Chapter 34 An Unpaid Debt
SLOWLY, LARA RAISED her head, twisting to look behind her. The rift was shrinking. No longer was it a gaping hole, but a thin silvery tear. And as she watched, it faded until nothing but the starry night sky was visible between the stones. Moonlight frosted The Shattered Crown.
Lara stared, heart pounding against her breastbone.
“You did it,” Alar whispered hoarsely.
She swallowed.
“Lara!”
Bree rushed into the stone circle, still gripping her sword. Reaching her side, she dropped to a crouch. Her gaze went to Lara’s shoulder. “You’re hurt.”
“It’s not deep.” Lara waved her away. The scratch burned, but she’d put something on it soon enough. What mattered was that her body felt the strongest it had in days. Her mind was blessedly clear, and her skin was cool. The fever had gone.
More figures moved into the stone circle then: Roth, Cailean, Annis, and Ren. Skaal stalked after them.
“What happened here?” Cailean surveyed the interior of the stone circle, his narrowed gaze lingering on the knife hilt protruding from Alar’s shoulder and where Sablebane lay, bleeding out. A deep groove then appeared between his dark brows. “Where’s Mor?”
“In The Threshold,” Vyr answered.
Lara shoved herself upright. Her arms shook. Her entire body trembled.
She turned her head. Vyr stood flanked by four Ravens, all of them pale and hollow-eyed. His leather armor hung in strips. Blood ran down his cheek in a slow trickle. He looked hunted.
Heat flared in her gut.
“Mor betrayed us.” The words came out, harsh and flat. “And you helped her.”
“Aye.” Vyr didn’t deny it. His gaze flicked to Alar, then away.
Cailean’s fingers flexed around his sword hilt. Silver pulsed through his tattoos, painting his face in ghostly light. The air between him and Mor’s cousin crackled.
Vyr’s fingers flexed upon the grip of his drawn longsword.
“Mor learned that she could draw wraiths back into the rift using her magic … but she needed a fire-wielder bearing the Ord-ree seal to close it.” His mouth twisted.
“Alar’s presence served no magical purpose.
She wanted balance restored … but she also wanted her enemies dead. ”
“Including you.” Alar’s voice was tight, threaded with pain.
Vyr’s lips thinned, yet he didn’t reply.
“The three of you were never meant to leave.”
A weak voice made them all turn.
Sablebane lay on his back a few yards away, head in Fern’s lap. Blood seeped between his fingers where they pressed against his stomach. Black in the moonlight. Fatal. Lara had seen enough injuries like this to know.
But he wasn’t looking at his wound. He was looking at Vyr.
“Why do you think she contacted you after all these years?” Each word cost him. “The whispers that they were calling you the Elk King in the North. She needed your help. But she also feared you gaining too much power.”
Vyr’s expression hardened.
“You plotted against us.” Cailean stalked forward, Roth and Bree at his sides. “You fucker.”
Skaal moved with them, a growl vibrating in her chest.
Vyr and the Ravens flanking him raised their blades and dropped into fighting stances.
“Stop.” Lara’s voice cracked through the cold air. “All of you.”
Cailean froze. A muscle jumped in his cheek. “But—”
“Listen to her.” Alar was on his feet. Gods knew how—he had a dagger jutting from his shoulder, cuts covering his arms, and his hand still dripped blood—but he was standing. At her side.
Lara’s heart kicked hard against her ribs.
The man was in a state, yet his first thought was for her.
She loved him. And he loved her. No declarations were needed, yet the truth of it hit like a fist to the chest. Mor had known, had used it.
Lara forced herself to breathe as she turned to Vyr.
“You went along with it. Betrayed us.” Her voice stayed level. Barely. “I won’t forget that. But you stood against her at the end.”
Vyr stared back. He didn’t try to justify himself. A wise move.
Lara took a step toward him. Alar shadowed her.
“Go.” The word came out sharp. “But when you take her throne, when you tell them what happened here … tell the truth.”
Vyr’s throat worked. “You don’t want blood?”
“I want cooperation.” The words tasted strange. “Next time we meet, you negotiate with me. Do I have your word?”
His black eyes narrowed.
“We did this.” Lara gestured at the sealed rift. “It nearly broke us all. Let it count for something.”
Silence stretched. Then Vyr swallowed. Hard. “You have my word, Lara,” he said, a hoarse edge to his voice. “Next time … we talk.”
She nodded before glancing at Cailean. His tattoos still pulsed. His body still coiled tight, ready to spring. Only respect for her kept him leashed. How long would that last?
“Go,” she said to Vyr again. “Before I change my mind.”
Mor’s cousin inclined his head. His gaze swept over them before he looked at Fern, still cradling her dying father. “Are you coming?”
“No.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll see you in Cannich.”
He nodded before gesturing to the Ravens. They backed away, melting into darkness beyond the stones.
Lara watched until they vanished. Her stomach churned. People broke promises all the time. Would Vyr?
Maybe. Maybe not.
But at least no one else would die tonight.
“Alar.” Sablebane’s voice drew her attention then. Weak. Raw. “My son.”
Alar’s breathing grew shallow.
My son.
Two words he’d never thought to hear.
He moved from Lara’s side and crossed to his father. His palm pulsed with each stride, and a deep pain throbbed down his back. Fuck.
“Alar,” Lara murmured. “We need to remove that knife … it’s—”
“Later.” He flashed her a weak smile before sinking down onto his knees next to Sablebane.
His gaze slid over the deep wound to his gut. Blood was everywhere. He looked up at his sister. Fern stared back at him. She knew he was done for too.
His father’s hand lifted, trembling slightly. His fingers then closed around Alar’s wrist. “I loved your mother … but I failed her.”
Alar’s pulse kicked into a sprint. He hadn’t expected this.
Sablebane’s face contorted then, as a spasm of pain seized him.
His grip on Alar’s wrist tightened. “After you were born, I returned to Dorne Forest … I watched you both from the trees. I planned to go through the stones and take Marav form … to disappear into Albia forever … but I hesitated too long. Mor had me followed. She discovered what I’d done. ”
Alar stared down at him, unsure of how to answer. For so long, he’d hated his father. And yet, as he stared into Wynn Sablebane’s eyes, a lifetime of rage drained from him. “Fern told me you were sent to a labor camp,” he admitted finally.
His father stiffened, a moan of pain tearing from his throat. “I overheard you that night,” he panted. “When you told Lara about Struana’s death.”
Alar stilled. Telling Lara about that had cost him. The fact that Sablebane had been listening filled him with shame. However, there was no judgment in his father’s eyes.
“You’re not to blame for any of this, son … I am.” Sablebane’s breathing was labored now. Sweat coated his face. “For those scars on your face and neck too.”
Placing his hand over his father’s, he squeezed gently. “No,” he said huskily, wishing his throat wasn’t so damn tight. “You aren’t.”
And he meant it too.
He regretted his father’s hesitation. If he hadn’t waited, Alar’s life would have been very different. His grandfather wouldn’t have died trying to protect him, his grandmother wouldn’t have withered from grief, and his mother wouldn’t have been stoned to death.
He wouldn’t have grown so bitter. So angry and desperate to prove himself.
But his path wouldn’t have led him to Lara either.
Aye, it would have been a different life. A far happier one, perhaps. Yet it was the road not taken, and he wouldn’t mourn it. Not any longer.
Silence settled, soft like falling ash.
Then Sablebane’s fingers clamped tightly around Alar’s wrist. His grip was hard enough to bruise, hard enough that Alar felt bone grinding.
“Kill me.”
Fern jerked. “No.”
“Hush.” Sablebane’s free hand found hers and squeezed. “A belly wound takes its victim slowly. Do you want to hear me scream?”
Tears cut tracks through the grime on her face.
Alar’s gaze moved between them. His gut clenched.
All those nights, all those years, of imagining this. His blade driving into his father’s chest. The light going out of his eyes while Alar watched.
But his father was asking for it now.
And he couldn’t feel anything.
No—that wasn’t true. He felt everything. Too much. It was choking him.
They’d both made choices. Bad ones. Selfish ones. Who was he to judge? After Dulross. After everything he’d done in the name of—what? Justice? Revenge? None of it mattered any longer.
“Son.” Sablebane’s gaze found his. “Will you make me beg?”
Something cracked in Alar’s chest. “No,” he whispered. “Don't.”
“Then do it.”
His heart started to slam against his ribs, hard and erratic.
He looked at Fern and marked the pain blazing in her eyes. She was shaking, barely holding on.
Reaching out, he drew one of the blades strapped to his father’s thigh. His fingers closed around the bone grip. “Where?” he asked hoarsely.
Sablebane’s gaze held his. Something flickered in his grey eyes—gratitude, maybe. Relief. “Drive it through the base of my throat.”
Fern made a small and broken sound. Alar didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. If he did, he’d drop the blade and walk away.
Swallowing, he placed the tip in the hollow at the base of his father’s throat. The steel dimpled his skin, and Alar’s hand shook.
“Thank you.”
The words barely made it out.
Then his father let go of Fern and wrapped his hand around Alar’s forearm—above where he already gripped his wrist with his other hand—steadying him.
And yanked down.
Even dying, he was strong, stronger than Alar expected. The blade punched through—hit something, kept going, and then buried itself to the hilt.
Blinding pain exploded in Alar’s shoulder. He bit down on a curse that wanted to turn into a scream.
Meanwhile, his father’s eyes went wide, slitted pupils contracting into thin lines. His mouth opened, and blood dribbled down his chin, thick and dark.
Alar couldn’t move. He couldn’t look away.
The man who’d sired him. Abandoned him. Betrayed him. Saved him.
Dying.
The hands gripping his arm went slack and fell away.
Gone.
Fern started to weep. They weren’t quiet tears, but deep sobs that tore from her chest. The rending sound echoed off stone, filling The Shattered Crown.
A hand touched his good shoulder.
Lara.
She settled beside him. He leaned into her without thinking. He needed the contact, needed something warm and real.
They sat while Fern wept. No one spoke.
Time passed. How long, he couldn’t tell.
“Ruari predicted this.” Lara’s voice was soft and careful. “A couple of days ago. He cast the bones … and told me an unpaid debt had to be settled.”
Alar looked at Fern. Her head was bowed, shoulders shaking. She hadn’t heard, for she was too lost in grief.
An unpaid debt.
He remembered his father’s words then. You’re not to blame for any of this, son … I am.
Alar’s throat started to ache. Sablebane had given his life to save his. Aye, the debt was well and truly paid, yet it didn’t fill him with relief, or vindication.
Pain pulsed in his shoulder—bone-deep. Each heartbeat sent fire through the joint. His vision blurred at the edges. He closed his eyes.
Fuck being stoic. He needed—
The world tilted, and then he was falling.
Or maybe just, finally, letting go.