Finn extends his hand across the table and holds Connor’s gaze. After a few tense seconds, Connor reaches out and they clasp forearms, giving each other meaningful nods of acceptance. “Sorry for the interruption, man. Continue.”
“Glad we got it out of the way,” Finn says. Conall claps his brother on the shoulder for a quick show of support, and then we all refocus on the map.
“Okay, the frontal attack. Now, the Lights should have some of Taryn’s fire magic since they had to use her blood to cross the veil, but it’s possible the effects will have worn off by the time they get here. Either way, we’re hoping they won’t be stupid enough to use it in close combat and risk the friendly fire. No pun intended.”
Conall braces his hands on the table and studies the model. “If you and Dmitri engage them in the front and the Néit on the hills are taking out the ones in the middle, I think Connor and I should attack in wolf form from the back to prevent them from retreating. What do you think, Con?”
“I think it’s an excellent idea.” Connor points to the rear access points of our arena, his hand interrupting the image as it moves through the hologram. “Once they’ve passed this point, you and I can run in from here and here. They might be able to advance in the front, but we’ll keep them contained in the back.”
Dmitri’s upper lip curls in a snarl. “Anyone I encounter will meet their end at the tips of my swords. They will not advance.”
Finn nods. “That’s the idea. And last, but certainly never least,” he says, meeting my gaze, “Taryn will hang back and focus on combatting Edevane using her Mystic fire to attack from a distance.”
“Maybe,” I say, clenching my fists in frustration. “I haven’t quite gotten that part under control yet.”
Finn gives me a meaningful look across the table. “You will.”
If I had half as much confidence in myself as Finn has in me, I’d be unstoppable. No matter how long it took me to get to the next milestone or how many things I blew up before successfully teleporting them, his conviction in my abilities never wavered.
“At the very least, I’m going to do what I can to thwart his attacks with the Spear of Assal,” I say. “Aine had her historians check into the legend of the spear, and they found accounts that claim if the command Ibar is spoken, the spear will never miss its intended mark. The command Athibar causes the spear to return to the hand of the thrower.”
Cathal shakes his head, still reeling from the news Edevane has such a weapon in his possession. “Are we certain the Light King knows the commands to operate it as Lugh once did?”
I lock eyes with Finn, the image of what happened to my father at Abhaile haunting us both. Finn answers Cathal. “We’re certain.”
Trying to bolster the downshift in morale, I play devil’s advocate. “But it’s possible that the legends exaggerate the spear’s capabilities. For instance, if I teleport a boulder in front of it, will it pierce the obstacle and continue its path, or will I be able to knock it off its course? We won’t know until I try. No matter what, though, I’m going to throw everything I have at that godsdamned thing and try to take it out of commission.”
“And if things go south,” Finn adds, “we retreat to the lake. Taryn can manipulate the water to create defensive barriers, steam, and fog. The Néit warriors can use the water to enhance their fire magic, creating steam explosions and boiling water traps.”
Cathal nods in agreement. “The lake will be our stronghold. We will use it to our advantage and make the Light Warriors regret pushing us back.”
Dmitri crosses his arms over his chest. “And what of the queen,” he says. “If she is as powerful as you say, what is her part in all this?”
“We can’t risk her being anywhere near the battlefield,” I say to my brother. “If she’s within sight and Edevane uses the spear to kill her, the One True Power will transfer to him, and he’ll have won.”
“Untrue, daughter.”
Our gazes collectively swivel to where Aine is standing in the doorway to the war room. She glides farther into the room, her expression stoic as always, but her hands are wringing uncharacteristically in front of her, putting my senses on high alert.
I face her more fully and scrutinize her demeanor as I speak. “I’ve been gone a long time, but we all know how the transfer of the Power works.”
“I do not know this, sestra.”
I keep forgetting that my brother is the outsider for a change. Until now, it’s always been me learning other people’s rules and customs.
“What gives a king or queen the title of One True Ruler is that they are in possession of the most powerful magic ever gifted by the gods called the One True Power. There are two ways it can be transferred,” I explain for his benefit. “The current Ruler can bequeath it to a successor, usually done near the end of the Ruler’s natural life. Or, if the Ruler is assassinated by another fae, the Power is automatically transferred to the one who killed them.”
“Ah,” Dmitri says, narrowing his eyes at Aine. “Best to keep you out of the way then, yes?”
I mentally cringe. There’s no love lost between my mother and pseudo-brother. Each of them resents the other for the roles they’ve played in my life, and it’s a family feud we don’t have time for right now. Thankfully, Aine ignores the barb and keeps her focus on me as though Dmitri never even spoke.
“That is all true, however…” There’s a pregnant pause where she glances at Cathal, who gives her a subtle nod of encouragement. “There is no risk of me losing the One True Power, as I have not had it for some time.”
I’m stunned into silence, my brain trying to piece itself back together after she just blew it the fuck apart. Finally, I shake my head and fire back, “Then who the hell has it?”
“You do.”
THIRTY-EIGHTTARYN
My body is overtaken by hysterical laughter, except the tears in my lash lines suggest I don’t find this to be all that funny. Every pair of eyes is glued to me like I’m a ticking bomb about to go off. And, honestly, with the hurricane of emotions blowing through me right now, that’s a fair assumption.
Finn moves next to me and envelops one of my hands in his, grounding me enough to speak again. “That’s not possible. Unless I’m mistaken, you’re still very much alive.”
“It is most unusual, I agree,” Aine says, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. “But we cannot pretend to know the minds of the gods and why they do things.”
I keep expecting someone to say just kidding or April Fools or you’ve just been punked or whatever the hell else people say when they play jokes on others. But the only thing I hear is utter silence, and it’s the most sobering sound I’ve ever heard.
Afraid I already know the answer, I force myself to rasp out the simple question, “When?”
“The day of your 122nd birthday. You are not a Mystic, Taryn, or if you are, you are not only that. You lost control that day because the Power was too much for one as young as you.”
“Sweet baby Brigid, this is so fucked.” Rubbing at the headache forming above my brows, I try to make sense of everything with little success. Then I realize something that sends chills down my back. “Edevane. Does this mean he has the One True Power, too?”
“Not in the way it matters.” Opening her hand, she forms the image of a Firethorn Blossom, similar in appearance to a Dahlia with dozens of petals. “You are in possession of the Power the same as if you possessed this flower. Siphoning your blood has given him a few of its petals, but it is a mere fraction of the whole, which still resides with you.”
I exhale in relief. “Thank Brigid. I mean, he can still take it by killing me, so that part’s not great, but I’m choosing to ignore that at the moment.”
The determined expression on Finn’s face says he’s doing no such thing. “If the gods made it so that the Power can be transferred without the need for death, how does Taryn get rid of it before she becomes Edevane’s target?”
