Chapter 25 A Brave Flame #2
Alar’s hair hung dark and wet across his shoulders. He’d traded his black leather for a fawn-colored tunic and breeches. She’d never seen him wear anything but black. The lighter color suited him; it made his pale skin glow warm in the firelight and contrasted with his dark hair.
She realized she was staring. Heat crawled up her neck. She jerked her gaze away, focusing hard on her trencher.
A woman had joined them. She was of middling years, with curly black hair, and she wore scarlet robes that seemed to drink the firelight.
Mairead. A sacrificer. She’d declined to join them on their mission when they met her earlier, yet she agreed to travel south with them on their return from Darkmere.
By then, Cailean would need the blood-letting.
He’d have to wait until the full moon, but Mairead would be ready.
Cailean helped himself to some sausage, his gaze flicking to the sacrificer. “How did you escape Cannich?”
The question landed softly, but the air shifted. A subtle tightening.
“I was visiting family here when the Shee took the fort.” Mairead’s voice stayed steady, but her eyes slid toward Mor and her Ravens. A veiled glance. “I couldn’t go back.”
“There were many druids living there.” Annis set down her bread, half-raised to her mouth. “What happened to them? Did any others escape?”
Mairead’s face twitched. “I—”
“We executed them,” Mor replied, cutting the woman off.
The warmth died.
Just like that. As if someone had thrown a bucket of water over the fire. Everyone went rigid. Breaths caught and held. The convivial ease of earlier shattered.
Lara’s spine went rigid. Of course, they had. She’d known that. But Gods, did Mor have to put it so bluntly? Right now, when they’d finally started to relax in each other’s company?
Vyr cleared his throat, the sound too loud in the sudden quiet. He shot Mor a look—pained, almost pleading. “Earth magic is dangerous to us. We couldn’t let them live.”
Around the hearth, jaws clenched. Brows drew down. Lara watched her companions’ faces harden.
Heat pulsed in her own belly, anger rising. They’d killed druids. Her people. Executed them. And now they sat here eating bread and cheese like it meant nothing.
She forced herself to breathe. Forced herself to remember. The Marav weren’t innocent either.
“We’ve killed innocents too.” The words came out roughly.
She didn’t want to think about Cannich, and all those who’d fallen there.
But she couldn’t let their relationship fracture—not when they’d come so far.
“My father hunted the Shee for years. Mercilessly.” Cailean’s shoulders went taut beside her, but she pushed on.
“And when we took back Doure, we spared almost no one.”
“It’s war.” Mor's voice stayed flat. On her shoulder, Eagal ruffled his black feathers. “Blood has to be spilled.”
Lara’s chin lifted. Her spine straightened. “Then let’s end it.”
Silence crashed down on them once more.
Everyone stared at their trenchers. No one moved. No one spoke. Not a single voice—Shee or Marav—rose to agree with her.
The lack of response made heat ignite under Lara’s ribs. This was why the world was drowning. Because even now, even after everything, they couldn’t let go.
The slaves had slipped away. So had Mairead, her scarlet robes vanishing through the doorway. Duana and Eithne lingered though. The sisters would stay here at Crask—it was too dangerous to take them farther. The rest would leave at dawn.
“Will you take us south with you?” Duana eventually broke the silence. “To Duncrag … when you return?”
Lara turned to her, grateful for something—anything—to pull them back from the edge. Bronze no longer glinted upon Duana’s neck. Shortly after their arrival at Crask, the sisters had paid a visit to the crannog’s smith to have their bed-slave collars removed.
Lara smiled, though it felt brittle. “Is that what you want?”
“Aye.” Duana’s voice went husky. Beside her, Eithne’s blue eyes gleamed in the firelight. “It’s not Dulross. But it’s closer to home.”
A few yards away, Alar shifted on his stool.
The movement was small—just a tensing of shoulders, fingers tightening around his cup.
Lara’s smile faded. She watched him, wondering if he was sorry—if leading wulvers and Circines into Dulross kept him awake at night.
If butchering the chieftain and his defenders had cost him anything at all.
Probably not.
And yet. He’d saved these lasses.
The man was a walking contradiction.
“You’ll have a place in my broch.” Lara turned back to the sisters, watched their faces soften, watched relief smooth the tension from their brows. “You have my word.”
The fire crackled. Someone coughed. Slowly, the group began eating again. But the warmth didn’t return. The ease was gone.
“Lara.” Alar approached her as she was heading toward her alcove. “I need to speak to you … alone.”
Halting, she cast him a wary look. The evening was settling in. Everyone’s bellies were full, and their bodies cried out for soft furs. Cailean and Bree had retired before everyone else, and Mor shortly after. Lara couldn’t wait to crawl into her sleeping nook. “Now?”
He nodded before gesturing to the door. “There’s a storehouse next door.”
Lara folded her arms across her chest. “Whatever it is, can’t you just tell me here?”
Indeed, meeting him privately wasn’t a good idea. Things had a way of spiraling when they were alone together. She had done her best to avoid him since they’d ridden double on Bracken, yet her cheeks still burned when she remembered his arousal. And her own.
“No.” Stubbornness flared in his eyes. “This won’t take long.” He paused before softening his tone and adding, “Please.”
Moments passed. Then, huffing a curse under her breath, Lara pushed past him and grabbed a lantern from the wall. She just wanted to hide in her alcove until morning, but he wasn’t going to let her. “Very well.”
Outdoors, a thick mist wreathed through the crannog.
The air was dank and so cold that their breathing clouded.
Something feral howled in the night, the sound echoing across the water, and Lara’s skin prickled.
Fortunately, the storehouse was just a few strides away.
Pushing open the wattle door, she stepped inside.
The store was empty, save for a pile of sacks stuffed with oats in one corner.
The lantern illuminated the drifting dust motes and stacked-stone walls.
Placing the lantern on a narrow ledge, she turned to Alar. “Out with it.”
He stared back at her, his lean face all sharp angles in the shadowy storehouse. “I’m sorry,” he said finally.
She stilled. “Sorry?”
“For everything. For lying to you. Betraying you. Hurting you.” The words were halting, as if each one burned his gullet.
Lara’s pulse started to thud against her breastbone. “You want forgiveness?”
A nerve flickered under one eye. “No … but you deserve an apology.”
“So, you’ll feel better, right?” Anger sparked then. “So, you can move on?”
He shook his head. “I’ll never move on … but this isn’t about me.” He took a step forward, but she moved back, raising her hands, making it clear she didn’t want him any closer. “I never deserved you.”
“No, you didn’t,” she shot back. Dizziness swept over her. Gods. She was an idiot. She shouldn’t have agreed to talk to him alone.
His throat worked. “From the moment we met in that dark wood, you enchanted me, Lara. You are beautiful and kind, yet resilient. Honest. Your decency in this depraved world is a brave flame that stands against the darkness.” He halted there, breathing hard.
“You gave me your trust … something fragile and precious … and I shattered it.” His eyes glittered now.
“I will always be sorry that I can never rebuild what I broke.”
Tension throbbed between them, in time with the Ord-ree seal that now pulsed like an ember on her, casting the storehouse in golden light.
Fury swept over Lara. Oh, he was good with words.
But how dare he say such things to her? How dare he?
“No, you can’t,” she snarled. She stepped forward, shoving him hard in the chest. To her surprise, he didn’t budge. It was like hitting a tree.
His gaze guttered. “To be fair … I did warn you that I wasn’t good enough for you.”
Lara barely heard him above the rush of blood in her head. Dizziness slammed into her. A crushing ache rose under her breastbone. “Get out,” she rasped.
He didn’t move.
“Leave, now!”
“Lara … I—”
The crack of her palm connecting with his cheek filled the storehouse. She followed that up with a punch to the stomach. He grunted an oath. “Ashes. You don’t—”
She stepped in then, her knee jerking upward, aiming for his cods.
Alar moved sharply back, avoiding the blow to his groin. She came after him, her fists pummeling into him.
And then, suddenly, she wasn’t hitting him any longer. She was kissing him.