Chapter One

The last time I’d killed my brother, he’d reeked of burnt flesh for a week. But if Rían didn’t stop smirking at me, I was going to throw him into the fire and hold him there until the flames robbed him of his last breath.

I laid across the settee, bored out of my feckin’ mind, wishing there was something to do in this castle besides endure Rían’s presence and Ruairi’s relentless optimism.

I hated this room almost as much as I hated Rían. Thankfully, the darkness muted the lavish furnishings, gaudy floral curtains, rugs, and tapestries. It had been at least two hundred years since the parlor had been decorated. I couldn’t remember who had been responsible for the travesty. Certainly not me. If it were up to me, I’d torch this room and everything in it. Including Rían.

“What’s it going to be tonight, lads?” Ruairi asked from the drinks cart beneath the window. The bottles clinked together as he read the labels to find the ones he wanted. “Wine or puítin?”

I said “puítin” at the same time Rían said “wine.”

I hadn’t a head for either, so it didn’t really matter. But puítin would make me pass out faster, and then I’d be back to daylight and another day of slogging through problems. Executions in Airren occurred every day now. No matter how many times we had advised our people to return to Tearmann, they always refused. With my jurisdiction ending at the Black Forest, there was nothing I could do to save them.

Ruairi returned with a tray of six glasses, two for each of us, half filled with clear puítin and half filled with green faerie wine.

My stomach roiled. Tonight wasn’t going to end well, and tomorrow was Friday. The last thing I wanted was to sit and listen to my people squabble with a hangover.

He set the tray on the small table between my settee and their two chairs and took a seat. When I made no move to reach for either glass, Ruairi picked up the puítin and thrust it into my hand. “Stop moping about, Tadhg. Have a drink.”

“I haven’t had dinner yet.” Which meant I’d be on my ass after a few sips.

Ruairi raised a black eyebrow. “Your point?”

Rían sniggered, swirling his crystal glass in his hand. “I have a brilliant idea.”

“No.” When Rían had an idea, it usually landed one of us—or someone else—in the underworld.

Ruairi kicked the settee’s leg, spilling puítin down my shirt. “I want to hear what it is.”

“I said, no.” I didn’t have the energy to die tonight. Plus, Eava, our kitchen witch, had made blackberry pie for dessert. Before Ruairi had shown up unannounced, my plan had been to eat enough of my dinner to appease Eava, then stuff my face with pie.

Rían sipped his wine slowly, as if savoring it. What was there to savor? It tasted like licking the bottom of a bowl of rotten fruit.

I gulped my puítin, loving the way it scorched my throat. The fire was better than feeling nothing at all.

“Ah, go on, Tadhg. It’s a good one this time.” Rían took another sip. Firelight played on the red tones in his short mahogany hair. He looked so much like our father in this light.

Which made me despise him all the more.

“Go on, then.” It would take less time to hear him out than to argue.

From his waistcoat pocket, Rían withdrew three scraps of paper.

The Golden Falcon

The White Stag

The Green Serpent

“Each of us selects a pub and we see who lasts the longest inside. No glamours and no wards. Ruairi, you can stay shifted as a human to make it fair. Tadhg, you can shift into—oh, wait. Never mind.”

The crystal glass shook in my hand. Dammit, I wanted to kill him.

“Winner takes all,” Rían finished.

Rían’s gambling had gotten worse since I’d killed Aveen. Idle hands and all that nonsense. He needed to find an occupation beyond irritating me since bedding his way across the island was off the table.

I took another drink of puítin.

Those three pubs were the most infamous in all of Airren, infested with mercenaries who murdered Danú for coin. And my younger brother wanted us to spend the night in them? Not a feckin’ hope.

“I’m in.” Ruairi withdrew a black medallion from his waistcoat pocket, threw it atop the scraps, and took a sip of faerie wine. How did he drink that shite without gagging?

I shot my best mate an incredulous glare. He was always the first to add to the pot even though he never had a hope of winning. The problem was that he had more money than sense and eternity on his hands.

“I’ll pass.” The blackberry pie called my name.

“Well, I’m in.” There was a flash of gold as Rían withdrew something from his pocket and dropped it onto the pile.

The pair of gold triskelion cufflinks, gifted to Rían by our father, were his most prized possession. I had tried for a century to get him to bet them, and he’d always refused. His dark eyebrows lifted in silent challenge. The bastard knew I had no choice but to accept. It wasn’t about the money. It was about beating Rían out of something he loved.

Ripping the button off of my own black waistcoat, I added it to the pot, knowing it’d give my brother a twitch. I’d sit in whatever pub I chose until morning if it meant winning his cufflinks.

Rían grinned as he folded the scraps. He shifted a bowl from the kitchen, dropped them in, and held it toward me, a mischievous glint in his blue gaze. “Let’s choose where we’re to die tonight, shall we?”

I inhaled a deep breath, closed my eyes, and stuck my hand into the bowl.

The Green Serpent

It would be my luck to pick the worst of the lot. And it was across the entire feckin’ island from Tearmann, so I’d have to waste a considerable amount of magic getting there. Before I was cursed, I could’ve made the trip fifty times in a night, not a bother. Now? I’d be lucky to get home.

I lifted the glass of faerie wine and finished every last rancid drop. If I was to die tonight, I was going to die drunk.

* * *

The Green Serpent reeked of rot and sweat and stale drink. And I was fairly certain the mercenaries trading pooka claws at the table next to mine had bathed in shit.

I kept my head down, knowing what would happen if they caught me staring. Their whispers rattled through my head; they were as aware of my presence as I was of theirs. Wearing the enchanted kohl had been risky, but I refused to come into this hell hole without it.

For the moment, the situation seemed relatively safe. I was reading, after all. How threatening could I look with a book in my hands? The humans appeared more interested in drink than me. It wasn’t until they got deeper in their cups that they’d begin plotting how to kill me and divvy up my parts.

Death was tedious, and finding the bits when I got back was always a feckin’ nightmare. The last time it happened, it took me a fortnight to locate my thumbs.

“Like I was sayin’, yer Lordship,” the man beside me said, a spark of greed lighting his pinpoint eyes, “if ye just gave us half, we’d be able to buy enough port to turn a tidy profit.” It looked as if Oran had put on a stone since I’d last seen him, and there was barely enough greasy gray hair to cover his head.

Every time we met, I had an overwhelming urge to force my magic into his oversized gullet and watch the life fade from those tiny eyes. It was nothing less than he deserved for trying to swindle me out of more gold, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Like not getting my head severed by the axe sitting next to the mercenary glancing at me from over his shoulder.

“I’m not giving you anything until you pay back what you owe.” He’d already borrowed a small fortune for his smuggling venture. Unfortunately, he was one of only a handful of men willing to supply Tearmann with drink. I could’ve shifted all of it straight from the ships, but the damned treaty my father had signed forbade it.

Oran’s grimy fingers wrapped around his flagon, and he raised it to his thin lips. “If I could pay what I owed ye, I wouldn’t be askin’ fer money.”

The man was a leech.

I wouldn’t put it past Rían to have told him I was here just to make me lose. After all, if I killed him, the other humans would take offense.

I glanced toward the broken clock on the shelf.

Four past eleven.

I’d already been here for two hours. Was Rían still out, or had he returned to the castle? Ruairi wasn’t a contender. He couldn’t return from the underworld, so he’d be back at the first hint of trouble.

On the other side of the room, the main door opened.

This was the type of place where ignoring that mundane detail could end in death. Everyone else seemed to know that too, as the boasting and swearing came to an abrupt halt.

A woman walked in, her face hidden within her cloak.

I’d known my fair share of female mercenaries, but the way she walked, all perfect posture and swaying hips, pointed more to her being an escort than a cold-blooded killer.

One of the mercenaries across the way nudged his friend. Nodded to the woman.

And grabbed a handful of her ass.

White hot rage clouded my vision.

I knew what it was like to be touched without consent. To have people take from you what you didn’t want to give. Escort or not, this woman deserved the right to choose who touched her.

Brown hair. Leather vest. Crescent shaped tattoo on right forearm.

The vile bastard wouldn’t leave this pub of his own volition.

The woman stumbled forward. Her skirts swirled when she twisted toward him.

“Ye’ve a fine arse ‘neath all them skirts,” the man slurred. “Five coppers fer a ride?”

Her hood lifted a fraction. Instead of responding, she threw back her shoulders and stomped toward the bar. The men around her grew rowdier. No one else had the bollocks to do anything but shout lewd suggestions and gesture to their cocks.

Orla emerged from her flat in between the two pubs. She was smart enough to keep her glamour in place on this side of the wall. If only there was something to be done about the scar her husband had left when he’d used a hot iron to brand the poor selkie.

And humans thought we were the monsters.

“I wonder if you might be able to help me,” the mysterious woman said, her voice surprisingly husky. The way she spoke was too refined for an escort. “You see, I’m looking for a man—”

“Pet, I’ve been lookin’ fer a man in this pub fer forty years,” Orla said, limping toward the bar, “and haven’t found an honest one yet.”

“A man to help me get to Tearmann,” the woman finished.

Tearmann?

Orla’s mouth flattened. “Why would someone like ye want to go there?”

Why, indeed? I flipped to the next page in my book, hoping to catch the woman’s response. Humans knew better than to try and enter our territory. No one could hope to survive the Black Forest without an escort. And even then, it didn’t guarantee they’d make it.

“I need to find the Gancanagh.”

Shit.

The smile fell from Orla’s weathered face. “These men will rob ye blind. Best be gone with ye and get the foolish notion of findin’ the Gancanagh outta yer ‘ead.”

Orla’s eyes flitted toward my table before shifting back to the woman.

Perhaps the stranger hadn’t noticed.

Don’t look at me. Look at Oran.

I squeezed the book in my hand, focusing on the weathered pages instead of the way the woman’s shadowed eyes grazed over Oran and the drunkard passed out on the table to settle on me.

DON’T LOOK AT ME.

“Please,” the woman said, turning back to the barmaid. “Surely you can recommend someone. It’s a matter of life and death.”

There were only two reasons human women came looking for me. And I wasn’t interested in sex or death tonight. I wanted to beat Rían and celebrate my victory with pie.

Oran nudged me with his boot.

I kicked him in the shin and kept my eyes on the book. The man who had assaulted the mysterious woman slipped from behind his table, adjusted himself, and started for the bar.

It took a flick of my wrist and a few whispered words to get his companion to tackle him. I kept the book in place with one hand and hid the other beneath the table.

One. Two. Three.

Three hits to leave his head lying in a puddle of his own blood.

If my magic had been at full strength, I would’ve turned him to ash.

Orla flung her hand toward the door. “Get outside and wait. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” The woman gave Orla a coin and pivoted on the heel of her expensive boot only to find a bloodied body on the floor blocking her path. I held my breath, waiting for her reaction to tell me something about who she could be. Faint, scream, or—my personal favorite—fan herself with her impossibly pale hands.

The woman didn’t do any of those things.

Those pale hands fisted at her sides. She lifted her boot.

And kicked him.

Twice.

I couldn’t be imagining this. Couldn’t be making this up.

Feck it all. I think I just fell in love.

The mercenaries’ voices lifted in riotous cheers, none of them bothering to help the man dying on the floor. The woman sauntered toward the exit, threw open the door, and stepped into the night.

Oran jabbed me with his elbow. “That girl was lookin’ fer ye.”

My grip on the book tightened, but I didn’t look up. “Was she?”

His bushy eyebrows came together. “Didn’t ye hear her say it?”

Why was I destined to be surrounded by eejits?

Orla scowled at me from behind the bar. She obviously thought whatever the woman wanted was my fault. But I’d never seen her before. Still, it would help no one if I didn’t at least speak to her. If she wanted the same thing every other woman before her had wanted, I’d have no choice but to oblige.

That was a problem of my own making, and I wouldn’t drag Orla into it. A matter of life and death, though? That seemed rather dramatic if all she wanted was a ride.

There was a second pub that catered to my people at the rear of the building, where it’d be safer to speak. According to the clock, it was a quarter past eleven. From the glassy-eyed stares being shot my way, I figured I’d worn out my welcome.

“Go and get her for me,” I told Oran. “Bring her around back.”

Oran’s eyes widened, but he didn’t budge. “Ye can’t expect me to go fer free. Not all of us can pull coins out of our arse.”

I should have made him shit a few coppers for his insolence. Instead, I collected a coin from my pocket and shoved it into his grubby palm. He clattered to his feet, then pushed past the mercenaries and out the door.

“What do you say, old man?” I kicked the drunkard beside me. His eyes didn’t open. “How’d you like to be my puppet?”

The bloodied man on the floor let out a low groan, reminding me there was one last piece of business to attend to. I set my book aside and shifted the mercenary’s axe into my hand. When I stood, my stool scraped against the floorboards. I could feel every eye on me as I stalked forward and stooped next to the man with pain-dulled eyes.

“It’s time you learned to keep your hands to yourself,” I whispered, adjusting my grip on the heavy axe. I wrapped a tendril of magic around his crooked arm, stretching it toward me. Fighting was useless, but he tried anyway. Stools clattered to the ground when the mercenaries shot to their feet. I aimed the blade at the man’s wrist.

And let it fall.