My spine stiffened. What if it was an agent of the Fear Dorcha? I clenched my teeth and balled my hands into fists.
“Your Majesty.” Rosalind rose from Aengus’ embrace, still trembling from the cú sídhe bark that boiled her blood. “The Royal Suite is protected by a hundred layers of magic. You must leave, now.”
I shook my head. “Everyone is going with me.”
She parted her lips to protest, but the anger burning through my veins made her clamp her mouth shut.
Aengus rose to his feet, slung the unconscious doe over his shoulder, and reached down for Rosalind’s hand. She ignored him and pushed herself up onto shaky legs.
Shoulders slumping, he turned to me with a sad smile and swept out an arm, indicating for me to go first.
“Thanks,” I glanced from the doe to Rosalind, who walked ahead. “For helping.”
He shook his head. “Nothing is too much for the one who pulled me out of that mist. I’ve had a thousand years of creatures worse than a barking dog.”
I gulped at the thought of spending millennium of being chased by Fomorians, tortured, eaten, only to awaken and face the same thing again. As we passed guards slumped at the stables and the walls, I ushered them to join us. All of them took up my offer for safety, and we stepped into the middle carriage.
Turning to Aengus, I offered him a smile. “If Melusina wasn’t a nathair, I would let you have the killing blow.”
“I’ll soften her up for you,” he said with a bloodthirsty grin.
In the royal suite, Rosalind already gathered Cliach and Nessa, who brought a steaming cauldron and a pile of bowls. The thirteen of us squeezed ourselves into our carriage, and the driver, a teal-haired male, transformed the door and its surrounding wall into a window seat with a view of Enbarr’s back.
Enbarr ran along the barrier between shadow and absolute darkness, butting, snapping, and kicking at the monstrous hound. Anxiety rippled through my heart. If we had two magical mounts, one of them could fight the cú sídhe while the other pulled us back into the light.
The cú sídhe growled and cut across Enbarr once more, making the skeletal capall gallop further to the right. Outside, the scenery dimmed from dark shadows to a starless night so black I could almost taste its bitterness on my tongue.
Twelve sets of eyes stared at me, their nervous expressions indicating they were waiting for me to give them permission to relax.
“Please find somewhere to sit.” I swept my arm from the sofa to the window seat. Counting the dining chairs, there was enough seating space for at least twelve.
As everyone settled into the seats, the soldiers pulled out wineskins and handed them around. I exhaled a weary breath and walked to the other side of the space. In the dim bedside illumination, Drayce’s hair looked as green as the cú sídhe’s fur, and his skin was as pale as Enbarr’s bones.
A breath caught in the back of my throat. I hurried to his bedside and placed my palm on his cheek. Cold, clammy skin yielded under my fingertips. I checked his nostrils for signs of breathing, but his breath was cold and even shallower than before.
Sorrow clenched at my heart, and I placed a hand over my mouth to stifle a cry. The bark must have stopped his heart, boiled his blood. With no soul in his body, would he ever heal from the cú sídhe’s attack?
Someone behind me screamed.
I whipped around to everyone standing again. Wineskins lay strewn on the wooden floor, pouring out their contents. They all stared at the window, Aengus with his fists balled, Nessa with her eyes round, and Rosalind with a hand over her chest. Cliach cowered between a pair of soldiers, holding up his harp like a shield.
My mouth dried, and a rapid pulse fluttered in my throat. I couldn’t see what they were looking at from Drayce’s bedside.
“Is it…” My words faltered, but I tamped down the anxiety roiling through my gut and forced my voice to calm. We were behind a hundred layers of magic. “Is it the cú sídhe?”
“The Dearg Due,” Cliach screamed.
I rushed forward, my gaze turned to the window. The carriage lights illuminated what appeared to be a banshee. A female glared at us through amber eyes, her palms pressed against the window. Tendrils of blood-red hair twisted and curled about her beautiful face like serpents. It spilled over a tattered gown of gray and white, which floated off her body like a shroud.
“What did you call her?” I asked.
Cliach melted behind the soldiers and whimpered. “Dearg Due.”
I turned to Nessa and Rosalind, who stood together at one end of the sofa. “Do you know anything about this female?”
They both shook their heads, and I glanced around at Aengus and the soldiers, who also gave me the same response.
“I can’t bear to look at her,” Cliach cried. “Turn off the lights!”
“Is she anything like the daughter you trapped in the lake?” I took another glance at the female outside, who raised her head, seeming to examine the window’s seams.
Cliach licked his dry lips. “There’s a centuries-old legend of a beautiful maiden who died under terrible circumstances. Her ghost is said to haunt these lands, and they call her the Dearg Due.”
“She’s probably feeding on your fear,” Nessa muttered. “Keep talking like that and you’ll give her enough power to smash through that glass and drag you into the dark.”
Cliach fell to his knees and sobbed. The female at the window pressed her tongue against the glass, making my insides ripple with disgust. Nessa was right.
“What can we do to stop this?” I asked.
“Turn off the lights,” Cliach screamed.
“Do it,” I said to the driver. “Maybe she’ll go away if we’re not there to entertain
