Chapter 17 A Break in Hostilities
LARA EYED THE man who stood before her.
That had been quite a story earlier. There had been moments throughout when she’d doubted him. But then his words at the end had moved her.
I betrayed the person I loved most. And nothing has ever mattered so much since.
His single-minded hunger for justice. His blinkered loyalty to the wulvers. The layers of secrecy that surrounded him. His walled-off heart. Suddenly, all the missing pieces clicked together.
Aye, she was a soft-hearted fool, yet she believed him.
And now they stood awkwardly together, neither knowing what to say. In the flickering torchlight, Alar was paler than usual, his twin scars starkly silver against his skin.
“I will speak to Ruari,” she assured him, stepping back then.
She felt oddly deflated. When she’d awoken, heart pounding, all she’d been able to think about was the seven crows sitting in the yew tree. The fact that it had started smoking before catching fire had gone straight over her head. Alar was right. This change might mean something significant.
“We must work together over the coming days, Lara,” Alar said then, his voice husky. “And it’ll be easier for us both if you put your knives away.”
She harrumphed.
“Can we be allies again?”
Her pulse accelerated. She wasn’t sure about this.
His lips quirked. “Or at least until our task is done.”
“Maybe,” she said, eyeing him.
“I’ll take that.” To her consternation, he moved forward and held out his hand. “Let us shake on it.”
Lara’s pulse fluttered. She didn’t want to touch him.
She considered shaking her head and taking another step back, but something about his expression stopped her.
There was no guile in his eyes.
Steeling herself, she reached out and clasped his hand.
The shock of their skin meeting dragged her right back to the past. The familiar strength and warmth of his grip. His scent enveloped her then: leather, oak, with a faint note of mint. She resisted dragging it into her lungs.
For an instant, their gazes met and held. Alar then gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Allies,” he whispered.
Lara swallowed hard before she gave a jerky nod, ripped her hand from his, and turned on her heel. Face flaming, she strode away.
The Reaper strike her down, she was an idiot for approaching him. Alar had disarmed her with his sincerity and vulnerability, yet she couldn’t help but feel manipulated. Ducking around where Bracken dozed, head hung low, weight resting on one hind leg, she headed back toward the fire.
But as she walked behind the tethered horses, her gaze alighted on a tall cloaked figure standing on the northern edge of their camp. Her pulse skittered. She hadn’t realized someone else was taking their turn at the watch. They hadn’t been there earlier.
As she walked by, the individual turned. Torchlight gilded a pale face with chiseled features. A sharp gaze glanced off her. Wynn Sablebane.
His expression was impassive, yet her cheeks burned even hotter. The things she and Alar had just said to each other were private. They’d kept their voices low, yet there had been moments when they’d both forgotten themselves.
Had Sablebane heard Alar’s story too?
Alar surveyed the magnificent red stag. It stood with regal stillness.
The first glimmers of dawn highlighted a coat of deep russet red dappled with patches of burnished gold and cream—a masterwork of autumn hues.
His massive antlers crowned him, twelve points of polished bone spreading wide enough to frame his noble head.
Tearing his gaze from the stag, Alar glanced over at where the Raven Queen looked on from astride her white elk. Dorka sat next to her, oddly placid this morning. “You’re giving him to me?”
“For the time being,” Mor answered.
“He wasn’t with you yesterday … where did he come from?”
“I hailed him.”
“We thought you might like to ride a stag,” Vyr added. “You are half Shee, after all.”
Surprised, Alar shifted his attention to Mor’s cousin.
Unlike Sablebane and Fern, who both watched him with shuttered expressions from atop their own stags, Vyr was smiling.
His face was slightly drawn this morning though—no doubt since he’d ended up warding the perimeter for most of the night.
Mor had risen from the fire pit near dawn and taken her turn, yet her cousin had done most of the work.
Alar tensed, searching the male’s face for mockery or scorn. He found none. Vyr was in earnest, it seemed. His sincerity made Alar wary.
“Go on, mount,” Vyr urged, leaping up onto his elk’s back.
Alar hesitated. The stag was eyeing him with its head lowered, as if considering whether to charge him.
These beasts likely only permitted Shee to ride them.
Was this a test he was about to fail? He was also aware that the rest of their company—Lara and her escort—had already mounted and were watching him. Was he about to be humiliated?
“There’s no saddle or bridle,” he replied.
“You won’t need them,” Vyr assured him.
“You do realize I can’t touch minds with animals?”
“You won’t need to,” Mor said, amusement flickering across her face. Upon her shoulder, Eagal gave a short, barking caw. “Reedav will follow the rest of us … and if you speak to him, he will understand.”
“Aye … although he may not choose to obey,” Fern quipped, her tone cutting.
Alar glanced back at the waiting beast. Stag king—the name was a noble one. His dark liquid eyes, full of sharp intelligence, held a challenge.
Bracing himself, he moved forward and swung up onto the stag’s back—not easy, for Reedav stood taller than most horses. However, Alar was nimble.
The stag didn’t move, and as Alar settled himself onto the beast’s back, the warmth of its body burned like a furnace through his leather breeches and into his skin. Wonder filtered up, and his breathing grew shallow. It was an honor to travel upon such an animal.
Alar looked around then, his gaze sliding over the surrounding Shee to where Lara and her escort waited.
Eithne and Duana observed him with frank fascination, while curiosity gleamed in the gazes of the others, Lara included.
Bree even looked a little envious. Of course.
He’d heard that she’d once ridden a white stag, one that had run as swiftly as the Four Winds. He wondered if Reedav was just as fast.
He glanced back at Mor then, to find her watching him intently. “Thank you,” he said softly, oddly humbled.
They set off, and like the day before, the Shee quickly outpaced the Marav on their faster steeds.
They rode deep into The Goatfells this morning.
The huge peaks loomed overhead, blocking out a pale-pink sky.
Unfortunately, The Gaulas whirled around them.
The air was oddly mild, yet it smelled musky.
Rank. The protective net Vyr and Mor had woven overnight had fallen away, and the wind found them immediately.
The first assault came swift and precise, a blade between his ribs.
They only gave you the stag out of pity.
The gift—something that had pleased him—now curdled in Alar’s gut. How easy to please he was. All the Shee had to do was throw the mongrel a bone and watch how he wagged his tail.
He locked his jaw tight enough to ache then, resisting the heckling.
Lara will use the things you told her against you. The voices slammed into him again. She will exploit your weaknesses.
His stomach twisted. The hollowed-out feeling that had settled in his chest after their talk deepened, spreading through his ribs.
The truce they’d forged felt gossamer-thin now.
He could sense its fragility. One wrong word, one misstep, and it would tear.
Part of him had dared to hope—fool that he was—that honesty might build something between them.
But the wind stripped that delusion away.
The truth was that Lara tolerated his presence out of necessity, nothing more. The moment their task was complete, the moment she no longer needed him—
The certainty hit him like a physical blow: he was a dead man. She’d see him on his knees, and her hand wouldn’t tremble when she struck.
And beneath it all, woven through every other sensation, came the wind’s gleeful agreement. Aye! On your knees. Begging. Bleeding. She will have her revenge.
Alar’s gut clenched so hard he nearly doubled over. The stag beneath him seemed to sense his distress, its gait faltering slightly.
Ashes. He’d rather face a horde of iron-wielding Circines than this vicious wind.
He focused on Reedav then, in an attempt to distract himself.
The stag’s stride was different from a horse’s, longer and more fluid.
Powerful muscles moved beneath him. Surprisingly, it was easier than he’d thought to keep his seat.
Reaching forward, Alar ran his hand down Reedav’s sleek neck.
Envy stabbed at him then. How lucky the Shee were that they could touch minds with animals, and that creatures such as these willingly served them.
All his life, he’d denied the Shee part of himself.
As a bairn, he’d noted that animals were drawn to him.
It was different from Skaal’s devotion to him—for the wolf in his blood called to her.
Nonetheless, even skittish sheep approached him, his mother’s cat curled up with him every night in the furs, and stray dogs followed him when he ventured out to explore the surrounding woods
But his closeness with animal kind had embarrassed him. It made him different from the other lads. He’d turned his back on them, shunning contact so others wouldn’t notice. He needn’t have bothered though, for the locals had turned on him anyway. And along the way, he’d lost something precious.
It was one of the many things he now regretted.
Lara watched Ruari intently, wishing she could read thoughts.