♥ Dream - Dark Secrets
♥ Warning: Spoilers for Radiant Shadows by Melissa Marr
"You betrayed me," Bananach charged Devlin, looking towards her brother with pain and betrayal. Irial could taste both, experiencing the bittersweet flavors that hinted of a tender side of War unknown to the Dark Court. She was a constant source of pain, destruction, violence, and threat, not a source of love. To credit that she loved anyone, even her own blood, was something hard to reconcile. And yet the truth was there, undeniable in her dark emotions as Irial experienced them along with her.
"You took her, hid her. Why?" Bananach continued, her emotion burning across her face now, evident to anyone in the room who stood watching her with trepidation, taunt and ready for her to spring. It seemed eminent now, that her emotion would find its outlet, that her pain would demand a sacrifice.
"You were my own," she spoke to Devlin, her eyes flashing. "Our child." And then she lunged at Ani, finding her outlet. As much as the Hound was growing in strength, as much as she deeply wanted her revenge against War, she would be no match for Bananach. For centuries, War had tried to unseat Irial, and even now wanted Niall's life. But Ani's, she would take with relative ease, fiercely determined as she drove her twin knives home.
But Irial could not stand by and watch one of his own taken by the unstable faery. Ani would not pay the price for War's pain. She had only herself to blame for the betrayal. Her nature did not inspire love or tenderness, nor even loyalty from her own blood, for surely Bananach would destroy anyone in her path given the first chance.
Irial moved quickly in her path now, blocking the downward course of her weapons, shoving Ani aside. Bananach's strong hands met with the resistance of his flesh and continued their fierce arch, driving them as deep as they would go into his abdomen.
Irial's eyelids fluttered once at the searing pain of the blow, taking all of the weight of the other faery as she forced it upon him. The blades burned from within, tearing muscle and flesh, blood welling up towards the ragged wounds. He felt a wash of dizziness, but willed himself to remain in position, not to submit to the pull of gravity or the weakness that rose up like a tidal wave, threatening to crush him.
He must be strong. He would be strong. He could sense Niall as he moved reflexively towards him. He heard Ani scream in horror. Devlin's intervention relieved Irial of some of the pressure by removing Bananach and leaving only the presence of the blades, which stood out so white and solid against the blur of his pale, blood-streaked abdomen, his shirt ruined and immaterial around them.
It was done.
Irial could feel the fight leave his body, his careful control dissipating as the immediate threat was diffused. He felt back into Niall's waiting arms. The ground rose up to meet him. His eyes lifted to the ceiling, to the shadows in the air, and then the familiar sight of Niall's face. He looked so beautiful in his pain, his eyes dark and soft and shining.
"Iri..."
"Hush," he heard himself murmur. Now was not the time for regrets or soft words of comfort. Irial did not require these things. A king always places the needs of his Court before his, would sacrifice his own health and happiness to save one of his own. So Irial had done, and were it his last act in this world, he would retain his pride in the face of his enemy and maintain a brave face for those he had affection for, those who still remained in the same room, containing War and anticipating the fight to come.
Irial lowered one of his shaking hands, gritting his teeth before removing the first of the blades. The pain rose up, sharper than before, tearing the first wound wider in order to remove the knife and discard it from his body. The blood flowed freely now. Though he pushed his lips together, a small grunt of pain escaped.
"Hold on for--" Niall tried to intervene, his hand rising. But Irial would not suffer another moment with Bananach's weapons buried inside his flesh. He could not undo the damage, but he would not wear the weapons of War and allow her the pleasure of the sight of them, still lodged in his stomach. He was not squeamish about the pain. It was looking into Niall's face that would have given him pause, and so he focused instead on the second blade.
But he removed only the bloodied hilt. The rest had disappeared inside him, tainted metal losing its solidity, becoming part of his blood, the poison unleashed within his body.
Ah. Of course. Irial closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing the finality of the gesture, able to admire the perfection of the maneuver even as he resigned himself to the cost. Bananach had meant her blades to deal the final blow. She would have taken Ani's life in one lunge. Instead, Irial had moved between them, and swallowed her left-handed blade and the poison it packed.
The nausea and the burning of pain were overpowering. Irial found himself speaking words that were only half-recognizable, barely able to rise above his own discomfort. Niall's face and Ani's moved in and out of his vision. He heard himself ask Ani and Devlin to get themselves to safety, trying to calm Niall. He must hold on a little longer, to lend strength where he could to those who needed it around him.
And it was working. He could taste Niall's rage, his pain, his loss. He stood glorious, the Dark King surrounded by shadow warriors, facing off against War.
"Twice now you've struck what is mine. The girl Tish was mine to keep safe. Irial is mine."
"Was," Bananach replied, her words sharp and cold. "He'll not survive the fortnight. He knows it."
[Irial's eyes opened in the darkness of the bedroom, his face in a cold sweat. The window was open, as he'd left it, the breeze trying to comfort him. The shadows in the room reached out, whispering to the troubled faery.
[Unable to move without experiencing some measure of pain, Irial simply turned his cheek to the left, glancing at the recording Dreamberry. And he stared at it, as if to ask if it was satisfied]
"You betrayed me," Bananach charged Devlin, looking towards her brother with pain and betrayal. Irial could taste both, experiencing the bittersweet flavors that hinted of a tender side of War unknown to the Dark Court. She was a constant source of pain, destruction, violence, and threat, not a source of love. To credit that she loved anyone, even her own blood, was something hard to reconcile. And yet the truth was there, undeniable in her dark emotions as Irial experienced them along with her.
"You took her, hid her. Why?" Bananach continued, her emotion burning across her face now, evident to anyone in the room who stood watching her with trepidation, taunt and ready for her to spring. It seemed eminent now, that her emotion would find its outlet, that her pain would demand a sacrifice.
"You were my own," she spoke to Devlin, her eyes flashing. "Our child." And then she lunged at Ani, finding her outlet. As much as the Hound was growing in strength, as much as she deeply wanted her revenge against War, she would be no match for Bananach. For centuries, War had tried to unseat Irial, and even now wanted Niall's life. But Ani's, she would take with relative ease, fiercely determined as she drove her twin knives home.
But Irial could not stand by and watch one of his own taken by the unstable faery. Ani would not pay the price for War's pain. She had only herself to blame for the betrayal. Her nature did not inspire love or tenderness, nor even loyalty from her own blood, for surely Bananach would destroy anyone in her path given the first chance.
Irial moved quickly in her path now, blocking the downward course of her weapons, shoving Ani aside. Bananach's strong hands met with the resistance of his flesh and continued their fierce arch, driving them as deep as they would go into his abdomen.
Irial's eyelids fluttered once at the searing pain of the blow, taking all of the weight of the other faery as she forced it upon him. The blades burned from within, tearing muscle and flesh, blood welling up towards the ragged wounds. He felt a wash of dizziness, but willed himself to remain in position, not to submit to the pull of gravity or the weakness that rose up like a tidal wave, threatening to crush him.
He must be strong. He would be strong. He could sense Niall as he moved reflexively towards him. He heard Ani scream in horror. Devlin's intervention relieved Irial of some of the pressure by removing Bananach and leaving only the presence of the blades, which stood out so white and solid against the blur of his pale, blood-streaked abdomen, his shirt ruined and immaterial around them.
It was done.
Irial could feel the fight leave his body, his careful control dissipating as the immediate threat was diffused. He felt back into Niall's waiting arms. The ground rose up to meet him. His eyes lifted to the ceiling, to the shadows in the air, and then the familiar sight of Niall's face. He looked so beautiful in his pain, his eyes dark and soft and shining.
"Iri..."
"Hush," he heard himself murmur. Now was not the time for regrets or soft words of comfort. Irial did not require these things. A king always places the needs of his Court before his, would sacrifice his own health and happiness to save one of his own. So Irial had done, and were it his last act in this world, he would retain his pride in the face of his enemy and maintain a brave face for those he had affection for, those who still remained in the same room, containing War and anticipating the fight to come.
Irial lowered one of his shaking hands, gritting his teeth before removing the first of the blades. The pain rose up, sharper than before, tearing the first wound wider in order to remove the knife and discard it from his body. The blood flowed freely now. Though he pushed his lips together, a small grunt of pain escaped.
"Hold on for--" Niall tried to intervene, his hand rising. But Irial would not suffer another moment with Bananach's weapons buried inside his flesh. He could not undo the damage, but he would not wear the weapons of War and allow her the pleasure of the sight of them, still lodged in his stomach. He was not squeamish about the pain. It was looking into Niall's face that would have given him pause, and so he focused instead on the second blade.
But he removed only the bloodied hilt. The rest had disappeared inside him, tainted metal losing its solidity, becoming part of his blood, the poison unleashed within his body.
Ah. Of course. Irial closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing the finality of the gesture, able to admire the perfection of the maneuver even as he resigned himself to the cost. Bananach had meant her blades to deal the final blow. She would have taken Ani's life in one lunge. Instead, Irial had moved between them, and swallowed her left-handed blade and the poison it packed.
The nausea and the burning of pain were overpowering. Irial found himself speaking words that were only half-recognizable, barely able to rise above his own discomfort. Niall's face and Ani's moved in and out of his vision. He heard himself ask Ani and Devlin to get themselves to safety, trying to calm Niall. He must hold on a little longer, to lend strength where he could to those who needed it around him.
And it was working. He could taste Niall's rage, his pain, his loss. He stood glorious, the Dark King surrounded by shadow warriors, facing off against War.
"Twice now you've struck what is mine. The girl Tish was mine to keep safe. Irial is mine."
"Was," Bananach replied, her words sharp and cold. "He'll not survive the fortnight. He knows it."
[Irial's eyes opened in the darkness of the bedroom, his face in a cold sweat. The window was open, as he'd left it, the breeze trying to comfort him. The shadows in the room reached out, whispering to the troubled faery.
[Unable to move without experiencing some measure of pain, Irial simply turned his cheek to the left, glancing at the recording Dreamberry. And he stared at it, as if to ask if it was satisfied]