Page 89 of Void of Endings
Something cold clamped around his wrists, draining him. His magic slipped from his grasp, waning, like he was being smothered by some unseen force. Tiernan jerked sideways, pulling away from the strange sensation, but his movements were dulled, and a metallic scent hung heavy in the air.
A smell he recognized all too well.
Iron.
Godsdammit.
It couldn’t end like this, not with him being chained in iron. There had to be another way. Another possibility of escape. He would never bow before Parisa, he would never surrender his Court, he would never give up Maeve. Rage and renewed determination fired through him. Tiernan charged forward, despite the fact that the bite of iron was like fire against his flesh. He hoisted his swords, ready to demolish every fae, every creature that stood in his way.
But they vanished.
Evaporating in a flurry of feathers and smoke, as though they hadn’t even existed.
Dark clouds continued to roil overhead and raindrops fell from the sky like ice. Through the rising mist, he saw Casimiracross from him. His lips were busted and bleeding, crimson against the bronze of his skin. The fabric of his hood was torn and the pupils of his eye were vertical slits. It looked like he’d been attempting to shift into his dragon form before they snared him in iron. Behind him stood another Puca, his lips twisted into a sneer. By the looks of it, Casimir had gotten a few good hits on him. The skin beneath his eye was swollen, already turning a hideous shade of greenish-blue, and blood mottled his shirt and pants.
Rowan was off to the right, not a cut on the bastard. But a female Puca held him prisoner. She’d grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat. The flat edge of her blade was pressed firmly against his flesh, and Tiernan caught the quick glint of silver on Rowan’s wrists. He, too, had been bound in iron.
The female whispered something into Rowan’s ear, and he jerked violently, his lavender gaze turning volatile. She cackled loudly, then choked, cowering slightly behind his frame.
“Well, well…”
Tiernan went completely still, his swords sliding from his grip.
Casimir paled, as though he’d just lost his soul.
And Rowan looked ready to set the world on fire.
Parisa glided through the haze of fog as the rain slashed across her features. A cape of heavy black velvet billowed around her, but even beneath its excessive frills, there was no mistaking the angular bones protruding from beneath the fabric. Her face was skeletal, gaunt and near ashen. Folds of skin seemed to slide down her face. What was left of her hair was stringy and gray, falling to her shoulders in thin wisps. Her lashes reminded him of spider legs, and she’d painted her lips a hideous bloodied shade that stretched wide when she attempted to smile.
Tiernan recoiled at the sight of her.
He should have attacked her then. He should have gathered up his swords from the ground, and plunged them right into her heart. He wanted to watch her die by his blade, he wanted to watch the life fade from her eyes as she paid retribution for all the terror she’d forced Maeve to endure. More than anything, he longed to destroy her, to cast her vile soul back into the Sluagh, to purge her from Faeven once and for all.
But the cold iron was quick to hold him in check, an unpleasant reminder that not only was he outnumbered, but now he was also outmatched.
“If it isn’t three of my least favorite males.” She moved slowly through the mist, thevirdis lepatitepulsing at the base of her throat. “The treasonous ex-lover, the lovesick and fiercely loyal king, and the arrogant cousin who somehow lost his way.”
Rowan laughed, but the sound of it was raw and grating. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Parisa glared at him, her lips curling in disgust. “Shut up. Before I cut out your tongue.”
Tiernan had never actually witnessed Rowan back down before, but he imagined Parisa would make good on her promises.
“So, you’ve come to collect your precious princess, have you?” She strolled between them, her cape trailing behind her. “Isn’t it curious how one female can command the love of all three of you?”
She paused in front of Casimir, tilting his chin up with the tip of her long fingernail as she inspected him. Her voice dripped with disdain as she spoke. “Redemptive love.”
Parisa moved closer to Tiernan, running one finger along his jaw. He tensed and the iron clamped down, weakening him. She gave his cheek a little pat, smacking just hard enough for it to sting. “Timeless love.”
She tossed Rowan a scathing look, then smirked, knowing her barb would strike true. “And the worst of all, unrequited love.”
Rowan looked carved from stone but said nothing, merely watching his estranged cousin with an immense loathing.
“Such a pity you won’t be able to steal her from me again,” Parisa mused, moving back through the mist. She paused, then turned around to face all three of them. “But, since you’re here, I may as well request the honor of your presence at the first annual BloodFest.”
Tiernan’s throat ran dry, and dread caused his fists to clench. “The what?”
“Never fear, Your Highness.” She waved one bony hand through the air, her painted lips pulling back into a sinister smile. “You’ll have a front-row seat.”
