Poison (27 page)

"Reasonably?" she echoed bitterly. "You have not been reasonable for a long time. You are too busy fucking that nasty black cat to give a damn about those you should love. No, we are far past reason. It is time for me to do what I must to set all to rights again. When you awaken, all will be as it should be, you'll see."

"What are you talking about?" Freddie asked, voice trembling.

Gael did not need the bond between them to feel and share her fear. The awful light in Etain's eyes made him shake—and he began to cry when he saw her pull a knife from within the folds of her gown.

The blade was a dull black. Gael stared at it in disbelief, then at Etain, begging, "Don't do this, Etain. This is not how it has to be—"

Being stabbed hurt. He wondered if she had made the blade, or if she had gotten it from Licht. It was hot when it first struck, but the residual pain was ice.

"No!" Freddie screamed, and she threw herself at Etain. But the blade got her as well, left her as helpless as Gael felt. Etain stabbed them over and over again, and Gael could only lie there and wonder how it had all gone so wrong. "Etain ... don't ... "

"I won't live without you! You're mine! If I can't have you, no one will!"

"Don't do this!" Freddie pleaded, but was silence by another slice of the black knife.

Etain was crying as she drew back, hands, arms, and dress bathed in red. "I'm doing what's best for you—what's best for us. We are the Triad, we're meant always to be together. You've just forgotten. You've been distracted by those harlots. But I'll fix it. I'll take it all away and help you remember the way it should be. When you come back, you'll come back to me. You'll stay with me. Everything will be perfect again."

Gael tried to speak, but found he no longer could. The world was dim and cold, and he sensed he was very close to his last breath. He was a god, but that seemed an inconsequential fact. Even gods could die if the proper tools were used.

"Holy Queen, don't!" said a new voice, and Gael realized it was the White Panther. He tried to will the poor man to run, but his magic was gone, all his strength turned toward trying to help him survive.

He watched as Etain murdered the White Panther and every subsequent Beast who slowly arrived to stand as honor guard during the Ceremony of Renewal. All the while, he could feel the distant, ominous rumbles in Piedre, knew something had gone drastically wrong with the Basilisk.

When all the Beasts lay dying, Etain stood as a blood-soaked Queen amidst the bodies, and the look on her face made Gael sick, tears blurring his vision.

It hurt when Etain delved into the Beasts to steal their power; it hurt more to feel the agony of the betrayed, dying Beasts who had done no wrong. Gael might have forgiven her killing him, killing Freddie. But she had no cause to kill the Beasts, and for that he would never forgive her.

When she was mired in stealing the power of the Beast, in binding them to the Great Oak, he slipped into her mind, her powers, and stole her spell. She noticed too soon for him to steal her spell entirely, but not soon enough to stop him from stealing enough of it.

Groaning, Gael sat up. He felt dizzy, cold, and nauseous—but determined. He watched her storm toward him, her gown soaked in blood and her eyes soaked in hate.

He contorted her spell, bound the Beasts to the Sacred Oak as keys. If she wanted to continue with her plans, she would need them all alive. She would need them, period, if she ever hoped to take back the divine power she had stored in the Oak.

She knelt in front of him and drove her black knife into his gut one last time.

Gael managed a weak smile of triumph as Freddie appeared behind Etain and managed enough strength to drive a knife into Etain's side.

Satisfied they had stopped whatever Etain had planned, he let the dark finally have him.

Gael woke up screaming, then choked on his fear and pain and struggled to regain the ability to breathe.

A hand covered his, cold as ice, and he looked into Freddie's terrified eyes. His vision blurred. "I remember."

"So do I," Freddie said on a sob, then turned her head. Gael followed her gaze and saw Etain standing at the base of the Sacred Oak. "You bloody, betraying shadow."

Etain lifted her chin, eyes filled with cold hate.

Gael slowly sat up, grateful when Freddie helped him. He reached out and lightly touched a bruise on her cheek, her split lip. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Two days," Freddie said quietly. "The ceremony is but an hour away."

"That long?"

"You passed out, started to seize ..." Freddie said, and she leaned into him, pressing their foreheads together. "I tried to help you, but the moment I touched you I fell into my own memories."

Gael held her. "Nine hundred years, and we still cannot get it right." He kissed her cheek and then slowly pulled away and stood up. Keeping hold of her hand, he faced Etain and said, "Nine hundred years, and you're still a vindictive, jealous, cruel shadow. Why, Etain? Why can you not accept that things change? That we still love you and want only the best for you?"

"Best for me? The world is falling apart because you two are selfish—because you're all selfish!" Etain snarled. "We are meant to be together!"

Anger clouded Gael's vision. "We're selfish? You are the one who has murdered people over nine centuries just because you cannot bear to end a relationship that was over long before we finally said enough."

"We're meant to be the Triad!" Etain snarled, her butterfly wings going from rainbow to black, the swirling colors of her eyes coalescing to a burning violet. "We are meant to be! We are the three gods of life, together for eternity!"

Gael gripped Freddie's hand harder and said, "No, Etain. I'm sorry, but that is not how it is meant to be. Freddie and I cannot undo the mistakes we have made, the horrible way we treated you, but your behavior far outstrips ours, Etain. You had no right, no reason, to slay our Beasts and poison our children with your own hate. For that, I will never forgive you."

"Nor I," Freddie said. "Our children don't deserve to suffer because of the problems between the three of us."

"Enough!" Etain said. "You belong with me, and I will make you see that once and for all."

Gael shook his head. "No, Etain, you won't. I loved you once, first as a lover and then as a sister. But I won't—can't—forgive your betrayals. I do not love you, and I do not think I ever will again. This ends now, once and for all. You won't stop us this time. It's clear you desperately need power and there is no way for you to get it."

He started to move forward, but stopped at the sound of her cold, derisive laugh. "I have all the power I need."  She stretched out her arm, palm up, and with a shimmer of gold and violet light, a wooden box appeared in front of her—

No, Gael realized. A jewel case. It vanished in the next breath, leaving behind only the crown jewels that Ailill had spent years tracking down. Another shimmer of light, and Etain wore them. The Faerie Queen, beautiful in a diadem, necklace, earrings, comb, and bracelet that had no equal in the world. Gifts from her brothers.

Gifts, Gael realized with horror, that still contained a great deal of power from the gods who had made them. Enough power to overthrow him and Freddie.

"You will be mine, or you will die," Etain intoned, the power pouring off of her likes waves of heat off sun-warmed stones. The entire Sanctuary resonated with it, seemed to vibrate in anticipation, sensing its gods were close. "Choose."

"I think," a familiar voice said from the doorway, "that it is time for you to die, Majesty."

Noire wanted three things:  a hearty meal, to sleep for at least a week, and then to spend a much longer period of time in bed with Gael—with the rest of the world firmly shut out.

What he absolutely did not want was to cross the moat without a bridge. He was a cat, not a bird or a fish. "You're jesting, right?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

"I wish," Ivan said with a long sigh. "I'm too old for such nonsense. I'm also Duke, by the ashes." He scowled at the moat, looking much like Noire felt. "But I see no other way."

"I don't see this way working," Noire said.

Ivan shot him a look. "You do know how to swim, right?"

"Don't you think it's a little late to ask that now?"

"Well?"

"Yes, I can swim," Noire said. "I just prefer that the body of water in which I'm swimming be closer the ground on which I'm standing."

Ivan snorted in amusement. "Do you know how to dive?"

"Dive? I'm having a hard enough time thinking about jumping. Why in the name of the Gods would I jump head first?" He made a face when Ivan burst out laughing. "Be quiet, meat-eater, or I'll give you a good shove."

"I'll take you with me," Ivan said with a grin. "Enough stalling, black cat. Unless you have a better idea, the only way into the palace is that door right there."

Noire heaved a sigh and glanced at the barely visible set of doors near the base of the castle foundation. All his years in the city and palace and he'd never noticed it. Granted, the drawbridge hid it and likely only those who knew to look for it would ever see it ... but it seemed the sort of thing about which he should have been aware.

A set of steps led from the door all the way to the water and then to a post where it looked like a boat could be tied. He did not envy the servants stuck with whatever chores necessitated such an uncertain boat ride. But he would have much rather tried the boat than jump in and swim. The current wasn't terrible, but it would be difficult enough. And it really was a long way down, first.

"The ceremony is close now," Ivan said quietly. "Not more than an hour, to judge by the sun. You said noon, right?"

Noire nodded and sucked in a deep breath. Gael. He would do anything, whatever it took, to get to Gael in time. The sound of howling made him jump, then freeze, and he tried to make a fist with a hand that was no longer whole. Noire shuddered and ignored the distant, but growing closer, sounds of still more attackers.

Since they'd been stranded in the city days ago and barricaded themselves in the pawn shop, they'd barely slept in their attempts to stay alive. Attack after attack, and it had taken more effort than he liked to get through the mess all the way to the palace.

He should have known they hadn't earned themselves much of a reprieve. "Let's go," he said. "Even jumping has to better than losing the rest of my hand—or worse."

Drawing another deep breath, Noire braced himself. On Ivan's mark, he jumped off the remains of the drawbridge.

They only fell for a second, a couple of seconds at most, but it felt like forever. He hit the water, barely remembering not to cry out at the jarring sensation, then sank into dark, cold rushing water. He couldn't see. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't get control of his movements. Panic drove him frantically about until at last he spied light and headed for the surface, fighting the pull of the water the entire time.

Breaking the surface with a gasp, he looked around anxiously—there. Ivan. The palace.

"Come on!" Ivan said, already at the steps, the meat-eater. Noire swam toward him, every stroke laborious.

By the time he finally reached the bottom of the staircase, he barely had enough strength to help as Ivan seized him and dragged him out of the water. "Never. Again," Noire gasped out, panting heavily, too tired to get further than his hands and knees.

Ivan hauled him to his feet and clapped him on his back. "Come now, you're half my age. You'll be fine. There's a pretty prince to be saved, so look sharp."

Noire rolled his eyes, but followed Ivan up the stairs to the water-worn double doors at the top. As they reached the doors, though, he saw they were sturdier than they first appeared—and there was also magic on them. He reached for the handle just to try it and cried out in pain and surprise as something jolted through him. "What was that!"

"An old spell, and one that looks familiar," Ivan said, sounding amused.

Noire scowled at him. "What's so funny?"

Ivan chuckled. "I was once kept in a prison cell for a few hours because of such a spell. That one was cast by a man who is now the Tsar. Who cast this one, I do not know, but I think ..." Approaching the door and stripping off his gloves, Ivan splayed his fingers and then pressed his open hand the door.

Light flashed, and then Noire watched as the door seemed to ... shudder, as though struck hard by something. Ivan let out a breath. "I'm glad that worked."

Noire eyed him askance. "You didn't know if it would?"

Shrugging, pulling out his lock picks, Ivan replied, "I don't really have magic, not the way the Tsar and the Priest of Ashes do. But I've picked up a couple of tricks because you can't really spend a lot of time with sorcerers without accidentally learning something." He fell silent as he worked the lock, but only a couple of minutes later, crowed softly in triumph. "There. Let's go."

"This all strikes me as entirely too easy," Noire said. "Don't you think that if she wanted me dead she'd be trying harder than this?"

Ivan's brows shot up. "You're missing two fingers. How much harder do you want her to try?"

Noire grimaced. "Not what I mean. I just—I feel like we're walking into a trap."

"I doubt it," Ivan said. "This has gone her way—well, sort of—for nine hundred years. I'm sure at this point her only real interest is the ceremony and manipulating that. She'll handle clean up later.  Standard practice in this sort of job."

"It's not a job, it's a country!" Noire said.

He just saw Ivan's shrug before he shut the door, leaving them in near-absolute darkness. Ivan moved past him, and Noire followed him, guided by the wet sounds of his footsteps and the water dripping from his clothes. Noire grimaced at his own sopping clothes, the way his feet squelched in his boots. A couple of minutes later his foot struck something, and he nearly tripped on the bottom step of a staircase he couldn't see. He swore softly. "Oh, stop laughing," he groused as Ivan chuckled.