“We can discuss your disappointment in the crown on the morrow,” Lorcan said, raising his chalice. They had managed to save some bottles of wine from the stores beneath the tavern. Every Beltane, they opened one to share. They had fourteen left. “For now, let us drink to the souls we have lost. All one hundred and forty-seven of them.”
“Hear, hear.” Cadman raised his glass. Aoiffe scowled, but she joined in as well.
The door flew open. In strode two strangers. A male donned in head-to-toe grey scale armor, and a female hidden beneath a thick black cloak. They both carried swords that glinted with dread with ebony hilts of twisting antlers. Lorcan frowned at the trespassers. He knew who they were. He’d pictured them a thousand times in his dreams. For many years now, he had known that someday they would come for him.
They were shadow fae.
Lorcan ought to know. He was a shadow fae himself, bastard to the current king. But no one knew that. No one except his mother, and she was dead.
Cadman stood suddenly, his chair clattering onto the timber floor. He reached for his sword, but the shadow fae male slammed his own onto the table before Cadman could wrap his wrinkled fingers around his hilt.
“Who are you?” What are you doing here?” Cadman demanded, face blanching.
“We’re looking for a male named Lorcan.” The male stepped in front, clearly demonstrating his leadership among the two. He was tall and slim with ebony skin. His gaze landed on Lorcan. “That would be you.”
Lorcan bristled. He knew he stood out amidst the air fae. Every single one of the twelve had a shade of golden in their hair. Their skin was pale, and their eyes the color of wheat or grass. Not ideal for blending in with the shadows.
“I am.” Lorcan stayed seated. “What do you want with me?”
“We’re here to take you to the king.” The male smiled. “To your father, bastard.”
Several gasps peppered the air, and Lorcan winced. He had never wanted his friends to discover the truth about his heritage. They would never again see him as they once did. He would forever be an outsider, an enemy. Shadow fae were feared and hated in Tir Na Nog. And he did not blame them. Many of them had turned to Unseelie, the god of chaos and death whose magic twisted minds and consumed souls.
He cast a glance at Cadman, bracing himself for the look of derision on his face. But the old male merely gave a knowing nod. Lorcan lifted his brows. Had he known all this time?
Bolstered, Lorcan crossed his arms over his chest, rooting his feet firmly in familiar ground. “You can tell my father that I have no desire to answer his summons. I may be his son, but I was born here. In Comharra, in the air fae lands. This is my home. Not some dreary castle in the exiled lands.”
“It wasn’t a request,” the female said, her face hidden beneath a hood full of shadows. On her shoulder sat a crow. Lorcan had never seen anything quite like her before. “The king needs you to return to your homeland, so to the homeland you’ll go.”
Lorcan arched a brow. “And I suppose you two imagine you have the strength to force me?”
The male flicked his eyes up and down, weighing up Lorcan’s strength. He did not look unimpressed, for while Lorcan had spent many a day toiling away in the grasslands, he had spent just as many hours honing his skills with a blade. Never again would he find himself unable to fight back, unable to protect those he loved. He’d had to steal a sword from a lord in Faladrast, the nearest city. It had not been his most honorable act, but he did not regret it.
“You look like you might be able to hold your own,” the shadow fae finally replied before snapping his fingers. “Against two of us.”
A dozen more warriors whispered out from the shadows. Lorcan nearly choked out a cry of alarm, but he managed to hold it back. He pushed up from his seat, edging his body between the shadow fae and the villagers behind him.
“Let’s take this outside. We don’t need to involve anyone else. They’re innocents. Leave them be.”
“Lorcan,” Cadman said in a strangled voice.
But he waved Cadman aside. He was stronger and faster than the old male. Age had finally begun to catch up with him.
“Very well,” the female responded in a gravelly voice. She turned to the others. “Outside, everyone. Watch him though. Don’t let him escape.”
They all filed outside. As Lorcan turned to follow, Cadman latched onto his arm, yanking him down so that he could hiss into his ear. “You cannot go with them, son. There’s no telling what your father wants from you.”
“I’m just going to talk to them.” Lorcan patted the wrinkled hand. “Perhaps I can make some sort of deal.”
“Just so long as you’re careful with your words. A promise can be as deadly as a sword.”
Lorcan gave a grim nod and stepped out into the dirt-packed street. There were even more of them out here. At least twenty in total now. He did not understand how they’d crept past the border. The air fae had been tasked with protecting the rest of the continent from the shadow fae and preventing any from entering their lands. And yet, here they were in a village full of ghosts.
“What do you want with me?” he asked in a low growl.
The female stepped forward, her long cloak flapping around thick, black boots. “We told you. Your king has summoned you to his side.”
“He’s not my king,” he said through gritted teeth.
“You’ve done your best to hide amidst the sheep,” she countered, “but you are a shadow fae. And we will not take no for an answer.”
“What does he want with me?” Lorcan stepped back toward the tavern. “For twenty years, he has ignored my existence. Why now?”
“That is not our concern,” the male replied. “Now, come. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
Lorcan reached for his sword, but his fingers found nothing but air.
“Looking for this?” the male asked, smiling as he reached behind his back and then held up the blade. Lorcan’s stomach clenched tight. “Don’t worry. You can have it back. But you must come meet your father first.”
Lorcan had never met the king who had given his seed to his mother, but she had shared enough about him for Lorcan to know that he never wanted to. He’d seized a makeshift throne for himself, as well as the title, after the former king died during the exile battles. The shadow fae had followed him because there was no one else. He’d been a lord, and he sat on a seat. Why ever not?
The shadow fae likely did not see him for what he was. Corrupt and weak and cruel. He had raped Lorcan’s mother, all in some cruel scheme to sire a hybrid fae: one skilled in two elemental magicks. The only blessing was that it hadn’t worked. Their gods had punished the fae with the Fall, and there was no magic left in the lands.
But even if fae magic still existed, Lorcan did not think his father would have been successful in his quest. A hybrid was an impossibility. They didn’t exist. And his father’s seed was far too strong. Lorcan was nothing more than a shadow fae. Nothing about him was air. Nothing but his heart.
All of Bolg Rothach’s bastards—and there were many of them—were nothing more than failed experiments.
“If you do not come willingly,” the male said, twisting the hilt of his blade in his strong hands, “we will be forced to destroy your village. What is left of it.”