Bran finished the last etched rune on the floor and blasted the circle with so much power that it made him faint. He let out a ragged breath. The runes glowed dark red, sinking into the floor and opening a way for him to return home.

To her.

He only hoped he wasn’t too late. When he stepped forward, a hand landed on his arm.

“I don’t have time,” he growled.

“Bran, wait.” Elva tugged harder. “You don’t know what you’re leaping into. She could already be gone, or they could still be fighting for all you know.”

“I can’t leave her there. She can’t think I abandoned her so easily.”

“Would she believe that?” Elva stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the portal. “The sister I saw on the isle, even wounded, would never have second guessed your feelings for her. She won’t believe his lies, Bran. So you need to think of a plan, or you’re jumping in blind. You’ll get yourself hurt, or worse, killed.”

“No one can kill the Raven King.” The ferocity of his growled words startled even him. Bran believed them wholeheartedly. He’d felt invincible ever since the curse swallowed him whole.

“Are you so powerful?” she asked. “Because I don’t think you are. Not anymore. He took away much of your power, and I’m sorry for that. Everyone still needs you. Your people need you. You aren’t just Bran, anymore.”

Gods, how he hated that. He wanted to be free to find the woman he loved and hold her against his chest once again.

He hadn’t said it enough. There wasn’t enough time in the world to say the words as many times as she deserved. They had danced around their feelings for such a long time that it would be his fault entirely if she believed the poisonous words Darcy spouted.

He was a fool. How many times would he have to realize he was nothing but a fool?

Elva cupped his cheek, forcing him to focus on her. “If you’re so set on saving her, then I’m not letting you go alone.”

“What stake do you have in this?” He wanted to shout that she was the reason why all this had happened in the first place. It was her fault that Aisling was in trouble, and he’d somehow severed the strange bond between them.

Bran also knew that this was all his doing. He’d been the one who didn’t look close enough and only tried to save the woman he loved. He should have known Aisling wouldn’t let herself be captured by such a fool. She had more luck than that.

“I have every stake,” Elva snapped. “She’s my sister. And I haven’t been very good family to her my entire life. This will make up for that.”

“I don’t think anything can make up for that.” He strode forward, hovered a foot over the portal, and did not look back at her. “If you want to help, I won’t stop you.”

He plunged into the portal and stepped into his own throne room.

Chaos was everywhere. Debris spilled out from the dining hall, and sluagh wailed all around him. Their screams made his ears ache, but he continued through their masses toward the only person he was interested in seeing.

Darcy sat on the Raven King’s throne once again. One leg hooked over an arm of the chair, he bounced his foot and waited for Bran to reach him.

A sluagh grabbed his arm. “My king, the mistress, she’s—”

“I know,” he growled and shook off the creature.

Another latched onto the other arm. “That man on the throne—he’s not coming back, is he?”

Hands grasped his leg. “Highness, save us. You cannot let him come back.”

“The mistress, where is she?”

Over and over again, they asked him questions, swarming around his arms and legs, tugging him down among the masses. And through it all, he kept his eyes on the man who sat upon Bran’s throne.

He wouldn’t be like Darcy. He wouldn’t brush them aside because he was angry. Aisling had taught him better than that. Instead, he let out a snarl.

“Let me go,” he warned. “I will answer your questions soon, first I intend to tear that animal apart limb by limb.”

His anger poured into them, and it gave them strength. Their hands fell from his flesh, and they turned toward the previous Raven King with anger as their power. The sluagh melted from their bird-like forms and shifted into a dark mist that gathered around Bran like armor.

Darcy let out a chuckle. “So, you still have some of your powers, I see. Pity. I thought maybe you would learn how to be Unseelie again without leaning on what should have never been yours.”

“Where is she?”

A knife appeared in Darcy’s hands. He twirled it between them, the metal flashing in the torchlight. “Yes, Unseelie Prince, where is your wife? I desperately wish to know where she is considering you traded her to me.”

“I traded no one,” Bran growled, stalking toward the throne.

“Funny, I remember it differently. You promised your everlasting love to another woman. That seems like you don’t want Aisling at all.”

Words shriveled on Bran’s tongue. Not from guilt or fear, but an anger so powerful that it turned him into little more than a weapon the sluagh could wield. They ate up his emotions and reflected them back a thousand-fold. He became little more than rage incarnate.

“You can’t fight him, Bran,” Elva called out. The sound of a sword pulling from its scabbard reached his ears. “We need to know where he took her.”

“Did I take her?” Darcy replied, the grin on his face only incensing Bran further. “Or did she somehow slip out of my hands?”

Bran snapped his teeth. “I don’t need him to talk. I’ll find her without his help.”

“I don’t think you will.”

“Bran,” Elva said once more, “we need to know what he knows.”

“He knows nothing,” he spat. “The only thing he knows how to do is hide the truth. This man needs to be punished, not listened to.”

“And we will punish him. But not until he tells us where she is.”

Unable to think clearly, he shot out a hand. The sluagh slithered across the floor and snaked around her. The dark mist traveled up toward her mouth. “I need you silent,” Bran said. “Your words have no place here.”

Darcy placed his hands on the throne and slowly leveraged himself to standing. He clapped, the sound echoing in the silent hall. “You’ve finally come into your own, Raven King. I always knew you would accept the darkness and snap eventually. Unseelie enjoy such power. I certainly did.”

“I’m nothing like you,” he growled.

“Oh, you are. Look at you. Taking what you want, so easily, because all it would take is a snap of the fingers and I would be gone. The sluagh are your army, and you can use them in whatever way you want.” Darcy hopped down onto the floor, arms spread at his side. “By all means, use them to destroy me. Or, perhaps, you could use them to find her.”

The words filtered through the darkness in his mind. Her. Aisling. The woman all this was for.

The woman who wouldn’t want him to be a monster.

He shook his head to clear the evil thoughts, held out a hand, and sent the sluagh swarming around Darcy. The man began to scream as they ran up and down his sides, slicing into flesh along the way.

Bran closed his fist, and the sluagh paused. They held Darcy still, his face the only thing not covered by the quivering mist.

Sauntering forward, Bran made his way to Darcy’s side and held up a single finger. “First, never question my feelings for that witch. She is mine and mine alone.” He held up another finger. “Second, if you think I can’t punish you for this and find her at the same time, then you are a fool.” Bran held up the last finger and grinned. “Third, you should never have challenged me when she wasn’t here to keep me a good man.”

He brought his hand down, and a small portion of the sluagh broke away from the others. Their mist shot through the ceiling while the rest closed in on Darcy and fed upon his screams.

Aisling stumbled through the portal and landed hard on her knees. How long had she been in there? It felt like days, although she suspected it was only a few hours.

She dug her shaking fingers into the gray, lifeless dirt beneath her that seemed to go on forever. This wasn’t a place she recognized, although she doubted it was an in-between place, neither real nor fake. It felt real.

The earth crumbled beneath her fingers, cracking and breaking with the simple movement. This was a dead place.

Blowing out a breath, she slowly pushed herself up onto her haunches and searched for the person who had helped her. The person who had saved her.

A dead tree stood in front of her, far too familiar for comfort. The rattling branches still held the screams of her ancestors in their bark. The hanging tree always seemed to show itself to her when her life was about to change.

Was she to hang now? Would she finally join the hundreds of souls who were trapped within the earthen tomb?

A shadow shifted at the trunk, the shape of a man forming but not stepping out so she might see him.

“Who are you?” she called out. “Show yourself.”

“I’d rather not.” The voice was gravelly, harsh, as if the man hadn’t spoken in a very long time. Perhaps it was one of the sluagh, an ancient that hadn’t stayed with the others. Or worse, yet another creature who had hidden themselves deep in Underhill and now wanted her help.

She stood and winced when her muscles seized. The portal travel hadn’t been comfortable this time, though the magic had felt far kinder than others. “Where are we?”

“We’re still in Underhill.”

She looked around at the gray landscape, the sparse dead trees surrounding them, the brambles far in the distance. “I’ve never seen such a place in Underhill.”

“It’s a very big kingdom.”

Something in her mind slid into place at the words. “Show yourself to me.”

The shadow sank back to the tree. “No, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” She stepped closer, squinting her eyes to try to make out his features. “Step forward, faerie. You saved my life, and I would like to know who my rescuer is.”

“Aisling,” the voice sighed. “Are you sure about this?” When she didn’t respond, the man stepped out of the shadows and let a spear of light show his face.

His high brow was smooth and blemish free. A hawk-like nose gave him an aristocratic look, while his full lips jutted forward in a pout. Dark hair fell to his shoulders, curling at his ears where gray hair dusted the locks. His square jaw and long neck were not that of a warrior or a farmer, but an artist.

Or perhaps, a witch.

Her breath caught in her throat, ragged and aching. Pressing a hand against her chest, she stumbled a few steps forward then paused. “Lorcan?” she asked. “Is it really you?”

The cat turned man lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I didn’t think it would really work. Now that it did, I’ve changed my mind. Being human is much worse than being a cat.”

“You-you—” She waved her hands up and down, gesturing at his body. “You look older.”

“I am older.”

“I don’t remember your nose being that big.”

He frowned and touched a hand to his face. “I suppose not. They say that keeps growing as you age.”

Aisling let out a sob, then pressed her hands to her face. Muffled words poured between her fingers. “I don’t know what you did, or what deal you made. I’m so glad you’re here.”

The tension in his shoulders eased, and for a moment, she saw the man she remembered. Not the cat at all.

Begrudgingly, he lifted his arms. “Come here, Aisling. Let me hold you for once, take back a little bit of masculinity now that you don’t have to pick me up.”

She laughed through the tears that fell from her eyes and raced toward him. He lifted her up so she could press her face against his throat to let out years of frustration and sadness. She’d felt so alone for such a long time, and yet he’d always been there with her.

Her familiar no longer, Lorcan had finally joined her and become a man again.

“Why now?” she whispered against him. “Why now, after all this time?”

He shook his head. “You needed me. And there’s far more at work here than just an Unseelie trying to capture another throne after being forced to give up his.”

“Darcy?” She pulled back to meet Lorcan’s gaze. “I don’t think he’s really something to worry about. He’s all show, but he won’t hurt anyone. Not if I can help it.”

“He wasn’t lying when he told you about Carman,” Lorcan replied. He set her down and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You’re in grave danger, Aisling. That woman is directly tied to you, and you aren’t just a witch. You’re a changeling, with so much more magic in you than any human could hope to have. She’s coming after you.”

Aisling shook her head. “No, it’s not possible. She’s dead or imprisoned.”

“That doesn’t mean she can’t reach you. Witches are far more capable than that.” He stepped back and gestured to the tree. “I’ve been talking to them, and they’re all worried about what this change is going to bring.”

“Change?”

“Carman is awake, Aisling. She’s sensed you, talked to you, and she wants to take back her crown as queen of witches, mother of darkness, all that is evil in this world. And she’s going to try and use you to do it.”

Aisling stumbled back, staring up into the branches of the hanging tree. “I won’t let her.”

“I don’t think you have a choice.”

She gazed into the small fire Lorcan had started. Shapes formed in the depths of the flames. Faeries dancing to the beat of a drum she thought might be her heartbeat. Aisling couldn’t really tell, her mind whirling too much.

“Why can’t I go back to the castle?” she asked for the fifth time. “Bran could help. He’s the Raven King. Of all people in Underhill, he’s the one who can actually make something happen. He owns Underhill.”

“And you are the Raven Queen, yet Carman can still use you without any problem.” Lorcan looked up from where he lay on the ground. “Do you really want to risk her getting claws sunk into Bran as well?”

He had a point. If the witch queen could control Aisling, she didn’t want to know what kind of hold the creature had over Bran.

“Can we at least send him a message? He probably thinks Darcy managed to steal me away or that I’m dead.” Aisling ran her hands over her arms, trying to warm her chilled flesh. “I don’t want him to worry.”

“I know, you love him, blah blah blah.” Lorcan rolled over onto his side and met her gaze across the fire. “You have to stop worrying about him so much. He’s a grown man.”

“A very powerful Unseelie who can control the sluagh like an army,” she corrected. “He’s not very good at controlling that power either. He uses me to help ease the burden of all the previous Raven Kings who want him to do very evil things.”

“Then let him. It’s in his nature.”

“We aren’t evil because we’re Unseelie or Seelie fae. It doesn’t work like that.”

Lorcan rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I’m not saying that his species makes him naturally inclined toward evil. I’m saying he leans toward evil. Bran’s a bad man who wants to do a little good in his life here and there to balance it out. You can’t force him to be good simply because you think your morals are right. Let him be who he is supposed to be.”

“He’ll kill them,” she whispered. Needing a distraction, she picked up a stick and poked the fire. “The changelings, I mean.”

“Do you really think he would? You left him alone with the Wild Hunt, and look at what showed up? Hundreds of them.”

“Because I asked.”

“You don’t give him enough credit,” Lorcan replied. “He would have done that without you is my guess. He sees them as people, too, where most faeries just see them as property. Bran’s never been like the rest of his family, which is why they have such a hard time understanding him.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” she murmured.

He’d done so much for her, and still she thought of him as “unseelie” before she thought of him as Bran. Old habits died hard, she supposed. Aisling worried that if she wasn’t at his side, he would walk in the footsteps of all those who had gone before him.

The Raven King was not a good man. He wasn’t even a kind man, if the rumors and legends were true. He wielded the sluagh like a blade, made their lives horrible because that was what he was supposed to do.

Bran wasn’t like that. He softened when he saw the sluagh. He told them stories while she wasn’t there, built their confidence and helped them stand on their own two feet. These were the reasons why she adored him so much.

And still, she judged him for something he couldn’t change.

She slapped her hands to her thighs and stood. “That’s it, I’m telling him.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“I listened to your reasoning, and I don’t agree with it. I’m telling him where we are and asking him to let us handle it.”

“As if he’ll do that!” The fire spat, red light reflecting in the depths of Lorcan’s eyes. “You know he’ll be here in an instant if he knows our plan.”

“We don’t have a plan.” She lifted her hands, a spell already dancing at her fingertips. “And Bran specializes in not having plans.”

Lorcan lifted his own hands. “Have it your way.” Before she could whisper her own spell, he blurted out, “Magic burn and magic bite, take her tongue with all my might.”

A burning pain sliced through her mouth. Eyes wide, she lifted a hand to touch her mouth where a thin trail of blood leaked out. The sudden absence of a large piece of flesh made her gasp out a breath. Bubbles blew through the liquid sticking to her teeth.

Aisling curled her fingers into fists.

He didn’t even look at her. Instead, he stared up at the night sky and held up his hand. Slippery and glistening, her tongue gleamed in the firelight. “You won’t get it back until you agree with me.”

She wanted to shout at him that he’d crossed the wrong woman. That she would destroy him with a single thought, with all the power of the Raven Queen flowing through her.

Even more concerning was his knowledge of this magic. He hadn’t done this before he was a cat.

Or had he?

Snarling, she wiped away the blood and drool on her chin before reluctantly nodding and gesturing with her hand.

“You sure?” he asked.

Again, she nodded.

Her tongue disappeared from his hand, and her mouth filled with flesh once more.

She gasped out a breath and touched her tongue tentatively to the roof of her mouth. “I will skin you alive if you ever do that again.”

Lorcan snorted. “Can we talk about Carman now? I know you don’t want to think about it, but I did spend an entire week with the hanging tree to garner some information.”

The acidic taste of a grudge burned her throat. She didn’t want to talk about Carman. She wanted to launch herself across the fire and wring his neck. Stealing her tongue? When had he learned how to do that?

He was right. Carman was a larger issue than him not wanting Bran to know where they were. She’d get to the bottom of that soon enough. For now, they needed to figure out where the true danger was.

“She wants to use me.” Aisling flinched. “What exactly does that entail?”

“Likely possession, although I don’t know how she would get past your wards.”

Aisling looked down at her fingers. The black tips that she’d once thought of as chains now reminded her she was more protected than she had originally thought. “Ah yes, these.” She lifted her hands and wiggled her fingers. “Care to explain how you got yourself a matching set?”

He shrugged. “Some of the other witches thought it might be nice to support you.”

“Lorcan.”

“And it was a good idea to carry the same spell in case Carman tried to use me to get to you.” He rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated breath. “We don’t even know if it’s going to work. Only that Badb gave you these to keep you hidden from faeries, so maybe it’ll work on the witch queen.”

“That might be wishful thinking,” she replied. Could something that had hid her face from faeries really do anything against a witch? “You were able to see my face without any issues. I’m not sure this spell really works like that.”

“At the very least, we put a little extra into it.” Lorcan rolled to his feet, strode to her side, then crouched next to her and held out his hands. “Take a look.”

She grasped his fingertips and turned them toward the fire. On the inside edges was a fine webbing laced in white ink. It looked familiar in a way, like a prayer rather than a spell.

“What is it?” she asked.

“An old protection spell, used by the very first of our kind. Blood magic.”

She shuddered in disgust. “I’m not interested in adding it to mine.”

“You don’t have a choice. I’m doing it if it helps keep you out of that witch’s clutches.”

“No, Lorcan. I don’t meddle with blood magic.”

“Too many people are afraid to use a power they consider to be stronger than any other. Blood magic will save your life, because it is your life. Now give me your hands.”

He’d have to tie her down and cast his spell quickly with the mood she was in. Aisling crossed her arms firmly over her chest and shook her head. “No, Lorcan. You don’t know if it will even help. You’ve already taken my tongue tonight. Push me again, and I will prove how powerful I can be.”

Lorcan lifted his hands and stepped back. “If you don’t want the added protection, I won’t force it. It’s a foolish choice, Aisling.”

She shook her head and didn’t respond.

He didn’t get to decide what was smart and what wasn’t. Blood magic terrified her, always had. She didn’t want to cast a spell that tied her lifeforce directly into its function. What kind of fool did that? If the spell failed, it would drain not just her magic or energy from the world around her, but directly from what kept her alive.

No, she would never use blood magic.

Huffing out an angry breath, she cracked the stick in her hands. Splinters dug into her palms. “So what does the hanging tree think we should do? All those centuries of spirits, and the best they can come up with is blood magic?”

“Not quite.”

“Spit it out.”

Lorcan eased back onto his haunches. The fire reflected banners of red light in his eyes, but she saw far more than that. She saw the collective experience of her ancestors. Of women and men who had swung by a rope around their throat, of so much pain that it bubbled over into the souls that were reborn. The souls that would follow in their footsteps.

He reached out and touched a hand to her knee. “We have to kill her, Aisling. Remove her from this world as the Tuatha de Danann should have done long ago.”

“They must have had a reason to leave her alive.”

“Maybe they did. Maybe they just didn’t know how to kill a witch for good. Maybe they wanted to see what would happen if they left her here. We all know how much the faeries like to play. Regardless of their intention, it’s our role now to save them. To save everyone from this witch.”

“You want to kill the mother of all witches?” She shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

“There are a few here who remember the old days. We’ll visit them first, and they’ll tell us exactly what we have to do.”

“Who? Who knows anything about Carman?”

“The banríon bean sidhe.”

Aisling shook her head. “The Banshee queen is impossible to find. We don’t even know if she still exists in Underhill.”

“That’s because no Raven King or Queen has ever searched for her.” Lorcan squeezed her knee. “Do this with me, Aisling. Trust me on this.”

He’d never done her wrong before. Aisling gave him a nod and watched as he made his way to the other side of the fire once more. He laid down and shut his eyes, leaving her to dark thoughts that swelled like the crest of a wave.

Aisling shivered as a cold wind crept over her arms, and she swore the wail of a hundred raven queens wavered in the air. It was almost as though they were telling her to turn back now.