Chapter 14
A ROSY DAWN filtered across the eastern sky, chasing away the shadows.
Watching it, Lara blinked. Where had the night gone?
Shit. It had happened again. She’d lost time. Her mind churned then, as she tried to recall their path north. However, she could remember nothing but their initial journey through the pines.
Dread settled on her chest then, a weighty sensation as if the margins of her world had suddenly shrunk. She’d never suffered from ill health before, apart from colds and fevers over the years. Never had she felt so … fragile. It frightened her.
Pulse fluttering in her throat, she leaned forward and stroked Bracken’s sweaty neck. Although she couldn’t remember the last while, the horse had taken care of her. Bracken had held fast during the Circines attack and then carried her north.
Glancing right then at where Bree rode next to her, Lara met her friend’s eye. “Well, we all lived to see the dawn … that’s something at least.”
Bree flashed her a weary smile. “Thanks to you.”
Cailean, who traveled to Lara’s left, made a sound in the back of his throat. “Aye … but it was a close thing though. Too close.” Behind him, Eithne’s face was pale and strained. Lara wondered if the sisters now regretted fleeing from Dulross.
Lara’s stomach tightened then. She understood why Alar had brought the women with him, yet Duana and Eithne shouldn’t be here. They were in the wilds now, but if they passed a village en route, they’d need to leave the lasses there—for their own good.
The Goatfells towered above them, casting long shadows across the hill they now climbed. The pinewood and the Circines lay far behind, yet they didn’t slow their pace. From this point on, any delay would cost them.
The Shee rode ahead of Lara and her escort, just as they had on the Slighe Fraoch.
They’d fought side by side earlier, yet now a distance yawned between the two groups once more.
The lack of trust between Shee and Marav wasn’t something that could be easily overcome.
They were still aloof with each other, still sizing each other up.
She glanced over her shoulder then, half-expecting to see horses boil over the top of the hill behind them, tattooed warriors bent low over their necks. Beathan mac Glen would be incensed when he discovered what had happened to his band.
Instead, all she saw beyond where the rest of her escort traveled was a lean figure, jogging alongside a huge wolf. Now that they were out of imminent danger, Alar no longer rode upon Skaal’s back.
“I can’t believe she offered to carry him,” Bree said quietly. “Fae hounds don’t suffer such things.”
“No.” Lara cast her gaze over Skaal. She moved in long lithe strides, her thick pelt stirring in the light breeze.
“But she and Alar share a bond.” She paused then, hesitating.
She shouldn’t be worried about sharing Alar’s secrets, for he hadn’t guarded hers—and yet, she did.
“He bears a tattoo on his chest … infused with earth magic. It draws wolf-kind to him.”
“That’s forbidden.” She looked at Cailean to find his woad-blue eyes burning with anger. “Only druids are permitted to bear such tattoos.”
“It was a former sacrificer, I believe … who inked him,” Lara replied, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. There was enough tension within their group as it was without her making things worse.
The chief-enforcer’s eyes narrowed. He then cut a glare at Alar. “That explains much,” he growled.
Lara could almost taste his resentment. Cailean’s bond with Skaal was a special one. Although now he knew why the fae hound was smitten with Alar.
Her attention traveled once more to her husband. Sweat gleamed on his cheekbones, and strands of dark hair stuck to his face. If he’d run since leaving the pinewood, he’d demonstrated considerable endurance. No doubt the earth magic helped with that, as did his Shee blood.
“The Shee are stopping,” Bree announced then. Lara turned forward once more to see that, indeed, the knot of elks and stags had slowed at the crown of the hill, their proud silhouettes outlined against the dusky morning sky.
“A Blood Dawn bodes ill,” Mor greeted Lara as she approached.
Despite that she’d battled Circines before riding all night, the Raven Queen looked irritatingly fresh.
Eagal had returned to her shoulder, and her curly black hair hung in glistening curls down her back.
Her plush black fur cloak wasn’t dirty or blood-splattered either.
Likewise, her Ravens—one fewer now—didn’t look sweaty and disheveled like Lara and her party did.
“Bad weather doesn’t bother us,” Cailean answered.
Mor cut him an irritated glance. “I wasn’t talking about the weather.” She paused then, her gaze lifting to the sky. “I was hoping we’d get a day or two of travel under our belts before the spirit world closed in … but I sense that won’t be the case.”
Misgiving fluttered through Lara, although she covered it up with a frown. “Well, we’ve survived our first trial.”
Next to Mor, Sablebane gave a derisive snort. “Flesh and blood is much easier to fight than shadows.”
Silence fell then, and Mor met Lara’s eye. However, there was wariness in her gaze, almost as if she wasn’t sure what to make of her. “You did well back there,” she murmured. “I never thought to see the day when a Marav could command corpse candles.”
“I didn’t command them,” Lara corrected her, even as her pulse skittered. Mor’s comment reminded her of the dread that now sat like a brick upon her breastbone, of the fear that everything was about to unravel. “I asked them for help … and they gave it.”
The sun warmed Alar’s face as he walked at the rear of the party.
He was the only one on foot, and so he lagged behind. Not that any of them, Shee or Marav alike, waited for him to catch up, or offered for him to ride with them.
Alar didn’t care. Mor and Lara thought they were putting him in his place by ignoring him, but he was happy enough here, journeying on foot as he’d done for years with the wulvers.
Something tugged deep in his chest then.
The wulvers.
He’d just walked out on them.
There hadn’t been any of his brothers and sisters amongst the band that attacked them the night before. Nonetheless, Lyall and Dolph would be incensed. Wounded.
He’d disappointed them. Again.
Before he’d made that alliance with Lara, he’d had to push his brothers into striving for more.
But once he had, Lyall and Dolph’s attitudes had changed.
Lyall especially had wanted Duncrag. He’d hoped Alar would turn on his wife shortly after their handfasting and stage a rebellion.
He didn’t know their commander had made Lara a promise.
It was a cruel irony. He’d betrayed her, stolen one of her most valuable forts, but it mattered to him that certain lines had never been crossed.
Lara. She couldn’t bear to even look at him now, but he hungered for the barest glimpse of her. It was foolish—and dangerous. The truth was that her proximity unsettled him, as had their argument. The cut on his neck was starting to scab, but it was a reminder of the hate she bore him.
She’d asked him to join them out of necessity and believed he’d agreed for the same reason.
But he hadn’t. He’d done it for her.
They traveled through a narrow glen now, sheer scree-covered sides of mountains, streaked in green, ochre, and grey, rearing up on either side. The Goatfells were magnificent, dwarfing the small band that traveled beneath it.
Alar’s skin prickled as he lifted his gaze to them.
This mountain range reminded him of how insignificant they all were. Kingdoms would rise, shatter, and fall, and power would shift like sand on a beach. But these mountains would stand until the breaking of the world.
The reminder should have unsettled Alar, yet it didn’t.
If anything, it unshackled him. He’d been so driven, for so long, caught up in things that could never last. He’d realized that these past moons in Dulross. He’d thought taking the borderlands for the wulvers would be the end, but it wasn’t. It was merely the beginning of a new story.
One he wouldn’t be part of.
He’d walked free, and although it pained him to cut ties with his wulver kin, he understood this was his path.
And yet, he wasn’t himself today. Whenever he thought about the journey ahead, misgiving pitched in his gut.
Sounds like horse shit to me. Beathan’s coarse voice taunted him then. The Circines chieftain had brutally dismissed Mor’s tale about The Shattered Crown and what was needed to restore balance. Alar now worried that he’d swallowed the Raven Queen’s explanation too readily.
Maybe Beathan was right. Maybe Lara distracted him.
Maybe he was walking into a trap.
They traveled all morning, while hunting goshawks dove overhead, their cries echoing through the vastness. Despite that the air held a bite, sweat dampened Alar’s back and forehead. The band he’d joined traveled fast, urgency in every stride. It was a relief when they stopped at noon.
One of the Ravens approached him, a grim-faced male who shoved some bread and cheese into his hands. Alar took it with a nod, but the warrior had already turned and stalked off. Settling down onto a lichen-encrusted rock, he ate his meal in silence.
Meanwhile, Skaal, who’d remained with him all morning, wandered over to Cailean. The chief-enforcer murmured something to her, and she pushed against him, her plumelike tail swishing from side to side.
As he ate, Alar observed his companions. Not the Marav, but the Shee.
For years, he’d wondered about his father’s people. His feelings toward them were complicated. They were part of him, and despite the persecution he’d suffered because of it over the years, he’d secretly been proud that powerful fae blood flowed in his veins. But he had a reason to loathe them too.
His gaze lingered on Wynn Sablebane.
The warrior stood apart from the others. He’d finished his light meal and was now looking north. Ashes, he was an ice-cold bastard. How had his mother fallen for him?
Memories of Struana mac Aedan fluttered up.
Small and dark-haired with bright blue eyes.
A dimple puckered her cheek whenever she smiled, although his mother hadn’t smiled often.
Indeed, with the years, her lovely face had grown stern, her gaze increasingly shadowed.
She’d done her best to protect him, but he hadn’t been able to protect her.
And neither had this Shee bastard.
He’d planted a seed in her womb and then disappeared, never to be seen again.
Hate now pounded in Alar’s chest. Finishing his scant meal, he rose to his feet and made his way over to Sablebane.
Along the way, he skirted around the clag-doo Mor held on a chain. The predator crouched on the ground, a growl rumbling low in its throat as it eyed the Raven Queen. Long and sleek, the feline looked to be female.
Mor crouched just out of reach, eyes bright as she whispered what sounded like a gentling sain.
Incredulity wreathed up within Alar. When he’d met with Mor and Lara in that pinewood, he hadn’t seen the beast chained up nearby; its black pelt made it blend in with the shadows.
Clag-doos were dangerous, yet pity stirred within him to see it leashed and shackled.
Just like fae hounds, they were wild creatures.
He didn’t know why Mor wished to gentle it, but they weren’t meant to be pets.
Sablebane turned then, watching him approach. A few yards away, Fern also tracked Alar. He noted the way her hand strayed to the pommel of her sword. She was readying herself for trouble.
Meanwhile, their father’s mouth puckered. His iron-grey eyes with their goatlike pupils narrowed.
His reaction made something ugly flare inside Alar.
“I bet you regret that tumble,” he greeted him.
He hadn’t intended to open with something so aggressive, yet he couldn’t help it.
He was aware then of gazes upon him. Mor and her Ravens were observing him, as were Lara and her party.
All of them had been waiting for this moment, wondering how it would play out.
Did they want him to put on a show for them?
A heartbeat passed, and then Sablebane’s lip curled.
Alar’s blood started to roar in his ears. How he wanted to reach for his blades and deal to this whoreson. If he dared insult his mother, he would, and fuck the consequences.
“You’re here because of it, aren’t you?” Sablebane’s voice was low and eerily like Alar’s own.
Alar’s hands flexed at his sides. “Is that all you have to say?”
“What do you want to hear?”
“The truth.”
Their gazes locked for a long moment before the Shee warrior’s expression hardened. “No, you don’t.”
“Tell me.”
Something glinted in those iron eyes. “The truth is I made a mistake,” he replied softly. “And you were the consequence.”