When she awoke, Bee realised she had slept soundly for the first time since Dagda dragged her out of her hides. A heavy fog shrouded their camp, but she could see the rebel bent over the fire as a silhouette in the gloom. Sparks exploding free from the shroud told her the rebel was stoking life back into the embers. She walked off into the shadows to find some privacy, listening to the sound of the others stirring. When she returned, they were sitting around the flames, waiting for the food Ruirech was cooking.

  “Good morning, My Daughter,” Rhiannon said. “Are you ready?”

  “I am.”

  “Be warned, Bechuille. It will not be easy. They will try to tempt you away from me. You must remain stalwart. Know that they will use anything to turn you.”

  Bee nodded but said nothing. She was already unsure who to believe, so thought it wouldn’t take much to convince her either one way or the other. Foremost on her mind as she sat eating oats was the cruelty shown by the Maidens when they forced the demon horde through the gaping maw. She remembered the green demon dancing like a bear as they subdued it, and the nonchalant way a warrior cut its throat with her dagger after it fell defenceless. Perhaps the most poignant part of the memory was four Maidens dragging the corpse off the road and dumping it on the scorched grass, without so much as an afterthought.

  Do I want to stay part of that?

  As soon as they finished eating, the group prepared to leave.

  “This will make it easier for you,” Dorn said as he tied the druid onto the back of a horse. As the dragon flies, it was twenty leagues to the horse dung fortress. Bee didn’t doubt the rebel knew the back ways through the forest, so suspected he could reach Whitehead within two or three days.

  “If he does not awaken, you can leave him up there,” Dorn continued, testing that the knots were secure. The rebel nodded, saying nothing, watching Bee from the corner of an eye. “I will look for you there when this is over.”

  “Can I not come with you to the Arena?” the rebel pleaded.

  Patting him on the shoulder, Dorn said, “That demons’ hole is no place for humans, Ruirech. Besides, who will look after the mad druid?”

  The rebel kept his distance from Bee until she was ready to mount. “I wish you’d tell me what I did to hurt you,” he said, grabbing her so she was unable to swing into the saddle.

  Turning on him, Bee hissed, “Listen, bundún, ye can’t hurt me, ye don’t have the power. Remember what I told ye; we were using each other to kick solitude in the magairlí, nothing else. Now, get off and go tend to yer mad druid. He, at least, is someone who needs ye.”

  Ruirech dropped her arm and stood watching as she mounted. He kept watching until they were all in their saddles and on the way. Riding out of the marching camp, Bee didn’t look back. Looking back was for fools.

  ***

  The sun was already behind the Western Wall when they arrived at the top of the rise above the Bull’s Head. By unspoken agreement, they drew rein and gazed down at the entrance to the Arena that held the portal to Tech Duinn. Each of them was locked in their thoughts for several moments before Rhiannon egged them on, and they rode down the slope.

  Bee searched for the bones of the green demon as they made for the rock, but there was no sign of them. She supposed that in three hundred summers whatever remains there were would have been consumed by the plains. In the end, their doom was the same. Whether demon or Fae, Fomor or human, all returned to the earth. It was a sobering thought as she drew rein before the rock and dismounted.

  Bee had never been under the rock and was surprised when they entered the tunnel. She had expected a gloomy place, only half believing the rebel’s description when he recounted Myrddin’s memories, but the story was accurate. The wide tunnel was well lit with a set of stone stairs leading to the carved arches below. She walked behind Rhiannon and Dorn, not through fear but because they’d forced her behind them, like parents who were protective of their child in a crowded space. Luchta came behind Bee, as though protecting her from a rear attack.

  Covered on all sides, she thought with a smirk.

  Again, when they entered the arena, it was precisely as Myrddin’s memories had described—the same emptiness and gloom, the same pentagram carved into the floor, the same arches. And as the memories had described, Archu was floating in one of the doorways, a gossamer apparition of himself.

  “Have you come to die in my domain?” the demon hissed at them.

  Bee stepped out from behind her mother and The Smith and said, “I drove ye away only yesterday, Demon. Begone.”

  There was no force in the words. She didn’t need to draw draíocht. She didn’t need to do anything. Archu fled with a plaintive howl, somehow aware that it had met its better with Dagda’s High Priestess. Bee didn’t doubt that if the inner circle’s other three had been there, the outcome would have been different, but they weren’t, which she thought surprising.

  That was too easy, she said to herself. “So, what now?” she asked.

  Before Rhiannon, Luchta, or Dorn could answer, a slow clapping from the arch opposite to where Archu disappeared caused a lump in Bee’s throat. It was the clapping of one who was sure they would prevail, despite a minor setback. Clapping that said, Oh, well done. Well done, but now it is my turn.

  When she turned towards the sound, Bee had expected to see Marbh standing there. However, it was Dorn’s brother. She noted again his long, spindly fingers as the God brought his palms together in the slow, taunting clap.

  “Come, Boy,” Credne said, as he dragged Bren through the archway.

  “He’s not a boy,” Bee said. “Although he acts like one.”

  “Good to see you too, Little Sister,” Brenos said, sneering at her.

  “Where is Morrigan?” Rhiannon asked.

  “Morrigan? Why would Morrigan be here?” Credne scoffed.

  “She has—” Bee started to say, but Dorn put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, so she stopped.

  “What are you doing with them, Bee?” Bren asked. “You know they ordered two of Neit’s Maidens to kill me before I could reach Breshlech.”

  “No. No. That’s not right, so. Dagda sent me to bring ye back—”

  “And Danu ordered two Maidens to kill me. Kill me before I reached the tower, whatever the cost.”

  “How d’ye know this?” Bee asked, aware that the Gods standing behind her were not denying what her brother was saying. It also meant Whitehead lied to her, probably trying to claim undeserved credit, and her outrage at the Maidens’ death was nothing if not incredible.

  “Finn told me in the Boiled Cock. Credne sent him to warn me to move.”

  “Ye told me ye weren’t in the hostel.”

  “Sorry, Little Sister, I lied.”

  “Are you beginning to see how you’ve been used?” Credne asked, tilting his head. Bee remembered Dorn trying a sympathetic look to sway her. It was evidently a family trait.

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  “Dorn could have killed him in Breshlech, or any time after,” Bee said. Dorn was telling the truth in that pretty little clearing after bashing Finn’s brains into pulp. But was that enough? Did it excuse all the other lies?

  “Only things had changed. Brenos was free, and it was no longer necessary. Tell her, Goibniu. Tell the High Priestess how she has been a fidchell stone in your games from the outset.”

  “I cannot influence Bechuille’s decision, Worm. She must make her own choice; otherwise, she will grow to believe we manipulated her.”

  Bee heard the words and wondered at them. It was as if Dorn was washing his hands of her, of them, of the issue. That Rhiannon remained silent was also an ominous sign.

  How much of a part did you play, Mother? Bee’s mind hissed.

  “Why are you here, Credne?” Luchta asked.

  In answer, the Silversmith produced a dagger and a compass as if from nowhere. Bee drew in a ragged breath, even though she’d been sure the point of their being in the demons’ domain was to send her father the tools he needed to escape. And now she thought about it with a clear head, the tools that meant he would never be imprisoned again. The arena might have protections to prevent the use of such implements, but Tech Duinn was far too vast for any such wards to be effective.

  Is the end of this cycle warranted?

  “Those are mine,” Luchta said.

  “Oh, how can you be sure?” Dorn asked.

  “I made my handle slightly different to yours.”

  “Ah, brother,” Credne said with a laugh. “You did not think I would send mine to Dhuosnos, did you?”

  Bee opened her mouth in surprise at the revelation his words brought. It had been Credne who broke in and stole the artefacts. It had been the worm, as the other brothers called him, orchestrating everything in the Kingdoms, trying to blame it on Morrigan. Danu’s Three were excellent at disguise, and Bee had no doubt that the naked Goddess she saw had been him. He’d followed her and Ruirech from Breshlech, after all. She’d sensed his presence and remembered constantly looking over her shoulder. It had been Credne who sent the crows, probably to drive Bren into believing flight was his only option. She remembered her brother’s words on the bluff overlooking the Narrow Sea. He claimed if they didn’t go to her, she would kill them. At the time, Bee thought he meant Rhiannon, but he must have meant Morrigan, and it had been Credne.

  “Why all the games?” she wondered aloud.

  “Have you not yet worked it out, High Priestess?” Credne scoffed. “I thought you were supposed to be intelligent.”

  “I’m not the one who’s been chasing me tail all over the Kingdoms, Worm.”

  “Do you think not, Bechuille? What have you been doing, then? Running around like the She Dog’s puppy, doing what she and the others want of you. Dagda, Danu, those two, who I am forced to admit are related to me. What?”

  “What d’ye want from me?” she cried.

  “Not just you, Bechuille. Both of you.” Bee turned to her brother, wondering what the God could mean. Brenos was grinning at her with his head tilted. At that moment, she wanted to use her newfound power to reduce the bundún to ash. “Did the She Dog tell you who your father is? Did she not tell you of the power you have, the pair of you together?”

  Suddenly, Bee realised where the worm was leading with his questions, his insinuations. She remembered telling Finn that moving the physical from one place to another wouldn’t be possible. That drawing the power necessary would kill her. Now, as she stood in the arena gazing at The Silversmith, she knew she’d been wrong, at least in a way. She didn’t need to draw the power because she had it in her, there where her parents had placed it when she was a newly fertilised egg. Joining with Bren, she had even more of it.

  “Ye want us to send the dagger and the compass to Tech Duinn?”

  “Oh, more than that, Bechuille. I want to present them to the Lord of Darkness. I want to have the adulation of the new ruler of the Fae Realm. I want to be part of the new order. Together, you and Brenos can send me to Tech Duinn. Go and stand with your sister,” he said to Bren.

  “Tell me why I’d do that,” she said, as her brother arrived beside her.

  “As I have said, those you think are your allies, your friends, have been betraying you. They have manipulated you and treated you—both of you—like fools. You should do it, Bechuille, because you, too, can be integral to the new order. Besides, if you do not do it, you will die here today.”

  Credne clicked his fingers.

  An iciness forced the breath from her lungs, and Bee looked around at the archways. Archu had returned, grinning. When he caught her eye, he winked, and she knew his fleeing when they arrived had been a ruse.

  I’d wager my exorcising the druid was a ruse, too. Everything designed to get us here.

  The others were there, Marbh in all her beauty, the naked apparition she’d seen on the plains, explaining the evil she’d felt; Plasgorta, as close to a physical representation of the plague it could get and still be moving: green skin sloughing off a skeletal frame; Concaire, the sophisticated demon of conquest. The inner circle, her father’s closest vassals, those created by him, as she and Bren had been.

  But how did the Demon of Death leave the Arena? As Bee thought the question, Marbh floated from her archway and settled over the Silversmith like a tightly fitting glove. The God and the demon merged, at first both were visible like two ghosts occupying the same space. Slowly, the demon’s form took on more solidity, and she was standing where Credne had been only moments before, her arms open in greeting, one hand still holding the dagger and the compass, the tools of their salvation. At some time, Credne had entered the Arena and been possessed by Marbh. It had been the demon orchestrating it all. Archu and the dead army had been a distraction, probably designed to get Bren and Bee together, only Dorn and Luchta were there to free them.

  Marbh was in Credne at Sliabh Cuilinn, waiting for me. I was supposed to go there, but the death of the Maidens and Dorn diverted me.

  “You, My Sister, must remember your duty,” the demon said.

  We’re sisters, Bee realised. And there it was. Put plainly, she suddenly saw the truth of it. Dhuosnos had created them all. Bren, the demons, and Bee. That was the connection she’d felt the night before Caisel. They were kin, of the same clan.

  My brothers and sister. My family. Our family.

  Which immediately raised another question. Did she want to die here in the gloom, or be part of the new order? The question was an easy one to answer. The Lord of Darkness and his vassals had also been mistreated by those she had considered her friends.

  Bee grabbed Bren’s wrist, feeling the same pulsing surge as the previous times. She could hear shouting, screaming, chaos, as well as Marbh’s cackling laugh. Her mother bellowed a plaintive, seemingly never-ending “Noooo,” and Bee’s heart leapt into her gullet. Everything happened in two or three heartbeats; from the time she succumbed to the worm’s cajolement to the flash of movement she saw from the corner of her eye. As the red beam of power surged up Bren’s arm, the surge that would move the demon possessed Credne and the tools into Tech Duinn, Dorn took his brother by surprise, knocking the dagger and compass from his hands. When the power struck, Marbh opened her mouth to scream, but vanished before she had the chance. Silence fell, broken by the rattling as the dagger hit the stones. The remaining gossamer demons vanished, and those remaining gazed at each other, as if not believing that it was truly over.

  But it wasn’t over.

  A booming noise began echoing through the Arena. It sounded like a monstrous giant running on an empty metal barrel. Boom, boom. Boom, boom. Boom, boom. With each pair of booms the sound became louder. With each boom, dust cascaded from the ceiling until the gloom was nigh impenetrable, and they were all coughing. And then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Bee looked around at those now covered in a thin film of dust to see if any had a notion about what had caused the noise. None did. When she turned back, a massive gossamer head without a body was hovering over the pentagram, drawing in the remaining dust, as if the specks were part of his being.

  Bee shuddered.

  Hello, Father, she said to herself, before shuddering again.

  She remembered her mother telling her of the God’s charm, his good looks, and how she’d been unable to resist him. As the ghostly giant head hung there over the grooves in the arena floor, she could believe it. Even though Dhuosnos was transparent, she saw the looks that would attract most women. However, when the síabair opened its mouth to speak, she felt the venom of her father’s pure evil flooding out with the words.

  “You have failed me, My Children. With failure comes punishment. I am powerless to cross the void and penalise you as such failure merits. However, I can withdraw what I gave.”

  Although at first the words seemed to have little meaning, when the head vanished and the chamber filled with a whooshing hot air, Bee felt an awful premonition. Brenos stood and turned to regard her, his expression one of confusion, before a maelstrom of dust swirled around them, like they were caught in the vortex of a massive plain’s storm. She felt the dust stinging her wherever her flesh was exposed. Whipping, lashing, bringing to mind the stinging, flaming Ban Sidhe whips at the end of each Scourge. The whirlwind became so fast that she had difficulty breathing. Faster. Ever faster. It was sucking her core out through her open mouth. Try as she might, she was unable to close it. Eventually, Bee fell to her knees and put her hands over her ears, closing her eyes. She heard a scream. Lifting her eyelids, exposing the vulnerable flesh to lashing dust, she saw Brenos, his mouth also wide, venting his pain and anguish.

  “Noooooo!”

  And then, as quickly as it had arrived, the maelstrom was gone. Bee felt dizzy. She wanted to climb back to her feet, but despite her best effort, she was unable. It was as though the wind had stripped her of energy. But not only of her energy. Kneeling there, exhausted, she could feel something else had been torn from her.

  “He’s taken my draíocht,” she wailed, falling face-first into the arena’s dust.

  Rhiannon knelt beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to console her daughter. “You still have the power I gave you,” she said.

  “No. He’s taken it all. Don’t ask how, but I’ve no power. What use is a High Priestess without power?”

  “Yes, Little Sister,” Bren whined. “Mine too. And it’s all your fault.”