“Stand back, lads,” Kellen said. “Let her breathe.”

And yet, they pressed forward. I could feel them, shadows in a dark world, hoping for something bright. I wanted to say something to cheer them as they had cheered me, but I was lost to a nether world.

Kellen’s Leanan Sidhe poison was stronger than I first thought. It surged through me in waves, each one more brutal than the last.

My boys whimpered and licked my face, crying for me to wake up. One of them grabbed my left hand in his teeth and pulled, trying to force me back onto my feet.

“‘Tis the Nightshade Blood,” Kellen said. He carefully brushed my wolf cubs aside. “Back, little ones.” Then he snapped off the arrow shaft that still plunged through my shoulder. “She must have a drop or two of Leanan Sidhe in her veins. Many of the Fair Folk do.”

“Is there not a cure?” one of the other hunters asked.

“Not here,” Kellen said as lifted me in his arms. “All of my herbs and remedies are back in my cottage.”

My children were growing frantic, leaping and grabbing onto the cape that wrapped about me.

I’d just survived an enchanted cup of wine that made me sleep for a thousand years and a battle with a dark supernatural creature.

Was this poison meant for the Leanan Sidhe going to kill me?

“Ma, are you hurt?” Benen asked, as he ran around me.

“Wake up!” Ambros said, his tone fearful.

“‘Tis my own fault,” Kellen continued, sorrow in his voice. “The poison was fashioned for the blood drinkers. Few would have survived it.”

“Take my horse,” one of the hunters said. “Ride fast! We’ll follow you.”

And all the while, my delirium built, a fever boiled from within, and Faelan’s horrible voice continued to taunt me. “Run, though you will not escape. I will find you. You and your children—”

“Promise me,” I whispered as I curled in pain, writhing in his arms.

“Anything,” Kellen answered.

“If I perish, take care of my children—”

“I vow it.”

Then I tried to speak the incantation that would turn my twins back into faeries, but my voice was gone. If I died from this poison, they would be wolves forever.

Together, we rode the horse through the forest, Kellen’s arms wrapped around me, my wolf-cub children yelping and running at our side, as if they feared they would be left behind. Did this Duine understand the words my children spoke, or did their words sound like the bark of a wolf cub?

It was possible Benen and Ambros would be treated as wild beasts throughout eternity. Now, there would be no hope of them reclaiming their kingdom or defeating the Milesians. They’d never wear golden crowns upon their heads, not while they wore white fur instead of skin.

I had failed my House.

I fell into a fretful state, nightmares as real as day taking shape and chasing after me. I imagined my boys grown, their white fur shaggy and dirty, their paws bloody from running away from Duine who hated them. I imagined Faelan sending one army after another across the Muir Éireann, each one more evil than the one before, all of them seeking to destroy the remnants of my House. I imagined Greagoir rising from the dead to come after me, demanding that I return his heart.

Night shadows filled the glen. The trees towered and thickened around us until we no longer ran on a woodland path.

In my mind, we were flying over the treetops.

I imagined that all four of us were black ravens, flying through a blinding snowstorm, all while being chased by a golden eagle with a wingspan as wide as a castle.

In all my battles—even when I fought beside my husband Fethur during the Milesian Invasion—I had never been so afraid of death as I was now.

We ran and we flew, all night long, until we reached a small cottage, nestled in an oak grove beside a clear mountain stream. I lifted my head, glad our journey was over, and I expected to see Kellen’s wife greet us at the door. Surely, she’d have a babe on her hip, another three or four asleep in their beds.

But the door swung open and only a little girl stood there, a sleepy grin on her face. She looked about ten years old. There was no woman here. But there had been once—I saw her in the fine dishes and the handmade lace curtains. Dust and cobwebs covered her finery.

She’d been here.

But she was gone now.

Like my own husband, she was probably dust in the wind.