear her screams, she knew she was screaming; her throat burned. All she could do was endure the violation of her very being. The Fear Dorcha arrived by her side, replacing the hound and held her down as her body convulsed, her mouth filling with blood, her nose dripping crimson.