Kings: Chaos Book 5.5 Read online

  Gathered on his side of the room were the daoine sídhe in their suits of armour and the banshees with their displeasing pallor and dark clothes. There were other fae with him, most of them dressed in poor fabrics closer to modern human styles. Those fae were loyal to him for other reasons. Many had once been solitary and craved to be part of something that was led by a man who knew what it was like to be alone. King of the Underdogs.

  The other side of the room was filled with Donella’s supporters, most of whom were wealthy and noble. Some were more open with their affection than others. Many were genuinely in awe of her. She was cruel and ruthless, but she knew how to charm them. And he saw his own daughter doing the same with her people. What kind of adult would she be? His throat ached.

  He needed to oust the leanan sídhe from his court for good. Some of his people would leave with Donella, certainly. But others were only concerned with power. Surely, if she were banished, they would fight amongst themselves to take her place. He released a sigh of relief. He was doing the right thing. Donella had spent her time at court undermining the queen while flirting with the king. He had only tolerated her for so long because she brought many nobles with her. He had reached his limits months ago.

  He tried to concentrate on the problems his court brought to his feet, tried to keep his temper even and his judgements fair, but all he could think about was Donella’s bloody face and the way Sorcha had looked when she asked him to love her. It was impossible. Love had no place in the games kings played. The women were foolish to think otherwise. Even Brendan was going to marry that awful woman, Yvette, for her army. And one day, the Darksiders would push Cara into a marriage she didn’t want, too. It was their way, and nothing could change that now.

  How foolish he had been, grabbing the opportunity to steal a kingdom with both hands, thinking it would solve all of his problems. Reality had quickly set in, sweeping away his precious ideals. Sorcha had taught him how to hold on to his court, but even she hadn’t realised how dangerous their lives would become.

  The doors burst open, and Dymphna strode in, hauling a pleading servant behind her. Five daoine sídhe followed, keeping wary eyes on the whispering crowd. The tension thickened, and Drake shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to watch every faction at once.

  Dymphna dumped the fae at Drake’s feet. “This is the one who dared defile the doors of this castle. This is the one.” She spoke loudly, kicking the fae at her final word. She made the fae stand. “He claims to have worked alone.”

  “Of course he does,” Drake murmured. He gazed down at the servant and recognised the same sullen eyes he had witnessed only that morning. “You again. Kneel.”

  “No,” the man said loudly.

  “Kneel for your king.” Dymphna kicked the back of the man’s knee so that he collapsed to the ground.

  He spat on the floor. “That’s what I think of your king.” He jumped to his feet, his eyes wild, and his voice excited. “I refuse to accept the authority of a king who stole the crown. I swear fealty to a true noble, Donella, the leanan sídhe, creator of the royal bloodline that rules the Darkside!”

  The room fell silent. A trickle of sweat ran down Drake’s back. So this was it. This was her play. Instead of leaving and taking half his court with her, she was simply going to take his court and his throne from him.

  Donella tittered, looking completely relaxed in her seat. “Me? Why, I’m flattered. It’s true I’m related to the Chaos queen, and also the heir of the Green Court.”

  “Do you think Cara lays claim to you?” Drake scoffed. “Do you think my daughter will ever view you as a relative?”

  “Your daughter? I don’t remember you making a claim on any child. It is the Green and Chaos Courts who are entwined. And I can easily link the Silver Court to their great reigns.”

  “You can do nothing,” he said loudly. “Take the culprit before me to my wife’s quarters to be sacrificed for his crimes of treason.”

  “Treason?” Donella stood. “Didn’t you hear him? He doesn’t accept you as king. He sees me as his queen, and he hasn’t acted treasonously toward me. In fact, I’m sure he’s not the only one with the same view.”

  Drake rose to his feet, a reaction to the movement in the room. The crowd had clearly divided and taken their sides. All of the daoine sídhe unsheathed their swords as one and surrounded him in a protective shield. Many voices near Donella proclaimed her to be the true queen. Too many.

  “Death to the pretenders on the throne!” somebody screamed.

  Drake drew his weapon amidst cries of protest and accusation. His court had turned on itself because of that woman, that evil leanan sídhe.

  “Calm them,” Drake commanded. “Stop them from fighting.” If the fae lost control, only senseless deaths would occur.

  “Let them kill each other,” a banshee called out. “It will strengthen Sorcha.”

  Drake hesitated long enough for the condemned man to jump up and attack him with a small blade he had hidden in his clothes. Dymphna cut through him before Drake could even raise his weapon. First blood had spilled, and that was a signal to all.

  The crowds surged toward each other, filling the room with sounds of clashing swords and cries of pain. The stench of death. Drake held his sword, momentarily shocked. The entire court had been more prepared for civil war than the king.

  Drake caught sight of Donella across the room, a wide smile across her face as she observed the chaos before her.

  “I’ll kill her,” he spat, and he lunged toward the fighting crowd to reach the leanan sídhe.

  Dymphna got in his way. “You cannot. Any blade could kill you before you ever reach her.”

  “Then I’ll die fighting,” he snarled.

  “Think. Sorcha needs us. She’s the weaker link. Donella could be using this distraction to end the banshee before she can bear you an heir.”

  Drake swallowed his rage long enough to see sense. “Daoine sídhe, with me to protect the queen.”

  Dymphna stayed by his side as her people fought a path to the doors. But the fighting wasn’t just going on in the great hall. The stairs were full of warring fae, disgruntled servants sneakily attacking loyal subjects in the midst of the mayhem.

  Drake stepped over dead fae who had obviously been on the wrong side. Enemies came from every hallway, splitting up the soldiers, and leaving them all weakened.

  “There’s too many of them,” Drake said as he ran his sword through an unfamiliar faery who had charged at him.

  “We need to get upstairs,” Dymphna said, shepherding him toward the nearest staircase.

  Drake fought his way up a flight of stairs, Dymphna at his back. Most of the daoine sídhe who had accompanied them were stuck on the bottom step, surrounded by foes.

  “We should help them,” Drake said.

  “They’re warriors. They will survive. We must reach the queen’s quarters.” Dympha shook Drake. “If she dies, this is over, Drake. Hurry!”

  Forgetting he was a king, he followed her in the race to reach the queen. Along the way, they rescued a number of soldiers who gratefully accompanied them the rest of the way.

  “If we reach the queen’s room, we can bottle-neck the corridors and stairs and keep the floor contained,” he said.

  “Drake, I sent for help,” Dymphna called out as they defended against yet another attack. Donella had been more successful at persuading his people to turn against him than he thought.

  “What are you talking about?” he shouted, raising his sword to meet an assassin’s blade. He knew the woman. She smiled at him every day. He had no regrets as he plunged his blade through her heart.

  “I knew you wouldn’t, but I felt uneasy when I knew that Donella had discovered the pregnancy, so I sent word to the other courts.”

  “Why?” he demanded angrily as they pushed on. “You make us look weak, Dymphna.”

  “We are weak! We’re in the worst position possible. The king is running through the castle, fighting
off his staff, in order to save his queen. This isn’t how it should be.”

  He leaned against a wall during the momentary reprieve. “Did you receive a reply?”

  “I fear I sent the messages too late,” she said. “It’ll be days at least before any help arrives.”

  His stomach sank. He couldn’t hold off Donella’s followers for days.

  They finally reached Sorcha’s level. To his horror, there were bodies everywhere. The Miacha stood outside the door, covered in blood, while Sorcha leaned against the doorway, looking pale and haggard. Her stomach was slightly rounded. He hadn’t really looked at her body when she lay in the bed. His son was in there, a son she refused to give up, a son whose mere existence threatened her life in more ways than one. An unfamiliar flicker of warmth lit up in his chest.

  “What are you doing out of bed?” he demanded, coming to his senses.

  “They killed one of the guards. It gave me enough strength to help,” Sorcha said, panting. She almost collapsed. He caught her in his arms. She looked up at him with complete trust.

  He gazed down on her, his stomach twisting into knots. Her faith in him might condemn her to the slaughter going on elsewhere in the castle. “Donella turned on us. She’s trying to take the crown.”

  “We should have dealt with her long ago. I’ll kill her,” she swore. “I’ll take her life for you.”

  “No, you’ll get inside this room and let me deal with it.” He frowned at Blue Eyes. “You, too.”

  The woman nodded and helped Sorcha inside. Dymphna was dragging an injured daoine sídhe inside, too, when Drake heard footsteps, many footsteps. A group of soldiers rushed around the corner. The leader immediately beheaded one of the soldiers loyal to Drake.

  With a howl of rage, Drake rushed at the group. The remaining daoine sídhe ran, too, whooping war cries. The other soldiers were forced to hold off more traitors on the other end of the corridor. Drake slashed and spun, barely feeling his own injuries as he showed the traitors what a king was made of. He would kill them all.

  A song of victory filtered up the stairs, and it bolstered the traitors enough to push back the king’s men. Dymphna reached Drake’s side, her eyes filled with bloodlust and fury. She nodded at him, and they dove into the traitorous pack, slicing, wounding, and eventually killing them all. Drake leaned against the wall, panting.

  Dymphna wiped sweat from her brow. “We need an escape route. For you and the queen.”

  “They’ve blocked every conceivable route,” a tiny scout said. She had already volunteered to risk her life to check for viable exits before meeting them outside Sorcha’s room.

  “We need to do something.”

  “We’ll win this,” Drake said stubbornly.

  “Can’t you hear them?” a daoine sídhe asked. “They already think they’ve won.”

  “Then we’ll just have to prove them wrong,” Drake insisted.

  The scout rushed to the window and looked outside. “They’re burning bodies out there.” She flinched and squeezed her eyes shut as screams filled the air. “Not just bodies. Some are alive.” She lifted her bow and shot the remainder of her arrows outside.

  Drake swore under his breath. Donella had prepared for this. “We’re in a good position. They can’t attack us at full strength in narrow hallways.”

  Dymphna squeezed his shoulder. “Drake, this is hopeless. The castle is lost. We need to find a way to run. You can escape to Cara’s castle, or even Brendan’s. They’ll give you shelter.”

  “How can I leave the others here who are fighting in my name?” Drake asked. “How can I run while they’re being burned alive? The other courts may avenge us, but for now, we’re on our own. We are lost.”

  Shouts came from nearby—enemies hunting them down. And when the footsteps began on the stairs, bringing with them the clinking sounds of well-armoured soldiers, Drake’s heart sank.

  “We’re doomed,” a soldier said. “They’ll kill us all.”

  Drake looked up at Dymphna with regret. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t even be here. Your daughter…”

  “Eithne is in good hands,” she said firmly, her eyes glassy with emotion. “I’m in exactly the right place. It was an honour fighting by your side, Drake. You’ll be remembered for sealing the rift, I guarantee you that.”

  No, he would be remembered as the weak solitary king who lost his castle in a single morning.

  “This is the end,” he said. “This is our last day.”

  “Then at least we’ll go out fighting,” she replied.

  And they stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the end.

  Chapter Seven

  Brendan

  Brendan stretched out his legs as best he could. For “giants,” the daoine sídhe had created severely cramped living quarters. He looked at his soldiers. Alyss and Pól were in the middle of an argument about exactly how many days they had been at sea. Brendan had lost count himself. Bran looked paler than usual, his normal hyper-activity subdued by the injury he had suffered on the boat.

  Eira came running into the hut, her eyes bright with excitement. “I saw it! I saw your ship!”

  Brendan breathed a sigh of relief. Cara was wrong. Yvette could be trusted.

  “It didn’t leave?” Bran asked.

  “Of course not. They want to marry themselves off to the king,” Alyss said with a snort.

  “Enough,” Brendan said gently. “You are sure you saw our ship?”

  The young girl looked puzzled by the exchange. “Yes, they’re sailing along the coast, likely waiting for a sign from you.”

  “And will your people be ready to lead us to the First Tree today?”

  She nodded vehemently. “May I come? The elder won’t let me, but if you said something…”

  “I have a far more important job for you,” Brendan said gravely. “But it’s dangerous, so if you’re—”

  “I’ll do it,” she said instantly. “I can do it.”

  Brendan allowed himself a smile. Unlike the rest of the daoine sídhe, on that island and back home, she was young and eager, not yet as world-weary. “I need you to signal to the boat near a safe place for them to anchor and wait for us. Then you’ll likely have to lead us there with the Fir Bolg on our tails. Can you do this?”

  She nodded slowly. “I know everywhere. They don’t like me to explore, but I need to. I can do this.” Her face fell. “You’re not going to let me come with you on the boat, are you?”

  “This is your home.”

  She looked around the stone hut and sighed. “I wish it wasn’t.”

  “One day, you’ll explore the world,” he said. “But not on the first boat. Not when it’s so dangerous to travel.” He shook her hand. “But may we meet again on a different land.”

  Satisfied, she left.

  “I can’t wait to go home,” Bran said. “I’m starving.”

  Pól unsheathed his sword to maintain the blade. “They don’t overfeed us.”

  “They don’t overfeed themselves,” Brendan said. “It’s a pity we can’t take all of them with us.”

  “It’s enough that we’re taking that elder with us,” Alyss said. “Yes, it’s great that she’ll take care of the First Tree, but she’s bringing with her all of that nonsense about gods and the like.” She looked at him quizzically. “None of it is true, is it?”

  “I don’t follow her doctrine, but we can’t judge her for believing something different to us,” Brendan murmured. When they all gave him an exasperated look, he shrugged. “What? I’ve changed.” Yes, he had outlawed the worship of Brighid in part because he considered it outdated and dangerous, but now he wanted his people to have the comfort they so desperately sought.

  “What if we bring back the trees and the others haven’t found the stone?” Pól asked.

  Bran snorted. “I will bet anything that Cara, I mean the Chaos Queen, will find it.”

  “She does have a knack,” Brendan said with a smile. When Alyss gave him a knowing look
, he hurriedly cleared his throat. “We’ll simply search for it ourselves. There are only a couple of places it could be. The stone of destiny will be found.”

  “It’s in Inis Fáil,” Dafina said from the doorway. “I’m sorry to overhear your conversation.”

  “You know of the legendary treasures?” Bran asked.

  The elder looked astonished. “Know of them? Our ancestors once guarded one of them.”

  Bran frowned. “Which one?”

  “The spear.” Her eyes turned sad. “But it disappeared.”

  “We have the spear,” Brendan said. “I mean, it’s in my land.”

  “It’s safe.” Dafina’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.

  Brendan unsheathed his sword. “And this is the sword of victory.”

  “That was once hidden in Eriu,” she said, looking as if she might faint.

  “Then where’s the last one?” Brendan asked. “Where is Dagda’s cup?”

  “Manannán hid the cup under the sea so nobody could ever again steal immortality.”

  There went Cara’s ideas of using all four treasures against the god of Chaos.

  “My people will be uplifted to discover the spear is safe.” Dafina stretched out her arms. “I came to tell you we are prepared to leave. Are you all ready?”

  “Yes,” Brendan said as the others jumped to their feet. “And we thank you for your kindness.”

  “Your blight may well become ours someday. It’s no kindness.”

  They followed her out of the hut and into the main area where a group of daoine sídhe had already gathered. A small group had been camouflaged.

  “This is Aneurin,” Dafina said, introducing them to a large, broad-shouldered male with no markings or stains. “He’s our greatest warrior, and he will be in charge today.”

  Aneurin faced Brendan, eye-to-eye as though taking his measure. “This will be difficult.”

  “We wouldn’t know what to do with a simple task,” Brendan replied.