Chapter 35 YOU KNOW THE WAY
“NEARLY DONE.” LARA gently packed the last of the woundwort into the deep cut on Alar’s shoulder. “I just need to secure this with a bandage.”
“Take your time.” His voice was husky with pain and exhaustion. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“None of us are,” Annis agreed.
Looking up, Lara cast a glance over at where the counselor sat, shoulders slumped, a few feet away.
The rest of their companions—except for Fern, who knelt beside her father’s corpse by the loch—surrounded them.
They’d all descended from The Shattered Crown.
Roth and Cailean had helped Fern bring her father’s body down as well.
The moon was setting now. Not long until the sky lightened to the east. Lara worked by the light of a torch that Roth had lit. It gilded Alar’s pale skin.
Now that the rift had sealed, what spirits still lingered in this place—those that had escaped being sucked back into Threshold—had fled. The powries and trows had disappeared too, following the Shee.
The silence was almost deafening.
In the aftermath of their success, Lara had expected jubilation to thrill through her. Aye, she was relieved the rift was mended and that balance had been restored, but Mor’s betrayal had left a sour taste in her mouth. And viewing the expressions of those around her, she wasn’t alone.
Stepping back, Lara busied herself with ripping off long strips from her undertunic. The material was tough, and she had to use her dagger. Then, she began to tie the strips diagonally across Alar’s chest and shoulder, securing them under one arm.
“It’s not the best of bandages,” she admitted. “And your wound will need to be dressed properly … but it’ll do … for now.”
“Thank you,” Alar replied.
“So, the satchel of healing herbs Ruari brought from Crask came in useful?” Roth asked then, his voice thick with fatigue and other emotions.
Lara nodded, even as her throat constricted.
Ruari.
A dull, dragging sensation settled in the pit of her belly as her gaze went to the glassy surface of the loch.
Gods. She couldn’t believe he was gone. The young seer had been with her since just a couple of turns after she’d taken the throne.
He’d always shown great talent, but over the years, he’d grown in confidence. In courage.
She’d watched, helpless, as the Fuath had dragged him into the deep. He’d had a terrifying end.
“You should never have listened to me,” Bree’s voice, low and rough, drew Lara’s attention then. Her friend sat nearby, her hazel eyes dark in the torchlight. “I counseled you to trust Mor.” She pulled a face. “Gregor was right.”
Lara heaved a deep sigh. “She took us all in, Bree,” she replied softly. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“And it doesn’t change the fact Gregor is a worthless shitbag,” Cailean added. “If our paths ever cross again, I’m killing him.”
Silence fell at these blunt words. Lara had no doubt the chief-enforcer would make good on his threat.
Moments later, Roth cleared his throat. “What are we going to do about that?”
Lara glanced the warrior’s way to see he’d gestured to where a dark shape crouched next to a boulder. Golden eyes glowed. Dorka was watching them. She was still chained to the hawthorn, waiting for Mor.
The Raven Queen would never return for her.
Lara studied Dorka’s shadowed face, remembering how the Shee queen’s eyes had softened every time she touched minds with the clag-doo, her joy when she’d finally managed to gentle the feline.
It had meant so much to her and had revealed unexpected vulnerability.
A chink in Mor’s armor. She’d hidden it well, but she’d been a lonely queen desperate for connection.
There was a price to pay for killing anyone who threatened your rule, a price for never letting anyone into your heart.
Dorka had given Mor the intimacy she craved.
Not that Mor’s connection with Dorka had altered her plans.
If she’d had her way, both Alar and Lara would be in The Threshold now.
Lara’s belly tightened. No, she wouldn’t feel sorry for Mor. She’d done this to herself.
“We need to set her free,” Alar replied, heaving himself to his feet.
“I’ll do it,” Cailean grunted. “Sit down.”
“Careful,” Bree warned as he made his way toward the clag-doo.
A moment later, Dorka gave a warning hiss, and Cailean’s pace slowed. Her tail started to lash, her ears flattening. She wanted Mor. No one else would do.
Ren stood up. Her sharp-featured face was haggard, yet she flexed her hands at her sides. “You’ll need my help.”
Cailean cast the bard a grateful glance. “Aye.”
Stepping up to his side, Ren drew in a slow, deep breath. And then, the soft, beguiling melody that she’d sung to help gentle Dorka echoed through the still air. The hissing subsided, the tension easing from the feline’s supple frame.
Eventually, Cailean moved closer once more, easing up alongside Dorka.
She watched him warily, but Ren’s charm had lowered her defenses.
The chief-enforcer reached down, his hands sliding over Dorka’s thick neck, to the steel collar.
“Just bear with me,” he murmured. “And I’ll get this off …
then you’ll be free. Finally.” His fingers worked swiftly, and with a ‘click’, the collar released, falling away.
It hit the ground, metal clanging against stone. The sound shattered the reverie.
Dorka sprang forward, knocking Cailean over as she went.
Racing past Ren in a black streak, the clag-doo disappeared into the shadows.
Dawn rose over Darkmere.
Mist evaporated off the loch’s shadowy surface before rays of sunlight sparkled upon it. Streaks of rose, lavender, and gold painted the sky.
It was the most beautiful sunrise Alar had ever seen.
Walking across the dry trampled grass near the edge of the loch, the toes of his boots scattering small grey pebbles, he made his way to where a leather-clad Shee female finished building a cairn.
The pile of stones sat back from the Darkmere, upon a rise, not far from the base of the outcrop where The Shattered Crown stood.
As he approached, Alar glanced up, taking in the grey monoliths. Sunlight now bathed them. They looked far less ominous with the dawn. Just an ancient ruined stone circle. Now that the rift had sealed, that was exactly what it was.
Farther down the pebbly loch-shore, Lara and her escort had gathered.
Roth was making something out of reeds he’d collected.
They were preparing to send Ruari’s spirit to the Otherworld.
Traditionally, the Marav burned their dead upon a pyre, but that wasn’t possible for Ruari.
Alar would join them shortly. But first, he needed to pay his respects to someone else.
The crunch of his boots alerted Fern to his arrival.
Turning, she glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze settled on him, noting the sling he now wore and his bandaged hand. “Lara took that blade successfully out of your shoulder then?”
Alar grimaced. Lara had worked as gently as she could, but it had still hurt. She’d given him a tincture for the pain, but his shoulder throbbed, nonetheless, in time with his heartbeat. “She did. Sorry … I wanted to help you build his cairn.”
Fern snorted. “You aren’t much good to me one-handed.” She paused then, looking away. “Besides … I needed some time. Alone with him.”
Alar nodded. He understood.
Moving up next to her, he surveyed the mound. Wynn Sablebane’s final resting place.
The two of them stood silently then, listening to the cawing of a raven. Looking up, Alar’s gaze rested on a large black bird. It perched upon an outcrop of rock jutting out from the promontory.
“Eagal,” Fern murmured. “He wants to know where Mor is.”
Alar glanced at his sister. “You’re touching minds with the raven?”
She nodded.
“Have you told him?”
“Aye.”
Eagal gave a raspy croak and took wing, disappearing over the edge of The Shattered Crown.
Alar watched the bird go, his gut hardening. “So, you knew what Mor was planning?”
“I did.”
“And you had no problem with it?” He looked Fern’s way then to find his sister watching him, her grey eyes shadowed.
“Not initially.”
Silence fell between them. Fern lay the last rock on the top of the cairn.
“I’ve spent my whole life hiding,” Alar said eventually. “Ashamed of who I am … but I’m done with that now.”
“Good,” she said softly, surprising him. “You shouldn’t suffer because of other people’s prejudices. I’m sorry, Alar … you deserved better.”
His throat tightened, and he swallowed. Fern’s words disarmed him; he wasn’t used to being apologized to.
Their gazes met then before a wry smile tugged at her lips. “I’ve been jealous of you, you know?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Our father crossed lines for your mother … and intended to leave Sheehallion forever to be with you both. He’d never have made such a sacrifice for me.”
Alar huffed. “You don’t know that.”
Fern sighed, her gaze returning to the cairn she’d just built. “I used to visit him at the mine sometimes. We both thought he’d never leave it.” She broke off then, tension rippling across her face. “But then Mor discovered a better punishment for him.”
Cold washed over Alar. “His presence on this journey was punishment?”
“It was. As was mine. I was tainted by association. Mor never forgot a slight.”
Alar’s pulse quickened. “She used us all.”
“She did.” Fern’s voice caught then. “But no one disobeys the Raven Queen … to do so is unthinkable.”
“And yet our father did.”
Fern’s throat worked. “And paid with his life.”
They fell silent once more, listening to the gently rippling water stirred by a crisp breeze.
“Where will you go now?” Fern asked eventually.
Alar sighed. “I don’t know.” Something tightened in his chest then. “But I’ll stay by Lara’s side … unless she sends me away.”
Fern observed him for a few moments, and then, to his surprise, she smiled. “You have the Sablebane loyalty, I see.”
He huffed a laugh. “It would seem so … and you, Fern? Will you return to Cannich as you promised Vyr?”