Chapter 28 Frost and Fire
LARA PRESSED HER burning cheek to Bracken’s neck and squeezed her eyes tight. For days now, dread had thundered through her every time the symptoms of fire-madness plagued her. They’d curdled her stomach and turned her mouth dry. But today, something had changed. Now, a dull fatalism filled her.
She was doomed. It didn’t matter though. Not any longer. What did, was that she got to The Shattered Crown, that she sealed the tear in the veil. She kept remembering the hollowed gazes and strained faces of the crannog-dwellers. That silent newborn in Orla’s arms.
She was going to fix this.
Around her, The Sharp Billed Wind tore across the bare hills, snagging at her clothing and blowing dust in her eyes.
Its cold slap might have chilled everyone else to the marrow, but for her, it was a blessed relief.
The first two days out from Crask, The Gaulas had pursued them, hectoring them like boggarts.
But then, The Sharp Billed Wind had chased the spirit wind away.
And with each furlong, the landscape grew bleaker and colder.
Lara glanced up at the sky then, searching for a glimpse of the sun.
It was still hidden behind a dense curtain of low cloud, one even the wind couldn’t budge.
Mountains surrounded them now, gloomy jagged peaks that looked as if giants had hacked at the land with axes.
Shards of black rock bit into the low cloud.
“I have something for the fever, My Queen.” She turned from Bracken to find Ruari standing in front of her.
He held up a cup of murky liquid. “The chieftain’s wife provided me with some more healing herbs.
This is a brew of willow bark.” The seer’s brow furrowed then.
“I know your fever isn’t the usual kind … but I thought this might help.”
Lara forced a smile, touched by his concern. She took the cup and lifted it to her lips, sipping. It was woody with a bitter edge—she’d tasted worse. Tipping back her head, she drank it quickly before handing Ruari back his cup. “Thank you.”
His gaze roamed her face. “We only have one more full day after this … will you manage it?”
Lara nodded, shivering as chills bathed her skin. “I will.” The strength and determination in her voice made his eyes widen. But still Ruari lingered, as if he had more to say.
Lara didn’t have the energy to question him.
Around them, the others had also dismounted and were passing around bread and cheese. Alar approached then, handing Ruari his ration. However, when he offered Lara hers, she shook her head.
“I’m not hungry.”
He hesitated. “Shall I keep it for you for later?”
“Aye … thank you.”
Nodding, he moved on.
When he’d gone, Annis moved close. The wind had reddened her cheeks and made her eyes water, yet she wore a resolute expression that Lara had come to know well. These druids had been through much with her over the past years.
“Have you told her about the bones?” Annis murmured to Ruari.
His brow furrowed. “I’m about to.”
“Hurry up then … while we have some privacy.”
Lara beckoned them both closer. “What have you seen?”
“I cast the bones this morning, My Queen,” Ruari replied, his gaze flicking around him. He didn’t seem to want anyone else to listen in. “Three bones fell together in an unusual formation. The burning crown, the frayed rope … and the triple spiral.”
Lara frowned. “And?”
“They—” Ruari began.
“They contradict each other,” Annis cut in. “The burning crown represents victory, but the frayed rope suggests failure. It would suggest that a choice is involved.”
“And the triple spiral is usually a sign of an unpaid debt that must be settled,” Ruari added, casting the counselor an irritated look.
Lara’s mind churned. Her head was woolly as it was, but these two spoke in riddles. She didn’t want to focus on them, but on what lay ahead.
“I also spied an omen this morning that concerns me,” Annis whispered then. “We passed a lone pine at the mouth of this corrie … I noted it had been struck by lightning … its branches were charred, and its great trunk cloven in two.”
“The Warrior’s balls,” Lara muttered, her patience fraying. “Just tell me what all this means.”
“A choice lies ahead,” Ruari answered. Hurt shadowed his eyes. “As well as a reckoning of some kind.”
“My omen suggests destruction and rebirth,” Annis added.
“But this could all be related to what we must do at The Shattered Crown,” Lara replied. Her head ached now. Their voices droned in her ears like annoying gnats. “I don’t think we should read too much into any of it.”
Both the druids frowned, and Lara scowled back. “Why have you only approached me? Surely, Mor and Alar should hear this too?”
Annis’s face pinched. “We serve you, My Queen. Not the Half-blood or the Raven Queen.”
“Not everything needs to be shared,” Ruari replied stiffly. “You might not wish to heed them … but it might be wise to keep these warnings to yourself.”
Lara watched Mor stroke Dorka’s back.
The clag-doo was purring. And the contentment on Mor’s face was also something to behold.
Around them, the others huddled close to the flames, but the Raven Queen sat apart from them all, preferring to keep Dorka’s company instead.
She knelt next to the feline upon the stony ground, murmuring endearments.
Eagal hunched on her shoulder. The Raven’s gaze was narrowed, almost as if it was jealous of his queen’s new pet.
But Mor didn’t care, and as Lara looked on, she reached up and stroked between Dorka’s ears. The clag-doo closed her eyes and lifted her chin, pushing up into the caress.
“Aye, well … now I’ve seen everything.” Bree’s murmured comment made Lara glance her way.
The wind howled tonight. They’d camped under a rocky overhang that provided some shelter from the elements. Nonetheless, Bree’s shoulders were rounded against the chill, and she clutched her fur-lined cloak close.
For once, Lara was glad of her fever—even if it was a constant reminder of the illness that was slowly taking over.
“Why does Dorka matter to her so much?” she whispered back.
Bree’s lips quirked. “I suppose a clag-doo is safe.”
“Safe?”
Bree’s smile turned rueful. “It won’t try to steal your throne.”
Her body was on fire.
Lara curled tight under her cloak. Eyes clamped shut, teeth grinding. Heat rolled off her in waves that made her skin feel too tight, too thin.
Around her, the wind howled through the rocky overhang. Their shelter was barely that—just stone jutting out enough to keep the worst of the weather off. Not enough to keep out the cold that would come after the fever broke.
Supper had been silent. No one spoke. They’d sat around the fire, gazes turned inward.
Even the Shee looked miserable—shoulders hunched, mouths pressed thin.
Lara had been grateful for the quiet. Following conversation had become impossible, words slipping through her mind like water through cupped hands.
Roth and Cailean had taken first watch. Everyone else had rolled into their cloaks without a word.
Sleep dragged her under—and then, the dreams began.
Her father’s voice, thick with contempt. Her brother facing him down. She stepped between them—crack—his palm struck her cheek, her head snapping sideways, blood flooding her mouth.
Then Dulross. On her knees in the dirt. Stones raining down from the walls. Circines and wulvers jeering. One stone caught her temple. Everything went black.
She awoke in furs. Naked. Alar’s body against hers, their skin slick with sweat. His mouth on her throat. Bite me. The words tore from her lips as pleasure ripped through her, as his teeth sank into her shoulder—
She jolted into consciousness, shaking so hard her teeth clattered together.
The fever had broken. Now she was ice. Her feet and hands were dead weight, numb and tingling. The wind had died. Silence pressed down.
“My Queen.” Roth’s voice cut through the stillness. “We have a problem.”
She rolled to her feet, yanking her cloak tight. Cold bit into her cheeks, her nose, and the tips of her ears. “Gods, it’s freezing.”
“Aye.” His face had gone red and raw. He held a torch, the flame guttering and weak. A few yards away, Vyr threw the last scraps of firewood onto the coals—gnarled hawthorn branches, barely enough to keep the flames alive. His movements were frantic, jerky.
“What’s wrong?” Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering.
“Knavoar.” Mor stepped into the firelight, shadows carving her face into hard angles. “They’ve killed two of my Ravens.”
Lara’s heart kicked against her ribs.
She grabbed the torch from Roth’s hand.
“My Queen, you shouldn’t—”
She was already moving.
Out from under the ledge. Past Dorka crouched low to the ground, golden eyes fixed on something in the dark. A growl vibrated in her throat, constant and low.
Footsteps behind her—Bree, silent as always. Then Roth.
Her breath steamed as she moved.
She walked toward the ring of torches they’d placed at the camp’s edge. Half were dead, smoke still rising from blackened wicks. The rest flickered weakly, struggling.
Alar stood at the edge with Cailean beside him. Sablebane and Fern had joined them. Skaal pressed against Cailean’s leg, hackles raised, teeth bared.
They were all staring down into the corrie below.
Lara stopped beside them.
Moonlight turned the world silver. Frost crept across the ground in patterns that were too delicate, too deliberate. Two bodies lay sprawled on the sparkling carpet, just beyond the torchlight. No one moved toward them.
The air turned colder. Each breath scraped her lungs raw.
“Look.” Alar’s voice hardened. “They’re coming.”
Lara followed his gaze.
Silence swallowed them. It was a weight that crushed everything, even the whisper of breath in Lara’s lungs.
Figures rose. Stick-thin limbs. Blue-white skin stretched over bone. They moved in stiff, jolting strides.
No faces, just hollows where eyes should have been. Their mouths hung open, exhaling vapor.