Chapter Thirty-Two
Alannah’s lungs burned as she raced back toward The Hart’s Rest. How long had Emer been alone with Oran? Had he been at the bridge and then gone to the inn? Or had he been there this entire time?
Her stomach churned harder with every pump of her arms, pushing her legs to their limits before it was too late, the buildings around her a blur of shadows and firelight.
Beside her, Conan matched her pace, though she knew he was more than capable of outrunning her.
He’d done so nearly every morning since they’d arrive in Ath Luain.
“It’s my fight,” she managed, the words escaping on a sharp exhale. The last time she’d fought Oran, Conan had stepped in as soon as she lost the upper hand. She’d never learn to fight properly if she couldn’t see a bout through to the end.
“I won’t stop anything but a killing blow,” Conan conceded.
“Protect Emer.” That was the last Alannah could manage without sacrificing speed, and that was the one thing she couldn’t afford.
Emer’s shrieks rose above the din they’d left behind as Alannah closed the last few steps to The Hart’s Rest. She didn’t slow to open the door.
Instead she led with her hand, the oaken boards shaking in protest as she barreled through.
But she didn’t stop there. Sword still in hand, Alannah headed straight for the kitchen.
Oran’s hand grasped Emer’s throat. Her screams died down as he shoved her back, her hands gripping his in a feeble attempt to loosen his hold on her. She collapsed in an awkward angle across the table, helpless against Oran’s iron grip.
He hadn’t seen Alannah yet.
She lifted her sword, slowing only enough that she didn’t risk hitting Emer should she miss.
But she didn’t miss.
Oran heard her just before her sword fell. He let go of Emer, turning and raising his own sword to parry.
Alannah’s blade caught his left arm, slicing deep enough that she had to tug the weapon prepare for her next attack. She took it without slowing, without giving him time to recover. She aimed for his left side again. Crimson blood slid down her blade, splattering them both as she swung.
This time he was ready. He parried the blow, his face contorted in a potent mixture of pain and rage.
Alannah didn’t stop pressing her advantage. She managed two more solid swings before she started to tire.
Conan noticed.
So did Oran.
“Slow down!” Conan called.
She didn’t have a choice. Sweat beaded on her brow and her arms burned from the strain of the weapon.
Oran took the lead, stepping toward her, forcing her to give ground. He kept pushing. His brute strength was no match for her tiring arms.
Pressure against her lower back made Alannah glance down. She’d run into a table. Her ankle twisted as she adjusted for the obstacle, and she toppled sideways around it. She managed to parry Oran’s next blow, but still couldn’t advance against his attacks.
Oran kept propelling her backward, forcing her to give ground. He was toying with her now.
This time when she bumped into something behind her, Alannah knew exactly what it was.
The sudden, searing warmth of the hearth told her things were about to take a dangerous turn.
Panic flooded her, seeping like a river of ice down her spine.
She needed to get away from the fire before Oran got any ideas.
“Maybe I can burn you and the causeway in one night,” he spat, raising his sword for a killing blow.
Alannah swung her hips sideways, leading with her core to force her way around the blazing hearth. She tried to parry, but didn’t manage it while avoiding the fire behind her. Her blade slowed Oran’s as it grazed her shoulder.
She cried out in pain. Her grip on her own sword faltered, her fingers refusing to tighten no matter how hard she squeezed.
With a laugh, Oran knocked her sword from her hand. His callused palm encircled her throat and he shoved her backward until her head slammed into the partition along the edge of the room.
A flower of pain bloomed from her shoulder, a bone-deep throbbing that reached down her arm and toward her chest. She gasped, struggling to swallow as Oran crushed her throat. Alannah shoved him, pushing his arm hard.
In response, he dropped his sword and used both hands to lift her off the floor and choke her.
Fog tickled the edges of her mind. Alannah gasped again, more desperately, as she fought for both air and consciousness.
Emer’s screams pierced her groggy thoughts. Over Oran’s shoulder, Alannah saw Conan coming toward them. One look at his face told her he was going to intervene.
Oran just kept squeezing and laughing, the sound as pleasant as a cauldron scraping stone. Conan was nearly to him.
A sudden burst of energy coursed through Alannah, making her ears pound and her chest flutter. She was not going to be saved again, not while she could still breathe. Her hands were no use, her arms too short to do any damage. She needed a weapon.
The dagger. Conan had given her a dagger, and she’d brought it to the causeway with her. Alannah reached for her belt, exhaling in relief when her fingers grasped the rough metal handle. She moved fast, unsheathing it and burying it as deep into Oran’s side as she could reach.
Oran screamed out his next breath. His grip loosened, but he still held her.
“Again!” Conan shouted, slowing his rescue. “Until he drops!”
Pulling it out, Alannah could reach around him now that his grip had loosened. She sank the dagger into his back.
Finally, he let go, collapsing to the ground at her feet and gasping, as she had been only moments ago.
“You got his lung,” Conan said softly, reaching for her and wrapping something around her bleeding shoulder.
Alannah couldn’t take her eyes off Oran.
She hated him, aye, and he would’ve killed both her and Emer without an ounce of guilt.
But she couldn’t stop the bile from rising as she watched him gasp for a final time on the cold stone floor, her dagger still in his back.
The room swam, a familiar watery sensation filling her mouth.
Alannah rushed across the hall and out into the crisp night air.
She managed to make it off the cobblestones before she threw up the remains of her dinner.
A hand landed gently on her back. “Are you alright?” Conan asked, his deep, gentle voice doing a world of good for her nerves.
Emer wasn’t far behind him. She moved in front of Alannah, gingerly navigating the mess, and handed her a cup of water.
Alannah took it gratefully. “Thank you.” The cool liquid calmed the fire brewing in her belly, soothing her aching throat on the way down. “Are you alright? How long was he in there with you?”
“You got there just in time.” Emer brushed the stray hair out of Alannah’s face and behind her ear. “So like you, to worry over me when you were almost killed. You fought so well. I wish Ossian and Osgar could have seen it.”
A laugh bubbled up, but Alannah’s bruised throat couldn’t quite manage to let it through. Instead, she coughed, her throat pinching in protest.
“I doubt they would’ve enjoyed watching that, no matter how proud they’d be,” Conan told them. “But Emer is right, you fought very well. And you earned that victory all on your own.”
“It seems my training has paid off.”
In the silence that followed her words, Alannah heard the unmistakable breaking of a large piece of wood. The causeway.
She took several slow steps forward until the river was in sight. Sure enough, a line of fire stretched across the Sionnain from the western shore and out of sight.
“No,” Emer breathed. “They still burned it.”
“It was you or the bridge,” Alannah whispered. At this point, her throat couldn’t manage much more than that. “I made the right choice.”
Emer wrapped her in a loose hug, carefully avoiding Alannah’s injured shoulder.
Conan placed his hand on the small of her back. “I’m so sorry.”
Alannah turned her full attention on him. Her heart still fluttered like a lovesick fool every time he was near. “Your betrayal hurt all the more because I trusted you,” she wheezed. Lord above, she sounded terrible.
“I know.” He swallowed hard. “We came here specifically to destroy the causeway, and that is why we kept our identities hidden.” Conan took a step toward her, raising a tentative hand to her face.
Alannah didn’t back away. She didn’t want to. She wanted him. She still loved him. But she no longer trusted him. His rough fingers brushed her cheek, sending shivers through her.
“Everything else was real,” he breathed. “Whether you believe me or not, I’ve always wanted you. All the tales I shared with you, all the details of me and my life, those were truths.”
Alannah digested that a moment. “I want to believe you.”
“Is there anything I can say or do to help convince you?”
“Why did you change your mind?” she asked. “At the causeway. What made you switch sides?”
“You did,” he replied simply. “You reminded me of what was important, of what was worth fighting for.”
“And what is that, exactly?”
“The people we love.”
Alannah smiled, leaning into his touch. “Family is everything.”