Dani Harper - Storm Bound

And let it fly.

With a sound like a thunderclap, every iron horseshoe within a hundred yards instantly tore loose from its moorings and slammed into Celynnen. The impact was horrific. Blue blood spattered in every direction as fae flesh tore and bone shattered. The wounded faery sank to her knees, keening in pain and terrible rage, her flawless features ravaged beyond recognition.

Brooke didn’t know if the Tylwyth Teg could die, but Aidan was taking no chances. He ran at the downed creature with upraised sword, and Rhys was barely two strides behind him.

Without any warning, both of them were knocked backwards as if they’d struck an invisible wall. A tall man, in sable leathers and long black hair, suddenly appeared beside the fallen Celynnen. His eyes were dark and dangerous, but it was the sheer power that radiated from him that made Brooke’s heart sink to her shoeless feet. He was obviously fae, and that probably meant they were all dead. Brooke had spent every last molecule of magic she had, making it impossible for her to even light a candle, never mind deflect whatever this being was about to do to them.

Strangely, the dark fae paid no attention to any of the humans. Instead, he regarded the horribly wounded Celynnen, who was kneeling crookedly with her ruined face in her broken hands and listing to one side. Her keening had given way to strange rasping sounds, as if she were having trouble breathing.

“I seem to have caught you at a bad time, princess ,” he said. His voice was hard and businesslike, as if her ghastly condition mattered not at all. “But this is more important than your latest game.”

“There is nothing more important than the game, Lurien,” she wheezed, and blue blood ran between her fingers. “And no one has ever played it as well as I do.”

“There was a Draigddynion scale found in your dress. How came you by it?”

Incredibly, the princess began to laugh. Hideous and hissing, bereft of the musical lilt it had once had, there was no mirth in her laughter. Slowly, painfully, she removed her hands and gazed up at all of them with a mocking nightmare smile of broken teeth, the torn lips smeared lopsidedly over her unrecognizable face. “You foolish lackey,” she jeered at the man who had questioned her. “How came you by the scar on your chest?”

She laughed madly then, clawing at the wounded skin on her face, tearing it away in jagged strips to reveal scaled reptilian features beneath it. Only one eye was still open, but it was no longer the beautiful iridescent eye of a fae princess. It was green like a cat’s, with an elliptical pupil. A dragon’s eye.

Lurien appeared horrified. “What have you done with Celynnen?” he demanded.

The creature cackled louder then. “I am Celynnen, you ridiculous excuse for a hunter,” she wheezed. “You knew my mother, Drysi. A full-blooded tywysoges, in direct line for the throne—but Gwenhidw and Arthfael were never going to leave it. Drysi allowed herself to be bedded by the king of the Draigddynion, who promised to put the crown on her head.

“He was far more clever than that, of course. He had her killed, so that I, the true daughter of both realms, would rule the entire kingdom as its rightful queen.”

“You were the ninth assassin,” he breathed. “Murderer of the king. But you leapt into the chasm…”

“So you thought, just as I thought I had killed you. Surprise .” She coughed and dark-blue blood coated her chin. “I gained a ledge below just as I had practiced, and reentered the palace as Celynnen, tywysoges and heir apparent to the throne. Fair and beautiful and perfect. Known by all and suspected by none. Your search was pointless.”

“So is your quest for the throne.” Lurien drew his sword in a flash of obsidian, but he was too late. The creature that had been Celynnen screamed shrilly as smoke suddenly began pouring from every wound, from every orifice. A flash of orange light enveloped her, illuminated her hideous features for a brief second—

And she was gone. The fae used the tip of his black sword to stir a pile of white ash that lingered on the ground, his face unreadable save for a slight glint of moisture at the corner of one eye. “Indeed, Celynnen,” he said quietly. “I never played the game as well as you. But then, we were never playing the same game, were we?”

For the first time he looked over at the humans who watched him, and Brooke was holding her breath. He lifted a hand, but instead of destroying them all with a snap of his fingers, the silver collar around George’s neck shattered into a thousand pieces. Every one of those pieces, plus the mound of pale white ashes vanished.

The tall dark fae strode forward and knelt to press a hand to George’s forehead, as if feeling for a fever. Brooke was frantic. Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him, dear goddess—I have no magic left! But the fae did not appear to harm him. Instead, he passed his hand over the length of G’s contorted and mutated body. As he did so, the form relaxed into its proper shape, like it was made of soft clay. George lay unmoving, however. Was he dead? Brooke launched herself towards him—but Aidan caught her and held her fast. “It will be all right, cariad ,” he whispered to her.

As the fae rose and approached them, Aidan surprised Brooke by tossing his sword to one side. “I have no quarrel with you, Lurien, Lord of the Wild Hunt.”

“Nor I with you, Aidan ap Llanfor, though you gifted me with a fine scar. Celynnen helped to murder King Arthfael. That truth may never have come to light without human intervention.” His black eyes looked down at Brooke, as if considering. “You have much power for a mortal.”

“No,” she replied solemnly. “I have much responsibility.”

Her answer seemed to surprise him. “Well said, good lady. I wish that more of my people understood that. I would not be here if they did.” Lurien paused and looked around at each of them in turn. Rhys still had his sword at the ready, but finally he stepped back and drove the point into the ground at his feet. Morgan slipped beneath his shoulder. All four of them waited.

“What I say, I say in the name of her royal highness, Queen Gwenhidw of the Nine Realms,” said the fae. “I do not have to tell you that the kingdom is in disarray. Its effects are spilling into your world as we speak.”

“People are dying,” accused Rhys.

“Mine as well,” Lurien replied, and Brooke sensed an undertone of pain behind the sharpness. “There was a time when the fae helped to keep the balance in your world as well as ours.”

“Maeve told me that,” said Aidan. “Generosity and unselfishness were rewarded, she said. They punished the greedy and the mean spirited.”

Morgan shook her head. “I’m sure not seeing it. There’s an awful lot of greed and meanness out there. If anything, it’s getting worse.”

“That is because there is no balance in the faery kingdom, and unless the queen succeeds in bringing peace to the realms, both fae and humans will suffer alike.” Lurien seemed to take a deep breath. “She will not be able to do it alone. I am empowered by Queen Gwenhidw to ask for the aid of mortals with integrity and honor. For your help.”

Brooke was astonished. “The fae are overwhelmingly powerful. How could we possibly be of use to you?”

“Do not underestimate the influence of the lives you lead. You help to balance the world simply by being who you are,” said Lurien. “The queen needs allies on the mortal plane, particularly here. Many of the faery kingdoms of the earth have already established themselves in these younger lands. And when our king lived, he had the foresight to draw out a section of yet unclaimed territory and negotiate with other fae tribes in order to claim it. It’s rightly called Tir Hardd.”