Page 69 of Queen of the Shadow

“Aife.”

Her half sister got off the bed and turned to face Scáthach. Her naked skin was slick with sweat. Cuchulainn’s seed painted the inside of her thighs from the apex between her legs down to her calves.

Aife stretched languidly, her arms above her head. She smiled. “Your timing could be better, Scáthach.”

“Scáthach?” Cuchulainn’s voice was weak and gravelly. Aife stepped aside so that he had a clear view of the Queen of Shadow. Cuchulainn was bound so tightly that he could only lift his head and blink rapidly. Even from a distance Scáthach could see his eyes were unusually glassy. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes appeared black instead of amber. “Scáthach?” he repeated as his gaze went from her to Aife. His sweaty, flushed face blanched white. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Aife laughed at him. “Yesssss.” The word hissed from her swollen lips.

Cuchulainn’s bleary gaze found Scáthach again. “But... you’ve been here the whole night.” Misery filled his ruined voice.

“No,” Scáthach said gently. “Not until just now. Forgive me for not arriving sooner.” Two strides took her to the chemise discarded at the foot of the bed. Scáthach picked it up and threw it at Aife. “Get dressed.” She glanced at her daughter. “Watch her.”

Uathach nodded and went to Aife as Scáthach used her dagger to cut through the ropes that bound Cuchulainn to the bed. He sat and then tried to stand, but with a groan he sank back on the bed before he turned his head and vomited a torrent of vile liquid onto the floor. Then he collapsed back onto the pallet, where he curled into himself and began to shiver and gasp for breath between dry heaves.

Scáthach strode to Aife, backed her sister against the wall, and put her dagger to her throat. She met Aife’s shocked gaze and realized she’d been wrong. Her sister’s eyes weren’t the brilliant blue of her father’s—they were too corrupted by hatred to be that pure. Scáthach’s voice was iron. “As with Drest, I use the authority granted me by Ardgeimm, Jarl of Lethra, to name you traitor and sentence you to death by my blade.”

“No! You can’t! You have no—” Aife was silenced as Scáthach’s knife pressed against her flesh, drawing a bead of blood. The Queen of Shadow looked into her sister’s blue eyes and saw no remnant of their father in their cold depths.

“Mama.” Uathach’s hand rested on her mother’s shoulder. “You cannot kill her.”

With great effort, Scáthach paused the killing strike. She kept the knife pressed against Aife’s neck, but turned her head to meet her daughter’s gaze. “Explain.”

“My vision makes sense now. Aife is pregnant. She will bear Cuchulainn a son—the only child he will father in this lifetime. Mama, if you kill her, you also kill Cu’s son.”

Scáthach drew several deep breaths as she brought her rage under control. She looked from Uathach to Cuchulainn, naked and shivering and vulnerable on the bed. And then her gaze returned to Aife. Gone was the smug temptress. Aife’s face was colorless, and under Scáthach’s dagger she trembled with fear so violently that she caused the blade to make little cuts in the smooth skin of her neck. Scarlet tears leaked from the cuts, ran down her neck, and soaked the white of her diaphanous chemise.

“Mama.” Uathach said her name softly. “It is your choice. I did not see what this child will become. All I saw was a golden-haired boy with Cu’s eyes.”

“You cannot blame the babe for my offenses,” Aife whined.

“Yes. I absolutely can,” Scáthach snapped. “You’ll be a terrible mother and you’ll raise his son to be the monster his father is not.”

Aife opened her mouth to reply, but Uathach’s words silenced her. “Perhaps. And perhaps he will be so much like his father that she will not be able to taint him.” Scáthach’s gaze found her daughter’s again. Uathach continued. “I did see one other thing in the vision and I know if you kill her and Cu’s unborn son, you will hate yourself for it.”

Scáthach studied her beloved daughter’s face. “I cannot do it.”

Uathach squeezed her mother’s shoulder before she released a long, relieved breath. “No, you cannot. Show her mercy, Mama. For the child’s sake—for your sake—and because it is the right thing to do.”

Scáthach took the dagger from Aife’s throat and dragged her to the one window in the chamber. On this side of the keep each second-floor window opened to a small balcony that looked out over the fort. Scáthach ripped the thick wool drapes that covered the window from the wall, kicked open the wooden shutters, and pulled Aife with her out onto the balcony. Sounds of the battle below lifted to them, but because of the shrouding fog it seemed spirits fought, as it was impossible to see through the mist.

“Cliodna!” Scáthach’s voice cut through the fog. “Beloved aunt! Béfionn’s daughter thanks you for the concealment you provided, but now I humbly ask that you allow us to see!”

The wind began to build. It swept over the loch, howling through Dùn Dòbhrain and dissipating the fog like dew burned away by the sun to reveal the Shadow Guard destroying the last of Aife’s army.

Scáthach shoved Aife forward so that she stood at the edge of the balcony with a clear view of the slaughter.

“No!” Aife gasped and turned her head away.

Scáthach fisted her hand in her sister’s hair and forced her to look, to watch, to witness. “You caused this. Each death is a tally on your spirit.”

“No!” Aife repeated. “The fort is ours. We should have been able to hold it indefinitely.”

“Tonight you have proven you are as foolish as you are unfit to rule,” said Scáthach.

“No...” Aife sobbed and tried to collapse to her knees, but Scáthach held her there, watching until the sun lifted from the horizon to reveal the blood-soaked fort and the Queen of Shadow’s somber victory.

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