me into the Pit hoping one of the Warriors there would do the deed. And suffer the consequences of my grandmother’s spells.”
Deirdre shrugged. “I suppose there is no point in denying anything now. Nay, Marcail, I’m not going to kill you. You see, your grandmother was a powerful Druid.”
“I know,” Marcail said.
Deirdre ignored the interruption. “She knew there was a chance I would capture you, so she made sure to cast protection spells over you. They are many and are powerful enough that if you are killed, the person responsible will die a horrible death.”
“It’s too bad you learned of the protections then,” Marcail said. “My death is nothing if it would bring about your own.”
“Ah, but you are a brave one,” Deirdre said. “Is it really courage, or fear so great it is either stand up to me or crumple at my feet begging for mercy?”
Marcail rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen what your black magic can do. I know how effortlessly you take someone’s life. At one time I feared you, but you’ve shown that even with your power, you have a weakness.”
“I have no weakness.”
A slow smile spread over Marcail’s face. “But you do. You want the child of prophecy. How long have you waited, Deirdre? Has your womb grown cold and hollow? Can your body even sustain life?”
Deirdre reached out and slapped Marcail before she could think better of it. The Druid’s head jerked to the side with the force of the blow. Deirdre smiled at having put Marcail in her place. Until she heard the Druid laughing.
“Is that the best you can do?” Marcail asked as she touched her lip, which now bled.
Deirdre opened her mouth to respond when a vicious sting sliced through her. It was a pain unlike anything she had ever felt, and she knew in that instant it was the protections guarding Marcail.
Deirdre closed her eyes to battle the throbbing, but Marcail’s laughter only grew. For many moments Deirdre could do nothing but stand and combat the agony that filled her body. It was like hundreds of tiny blades piercing and slicing her skin.
And if it wasn’t for her magic holding most of it at bay, it would have brought her to her knees. When she was finally able to withstand the pain, Deirdre opened her eyes to see Marcail smirking at her.
“I hope you enjoyed yourself, because where you are going, there will be nothing. Grab her,” Deirdre yelled.
Thirty
Marcail should have known better than to enjoy Deirdre’s discomfort, but it had been wonderful to see the
She struggled in vain against the grip the two Warriors had on her arms. They half dragged, half carried her to the center of the chamber where a table stood with straps that would hold her arms and legs.
“Don’t worry,” Deirdre said in a much too pleasant voice. “That is not for you, though I wish it were.”
Marcail had never known such hatred as she did at that moment. “How can you kill your own kind?”
“Easily,” Deirdre said. “If you knew the sheer force of the magic I received with every kill you would understand.”
“I could never understand evil such as you.”
Deirdre tsked. “Such a pity. Shall I tell you what I have planned for you?”
Marcail bit her tongue to keep silent.
“Have nothing to say this time?” Deirdre laughed. “Ah, well, I won’t keep you waiting. Do you see Lavena behind you?”
The Warriors turned Marcail so that she was staring at a woman who appeared to be floating, though there was no water around her, only black flames.
Deirdre came to stand beside Marcail. “Lovely, isn’t she? I’ve held her thus for hundreds of years.”
Marcail’s blood turned to ice as she realized Deirdre would do the same to her. She had been so close to getting away, but when she had seen Quinn, she’d had to stop and look at him, to try and talk to him. It had taken everything she had not to reach out and touch him, to tell him it was her.
And now, it was too late.
Deirdre began to whisper words that Marcail recognized as Gaelic, the ancient Celt language. As the spell continued, ice-blue flames shot up from the stones on the floor to the ceiling in a swirling mass of magic.
“I hope you like your new home,” Deirdre said. “You’ll be with me forever, Marcail. No one will ever know the spell to bind the gods now.”
Marcail swallowed and blinked back the tears. She wished she could have been the Druid her grandmother had wanted her to be. She wished she could have helped all the Warriors and other Druids who were locked in the mountain. But most of all she wished she could have told Quinn she loved him.
That’s when she realized the connection between the chanting she heard in her head and Quinn. Her grandmother had told her to always follow her heart. Quinn had been the first time Marcail had ever done that, and when she had, the chanting had begun.
Her grandmother had made sure that when Marcail fell in love she would learn the spell. But now it was too late. For everyone.
The Warriors jerked Marcail in front of the cylinder of blue flames, halting her thoughts of the spell and Quinn as panic took hold.
“As soon as the flames touch your skin, you will cease to feel anything,” Deirdre said.
Marcail lifted her chin. She was a Druid. She would not cower in front Deirdre. “Your reign will end soon. Enjoy the power you have now because it will soon be gone.”
“Wishful thinking, little
Marcail’s last thought was of Quinn as the blue flames engulfed her. There was a moment of icy pain and then…nothing.
Broc cursed under his breath as he watched the Warriors drag Marcail away. He had known it was the Druid when Quinn had backed into her while watching the fake Marcail leave the mountain.
If there hadn’t been so many wyrran and other Warriors, Broc would have told Quinn what was happening. But Broc had wisely kept his mouth shut or they’d all be feeling Deirdre’s wrath.
Broc pushed open the door to Deirdre’s chambers and walked inside. He had hoped to hear from Fallon or someone in the group to let Broc know they where there to help Quinn escape, but Broc couldn’t wait any longer. Not now that Deirdre had Marcail.
He found Quinn sitting on Deirdre’s bed, his head in his hands. Of a sudden Quinn’s head jerked up and he looked at Broc.
“What do you want?” Quinn demanded in a flat tone, devoid of any feeling.
Broc wasn’t sure how to begin. Quinn had been in Deirdre’s chamber for a full day. Deirdre could have done anything to him.
“Broc?” Quinn urged in a wary voice.
Broc glanced over his shoulder to the open door and wondered how long he had before Deirdre returned. “The Marcail you saw leave the mountain wasna real.”
Quinn’s pale green eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed. “What kind of jest is this?”
“None. The servant you backed into was Marcail.”
“You lie!”
Broc inhaled deeply as he struggled for patience. He needed Quinn to believe him, not spend precious moments trying to make Quinn understand.
