Born of Oak and Silver (The Caradoc Chronicles) (33 page)

I
’m still dreaming,
I thought blankly. I could hardly walk straight, chances were good that none of this was even happening. But then a stray idea occurred to me, preying upon my ruined emotional state to solidify and form. Perhaps it was one of the children outside my window, battering the shutters, asking that I let them in.

As quickly as I could manage, I threw open my study
door, feeling the shock of air that was fresh in comparison to the stagnation that existed inside of my office. Using a hand to support myself as I leaned against the wall, I turned away from my study and made my way sloppily toward the front door. I had some difficulty with the locks. I cursed them as I fumbled hurriedly to open them.

I threw
open the massive door, and for the first time in two weeks, stepped outside into the dark night. The air was clean and but cloying, smelling thickly of the lilies that ran the entire length of the long porch. I gagged. In my current state the scent was nauseating.

I stepped onto the large
, covered porch, my eyes darting wildly to each of the ornate pillars that spanned the front of the house. The children had loved to hide behind them. There was no sign of them on the porch, so I broadened my gaze, seeking them. I moved to where my office window looked out over the long drive and the massive magnolia that shaded the patio. The shutters had stopped banging entirely.

My momentarily heightened spirits immediately sank.

“Where are you?” I whispered despondently into the still night.

The pain of my longing was beginning to override the numbness. It seared me once again, refusing to ever allow me to heal. I turned away and made my way disjointedly back to the front door. I gave the rocking chairs and furniture
, which looked suspiciously devious as they sat on the porch, a pointedly wide berth. No doubt they were planning to move forward when I least expected and trip my leaden feet.

I had finally made it back to the
entry when a female voice genially said my name. “Daine.”

I closed my eyes, enjoying how it seemed to caress my skin affectionately. I turned around haltingly; any movement made too quic
kly would surely cause me to lose my already shaky footing.

“Maurelle,” I said with swagger.

She stood on the ground a few paces away from the front steps. I could hear the wards humming as they prevented her from coming any closer. She was beautiful, her long, blonde hair gently cascading down her shoulders, her velvet, blue eyes soft and inviting.

I wanted to address her face
-to-face.

I swayed as
I looked down the steps that led from the porch to the ground. There were only four of them, but they seemed to grow and shrink unpredictably in height as I studied them. I gauged their distance, stepping confidently forward, and ended up stumbling and falling to my hands and knees into the gravel at their base. I stood, leaning slightly as I dusted off my palms, and then resumed a drunken saunter.

Maurelle looked at me, clearly amused. She was undampened, and I didn’t care. She looked positively radiant in the moonlight.

I stood in front of her, wobbling a bit, as I asked her cordially, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I gave her a bow, which again sent me reeling in an effort to regain my footing. I placed my hand upon her shoulder to steady myself, since I could not do so unaided.

Maurelle looked me over, her sweet mouth beginning to
turn into a sneer. To my surprise she was repulsed. “You look terrible. And you smell.” She swatted my hand away from where it still rested upon her, stepping rudely away from me. “This is just unacceptable,” she added loftily.

“I am sorry my presence so offends
thee . . .” I said, insulted. Then, with a quickness I did not know myself capable of at that moment, I found myself pressed up against her, her back firmly against the bark of the magnolia’s trunk. My hand squeezed her throat mercilessly as I spat, “You did just murder my family.” Despite my vision being slightly blurred, I was able to hatefully focus on her intently.

She choked on her
laughter, which caused me to clutch her throat tighter. If only I possessed the strength to crush it—I attempted it anyway.

The nature of Maurelle’s eyes shifted from amusement to annoyance. With little effort, she reached up to take hold of my wrist, and
forced the bones together within her seemingly dainty grasp. I cried out in pain. “You are pathetic,” she jeered, looking down her perfect nose at me. She let me go.

I cradled my wrist, my eyes bloodshot as I glared at her viciously.

She circled me, making a tsking sound as she went. Apparently, she did not approve of what she saw. “When was the last time you bathed? Shaved? Changed your clothes?” she scorned.

The answer she rece
ived was heard only by me.
Not since I washed my children’s blood from my body, and then wore clean clothes with which to bury them in
.

When I didn’t respond, Maurelle regarded me with even more contempt. “I came expecting more from you. I am greatly disappointed in having not found it. I could kill you now, without the slightest bit of
challenge—but where would the enjoyment be?” She scowled at me, disenchanted.

It was my turn to laugh
; I did so bitterly. “You were looking for a fight, were you? Well, I’m afraid all of the fight has been taken out of me. This is what’s left.” I opened my arms wide and held them out in supplication. “Kill me, please. You will give me great joy in being put out of my misery.” I remained prone, hoping that the enticement would induce her to just get it over with.

To my disappointment
, she did not. She just shook her head, disgust evident on her face. “You did not even have the presence of mind to bring the Sword out with you. You are at best upsetting. I believed you to be above being so easily defeated. Gather yourself together, Daine. Your children would be ashamed.”

“Never speak of them!” I righted myself, squaring my shoulders enraged.

“Ah, now that’s more like it,” she cooed, her eyelids lowering in desire. “If I had known that all that was needed to invite reaction out of you was to mention your petty children, I would have done so sooner.” She smiled fondly, as if recollecting something. “Did you know your sons watched in blubbering terror as their mother transformed before them into the Ban Sidhe? Helpless as Anwyn thoroughly . . . enjoyed them? They were rendered so incapacitated that they did not even attempt to fight when Ayda flayed them one by one.”

“Stop,” I said, damaged.

Her mouth quirked as she baited me. “If only their father had had his priorities straight, he might have been able to save them. But, alas, he was too concerned with his own
glory
to protect them.”

Such an
insinuation had me shaking with wrath. I felt my mind being torn apart as I searched furiously inside of myself for some way to correct her.

“And your daughter—what
a beauty she was. I bet it tears at your heart to have chosen yourself, and let her die.” Maurelle smiled cruelly.

I
advanced toward her. She remained fixed in place, having no reason to fear me without the Sword. When I stood looking down at her from the few inches that separated our heights, her eyebrows hitched, daring me to attempt my worst.

I put my fist against
the soft violet of her crimson-sashed gown, my sapphire pressed firmly against the fabric that covered the skin of her taut stomach. If the sapphire of my ring was a piece of the Sword, then perhaps it too could do damage to her without the blade—if it was channeled right.

I remained motionless, my eyes heavily lidded, as we
continued to regard one another carefully. And then, I did the unthinkable. I called lightning to strike me.

Everything was lost in a blinding
, white light. I felt my heart stop on contact, my mind lose focus, and the surge of energy as it traveled down to my feet. It then coursed back up and through me, ripping me apart before it shot through my arm, concentrated by the sapphire of my ring, and blasted into Maurelle. The force with which it left me flung my body through the air as if I were nothing more than a rag doll.

I smashed into the side of my house, passing over the wards that began at the front steps
before slamming into the white-painted siding. I landed sharply on the shattered furniture beneath me.

I collapsed immediately.

I raised myself, my ears ringing so loudly that nothing else could be heard above the din. I coughed, wincing at the extreme pressure I felt on my heart and lungs. Everything hurt. My innards and entire body felt singed. I wheezed with the effort to breathe, fighting to regain control of my body as I pushed myself off my chest. I held still as I shook uncontrollably after such a massive jolt.

The ringing that blared in my ears began to subside. I gently raised my head to look around. The night was still full and bright, no breeze stirred the leaves, and no rain fell. All was clear and quiet. I raised my head higher, looking to where Maurelle had stood when I h
ad last seen her. I found her twenty feet from where I expected her to be.

She was lying on her back, struggling to move but seeming to find it difficult to do so
; she held a hand tightly against her abdomen.

With effort, I brought myself up to
stand. My right leg throbbed, stabs of pain shrieking in protest when I attempted to put any weight on it. Limping, I made my way down the porch stairs, and as swiftly as I could manage, went to stand over Maurelle.

Her glittering Fae blood soaked into the ground beneath where she lay. Her abdomen was torn open, the wound
terrible. Such an injury would have killed a mortal instantly. But, given time, she would heal.

I did not dwell upon that
; instead I basked in the success at having left her so seriously wounded.

“When next we meet,” she sputtered, shimmering blood trickling down her face from the corner of her mouth, “I will kill you. Prepared or no
t.” Before my eyes, she sifted away, leaving behind only the wet ground, which shimmered red in the moonlight.

I began to
pant; the pain in my leg was agonizing. I looked down to find that a stake from the small table that I had landed on had gone entirely through the muscle of my thigh. I was bleeding significantly, but the wood had missed the bone and artery. I peered warily to the back of my leg, and saw the roughly pointed tip sticking a good six inches out of my leg. I cursed, and made my way back to the house.

I shut the front door reassuringly behind me,
hobbling my way to the liquor cabinet. Taking an unopened bottle of bourbon, I gimped into my study. I threw open the curtains, hoping the moonlight would be bright enough to see to removing the wood.

I ripped open my pants, feeling dizzy as I saw the wood entering my flesh, and then again as
it exited. With determination, I pulled the cork out of the bottle with my teeth and spit it away. I steeled myself, taking several hearty drinks from the bottle before pouring the liquor on the front of my leg. It burned such that my eyes watered and I grimaced aloud in pain. I took a few quick huffs of air before pouring more of the bourbon on the exit wound.

I doubted
I was strong enough to do what needed to be done next.

In the silence, I heard my blood drip
ping upon the wood floor. I shook my head in irritation. There was no way around this. I grasped the wood firmly where it extended out of the back of my leg, and began to steadily pull. I grunted loudly, pursing my lips and holding my eyes tight against the water that was seeping through. I continued to pull until the picket withdrew with a sick-sounding slurp.

I let the wood
drop noisily to the floor, taking the bourbon in my hand and managing another substantial swallow. I put the bottle down and wiped my mouth with the back of my now bloody hand.

I held my leg stiffly as I maneuvere
d to the nearby couch. Once sitting, I wrapped a length of my torn pant leg around the wound. Closing my eyes, the words for healing left my mouth as a prayer. Without delay I began to feel the warm tingle as they started to work.

I chuckled to myself, making the mental note to remember to nev
er again be struck by lightning. The fog of exhaustion soon began to encroach upon my mind, and I allowed it to take me. I fell deeply asleep.

My mind opened with a start. I stood once again on the grassy clearing of the hill,
with the sounds of the gentle breeze and sea crashing into the cliffs below. It was once more night, though there was neither moon nor a single star in the heavens.

I knew why
I was here, and I looked for Máedóc.

I found him at the edge of the clearing, so still that if I had not known what to look for he could have easily been mistaken for stone. He was still cloaked, though instead of being entirely wrapped in it, his arms could be seen, folded over his chest as if in anger.

“You have allowed your grief to consume you,” his voice sounded as cannon fire. I covered my ears at the sheer volume of it. “I warned you,” he stalked toward me, “and you did not listen.”