Unholy Blue (30 page)

Bann played along, knowing that every minute he gained was another minute Cor was safe.
And to give me time to get everyone out of this hell
. “What do you mean?”

“This is a new age. A new world. A time and place that is ripe with possibilities for a god such as I to regain the status I once enjoyed. And more. Your offspring's blood will help me achieve that.”

“Why my son? Why his blood?”

“Why? Because
your
son was born
here
.” At Bann's confused expression, he rolled his eyes. “Royal stock? Born in Westernoc? The founding of a new reign for the long-sons of the Boru?” he said, as if that explained everything.

A click went off in Bann's head. “That is only a wistful tale.”
Is that why Elizabeth was so eager to marry me? Because of the legend that the clan of Boru will rise again to power in a faraway land? In Westernoc?

“Do not be so certain. Legends are simply truths that have been armored against the slow decay of time and disbelief. And according to this particular legend, the blood of the first offspring of the Boru line to be born in Westernoc contains powers that are enhanced by the vigor of this new world. A land I had once thought to rule through those straw-headed Norsemen who were already gaining a foothold here. But a certain High King put an end to my scheme”—he pointed to the scar on his chest—“and left me in a weakened state for centuries.” He made a face at the memory. “However, Brian Boru did me a good turn, in a matter of speaking. For during my slow recovery, I made a discovery that has given me another purpose. An even higher one.”

Bann wondered why villains always felt such a need to explain themselves
ad nauseam
. He shifted his feet, easing his body's bruised and battered muscles.
In this case, though, the monster can pontificate all he wants
. “Which is?”

“To cease being just a shapeshifter. A mere
demi-god
.” Cernunnos spat the word out of his mouth, then sat up and gripped the arms of his chair. His nails dug in, tearing the fabric. “I wish to be more god and less animal. And your son's blood will help me make the transformation.” He spread his arms wide. “See? Already, the change has begun.” With a look of wonder, he ran a palm along his chest and down his ribs, then cupped his testicles. “Impressive, wouldn't you say?”

Grateful beyond measure that Shay wasn't standing next to him, no doubt ready with an insult that would get all their throats cut in a matter of seconds, Bann kept his mouth shut and his face impassive.

Taking the Knight's silence as interest, Cernunnos continued. “And
this
with only a single taste of the boy on my tongue. Imagine what I could become with the hot blood of the child coursing through my veins.” He grinned, revealing his canines again.

“A taste of…?” Bann's voice faded as he recalled Cor's recent encounter with Max.

“Here, Cor,” said Shay. “Let me see your hands. What are these scratches from?”

“Bushes.” Cor held out his hands, the backs tattooed with thin red lines
.

“Not…not
him
? Not the shapeshifter?”

“No.” Cor hesitated, then added, “He licked my scratches when I gave him another treat.”

“A chance encounter in the woods whilst I was testing the strength of the Red Boar's wards,” the shapeshifter explained. “Would that I had been strong enough to take him then. But no matter. I will have him soon enough.” He smacked his lips.

His mind reeling from the number of puzzle pieces crashing into place, Bann shook his head. Exhaustion made his brain feel like clotted cream—soft and thick and slow.

Movement behind him in the doorway. A murmur and a rustle of clothing. The heavy clump of a steel-toed boot. The prickling of his skin that signaled an enemy was right behind him. Possibly armed. Undoubtedly vengeful.

“Ah. Speaking of such.” Cernunnos lifted his head, eye alight with anticipation. “Tell me,” he said to whoever was standing behind Bann, “that you were successful in locating the child.”

“I was, Lord.”

The wine Bann had drunk changed into vinegar in his gut at the sound of that particular voice.

Weston Tully walked past him and took a position a few feet away. “Lebor was correct—Gideon Lir has him.”

Cernunnos stiffened. “The Black Hand?”

“Yes, Lord. I've already called him and ordered him to deliver Boru's son to us,
alone
, and within the hour. Or we start killing hostages.” Tully sneered at Bann. “Of course, once your kid is here, we're going to kill the hostages anyway, starting with the Healer. That's going to put a real damper on your wedding plans, won't it, Boru?”

In spite of the voice of reason imploring him not to do anything stupid, something snapped inside Bann. “Ye son of a bitch!” He lunged for Tully, who jumped back a step before whipping out his knife, just as eager for a fight. Only a hasty grab by the guards stopped the Knights.

“I warned you what would happen, Boru, if you stuck around.” Tully jerked free of his guards. “You brought this on yourself.”

Arms pinned behind his back, Bann struggled not to flinch from the stab of guilt at the clan leader's words. Weston Tully stepped closer until they were nose-to-nose. He almost missed Tully's next words over the pulse roaring in his ears.

“It's a good thing Cernunnos wants you alive.” Tully's breath stank of treason. “Or I would kill you right here and now.”

“Tully, Tully.” The god snorted in disbelief. “You must be remarkably slow of wit if you truly believe that the Black Hand will blindly follow your directive and hand over the child. No, Lir will try to free the hostages whilst keeping the child safe.”

“With what army?” Tully turned toward the god. “The only ones who might have helped him are the other Doyles. And my source in the clan told me that most of them want nothing to do with all this shit.” He waved his knife around the room. “Plus, that same source also told me that Gideon Lir has a special…
fondness
…for the Healer. Trust me—he'll choose her life over the kid's.”

No. No, he would not
. A tiny flame of hope flickered in Bann's heart.
Lir will find a way to keep Cor alive and help me save the others
.

“You Tuatha Dé Danaan,” Cernunnos curled a lip, “place too much value on your females and your offspring—it is your greatest failing.”

“No, it is not.” The thought of Shay and Ann on the rock, mocking him and Hugh during the goblin skirmish, filled Bann with a fierce love. “'Tis our greatest strength. For we are the people of Danu. And we esteem the Goddess, and our women, who are the reflection of Her in this round world. We honor the wisdom of the Crone, the vigor of the Mother, and the fire of the Maiden. For within
that
triad, we can be men.”

The shapeshifter barked a laugh. “Irish blather. I had forgotten how tedious you Fey can be when you prattle
on.” Waving a hand of dismissal at Bann, he turned toward the other Knight. “Weston Tully, you are wrong about my desire to keep the Boru alive. For now that the child is practically mine, I have no need for the father.”

Tully's face brightened. “Are you planning on killing him, then?”

“That would delight you, would it not?” Cernunnos paused, studying both Knights. “Well, never let it be said that I do not reward my followers. As a prize for finding the boy, you may have
this
one,” he gestured toward Bann, “to do with as you please.”

Tully bowed his head. “Thank you, Lord Cernunnos.” He sauntered closer to Bann. “I would be pleased,” he said, mimicking the shapeshifter's words, “to cut his throat and bleed him dry.” Sighting along his blade, he pressed the ball of his thumb on the edge, then sucked off the bead of blood that had welled up. “Hold him.”

The Fir Bolgs tightened their grips on Bann's arms. A third one grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat. Tully smiled as he placed the knife against Bann's jugular. “This is for my dead clan members.”

The edge of the blade bit into Bann's throat, a hot burn from cold metal. On the edge of his vision, he could see Tully tightening his grip. Desperate not to die like a sacrificial animal, to leave his son alone in this world, to leave his beloved, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “So, 'tis true what they say about you.”

Tully paused. “What are you talking about?”

“That your courage comes from having a fair number at your back, not from skill. You wouldn't last a minute against me in a fair fight.”

Tully paused, his eyes narrowed. “Are you challenging me?”

“I am. If you have the sack.”

“A duel? To the death?” Out of the corner of his eye, Bann saw the shapeshifter sit up, rubbing his hands with glee. “Why, I would enjoy watching that. Entertainment whilst we wait for the Black Hand to surrender the boy.”

“No!” Weston Tully whirled around. “You gave Boru to me!”

“And his life is still yours. I've simply changed the borders of your possession.” Cernunnos cocked his head in a Max-like gesture. “Or is Boru right? Do you fear to face him in battle?”

Tight-lipped, Weston Tully's mouth worked as he glared at Bann, who stared back. “I do not,” he finally rasped.

“And if I win?” Bann yanked his head free of the guard's grip. His throat stung where the blade had sliced into him; warm wetness trickled down his skin. “What then?”

The shapeshifter ignored him. “Take Boru to the yard,” he ordered. “No need to dirty my new abode any further.”

“And fetch the other prisoners,” Tully added. “They can watch me gut their hero.” He grinned in triumph when the shapeshifter gave a nod of consent.

Stumbling as his guards dragged him away, Bann tried again to sing the power of the Song into his body. Nothing. He was herded through the kitchen and out
the back door and over to the center of the yard. The snow had stopped, leaving behind a mottled layer on every horizontal surface. Clouds were stalled overhead, forming a gray ceiling. Along the far wall, bodies of the dead Fir Bolgs had been stacked, like cordage, along the far wall. The gate still hung open, askew.

His guards let go and stepped away. Freed from their hold, Bann wiped the trickle of blood off his neck. As he walked around in a circle, swinging his arms to warm up, a Fir Bolg wrestled the wingback chair through the back door and carried it over to a nearby Ponderosa pine. There, he set it under a projecting bough that formed a natural canopy. Other Fir Bolgs were filing out and forming a circle around the yard.

An image from his boyhood rose in his mind. A memory of watching two Knights dueling dagger to dagger in the mud—
more like slicing little bits off of each other
—while the clan chieftain watched from a chair set high in the back of a wagon. The blood had flown freely that day, leaving contrasting red streaks in the blue woad on the warriors' naked bodies.

A few minutes later, Shay stepped out on the porch, with the rest of her family behind, in a crowd of guards. Rory kept a hand on James's arm, steadying his injured cousin. He saw the flashes of relief when they spotted him.

“Bann?” Shay started down the steps toward him, then was jerked back by one of the Fir Bolgs. “You okay?”

“I'm all right, darlin'.”
For now
.

“Hey, Bann!” Rory called. “Thanks for saving some of these butt-uglies for the rest of us.” He grunted when
a nearby Fir Bolg punched him in the stomach. Even from several yards away, Bann could hear the fat smack of the blow. Bent over, the young Knight staggered a step, almost knocking James down. Shay launched herself at the guard.

Hugh snagged her arm just in time and yanked her back. “Save it, lass. Now is not the time.”

The guards herded them down the steps and past Bann. As Shay was pushed past him to the opposite side of the yard, she stretched out a hand. So did Bann. Their fingertips brushed briefly.

“Mo chara
.”

“
Mo shíorghrá
.”

Reaching the opposite side, the Fir Bolgs posted two guards, both holding drawn weapons on the Knights. “I hear any of you Fey whisper so much as a single word of that fokking Song,” one of the guards said, “and I shove my knife so far down your throat, you'll have to shit to get it out.”

“And
that
,” Rory said to James, standing next to him, “would be awkward.”

“And painful,” James pointed out. “Do you think the whole shitting thing would include the Fir Bolg that's holding the knife—”

“Shut up, both of ye,” Hugh snarled.

Tully appeared a moment later. Stripped down to a T-shirt and jeans, he walked down the steps and stopped a few yards from Bann. His pleased expression sent warning flags fluttering in Bann's head as the other Knight made a show of examining the edge of his knife. Ice formed in his gut when he realized that Tully was armed.

And he was not.

The Fir Bolgs straightened, snapping to attention, when Cernunnos strolled out, a cut-glass decanter filled with an amber liquid in one hand. The old guilt—
Shay darlin', I know what you would say, but in the end, 'twas me that brought the Stag Lord here
—seared him at the memory of Hugh pouring shots for the family from that very decanter. Lebor walked behind him as an honor guard; he wore Bann's iron blade thrust through his belt.

Still naked and apparently impervious to the cold, the shapeshifter sauntered over to the ersatz throne. As he walked past, his bare feet melted the snow, leaving a trail of foot-shaped pools of slush. With a flourish, he sat down. Lebor took a position on the god's right-hand side.

“Proceed.” Cernunnos raised the carafe in a salute, then took a drink.