Time stood frozen for the humans who had ventured into the realm of the Fae.
The angry one said we do not matter! Kill him…kill him!
Harsh whispers filled the dimly lit cavern, and writhing forms circled around Bradan and the rest of the warriors who stood still as statues. However, introductions had been made, bargains had been set, debts had been spoken and deals had been met. The humans would be returned to their time and place and in good health. But before the druid and the rest could take their wounded and depart…
“I know, my daughter.”
Lord Herne, the lord of the goblins, and his daughter Eolande stood before Meadhbh, both focused on the swollen roundness of her torso. Her belly was split open, a gruesome gift from the blade of King Diwarnach, and she was pale from the loss of blood.
Eolande turned to her father. “The druid did not introduce them. They will die?”
The whispers began again. Pity. The mother will live. The children will die. Pity…pity…
Lord Herne raised a hand for silence. “These two children…they are fae-touched. The spirit of the wolf runs through their veins. I am inclined to intervene.”
Eolande frowned, “It’s not fair. She has special wolf-children, and I do not.”
Her father gave her an amused look as Eolande’s frown turned into a pout.
“I want one.”
Lord Herne touched his forefinger to the bottom of Eolande’s chin and lifted it slightly. “I never could refuse you when you pout thus, my daughter. Which one shall it be?”
Eolande narrowed her eyes at the prone red-haired woman. “The boy.”