2 NEVER FOLLOW THE LIGHTS
LARA APPROACHED THE perimeter, her soft-soled boots squelching over the wet ground.
Her hooded cloak obscured her identity. The mist wreathed thick now, turning the encampment into a shadowy grey world, where the figures of warriors and druids moving around her appeared distant, wraiths lost in smoke. Even their voices seemed far away.
The surrounding fog wrapped her in its cool embrace. It was the beginning of autumn, and the air had a bite to it. And all the while, the glowing flame up ahead promised warmth and comfort. She had to reach it.
For the first time since ascending the throne, taking back her lands from the Shee ceased to matter. Everything, including the gnawing worry that she’d fail to take back the North, merely melted away. All she cared about was that single beckoning flame. It drew her to it as if by an invisible cord.
Her breathing grew shallow, and she quickened her step. I’m coming .
She passed behind two tall, broad shapes then: enforcers were dropping the final ward stones.
Neither warrior druid saw her.
Ahead, the light amongst the trees grew brighter, joined by more flickering flames. They were so beautiful that Lara’s throat tightened.
She increased her pace. She had to get closer. She had to let the flames dance in her hand as she’d managed once with a candle flame. These days, four attendants slept in her alcove, and the rest of the time, Bree shadowed her. There had been no time, or opportunity, to make fire dance on her palm.
She was dimly aware that the camp was now behind her. She was alone, but it didn’t bother her. If anything, it was a relief. Let someone else worry about what the next day might bring. All she wanted was to reach the lights.
Finally, she was gaining on them. And so, she broke into a run, navigating tree roots as she went. The trees drew back then, and she stepped into a glade. The lights surrounded her, illuminating the murky twilight like fireflies.
Lara breathed an oath. Up close, they were even bonnier—and some of the flames fluttered and cavorted like fairies.
They were mischievous, playful. Laughter bubbled up as she halted amidst them, and she suddenly felt like a carefree lass again, the young woman she’d once been before the war.
“Good eve, my lovelies,” she whispered, holding out her hand, palm upward. “Would you care to dance?”
The fires bobbed and dipped in the misty air, and then one of them—one that resembled a woman with long robes and flowing hair—leaped onto her palm, spinning around so that golden sparks rained over Lara’s hand.
She didn’t flinch, for the sparks didn’t burn her. Instead, she raised her other hand and was about to whisper to the flames once more when a noise broke through her reverie—a grating sound like iron dragging over stone.
The golden fairy that had been spinning on her right palm leaped high into the air at the sound, and all the flames scattered to the edge of the glade. Blinking, Lara glanced around her. She felt drowsy, as if she’d just emerged from a pleasant dream, and her mind still wished to cling to it.
What am I doing here? Alarm washed over her. Why am I alone?
A rustling noise made her turn, drawing the dagger at her hip. She always carried a weapon these days.
She spied something she had completely missed earlier then: a crumbling stacked-stone wall.
She ran her gaze over it, ice settling in her gut.
The glow of the flickering lights, most of which now hovered on the fringes of the clearing, illuminated a ruin.
Partially swallowed by creeping ivy and growths of nettles, it was possibly a watchtower from many years earlier.
Her breathing grew shallow. Shit.
Her pulse then started to pound in her ears. What was she doing out here? How had she let that dancing flame ensnare her?
Tightening her fingers on the grip of her dagger, she backed away. “Captain!” she called out, hoping Roth had ignored her command and followed her, after all.
Only silence answered her.
Instead, something was moving inside the ruin. A moment later, stocky figures clambered over the wall, their heavy boots thudding onto the mossy ground.
Lara whispered an oath, raising the iron blade. Bree had taught her how to wield a dagger, and they still had regular lessons. Nonetheless, she’d never been in a proper fight before.
She had encountered powries though—during her father’s ill-fated campaign, when the military camp she’d been sheltering within had been attacked. Shee warriors had stormed it, bringing with them a vicious host of the imps.
There were five of them now. They grasped pikestaffs in their left hand and drew daggers with their right. Bright silver gleamed in the light of the corpse candles, and Lara’s belly swooped.
Sheehallion steel.
It wasn’t like any metal forged in the mortal realm—not an alloy of iron and carbon—but made from elements only mined in Sheehallion.
All faerie creatures, including the Shee, abhorred iron.
However, ever since the Raven Queen had taken the North, she’d equipped some of her allies with Sheehallion steel.
Armed with such blades, powries could stray from the ruins they inhabited, and could venture out in daylight.
But they’d done neither tonight. Instead, they’d somehow used the corpse candles to lure her into a trap.
“Captain,” she shouted, her voice shrill now.
She continued to back away, keeping her blade raised. Her mind racing, she glanced around the clearing. Shades. She was up to her neck now. Maybe she could fight off one powrie, but not five. The imps’ fiery red eyes burned as they continued to advance on her.
One of them grinned then, revealing long, prominent, rabbit-like teeth. Stringy grey hair flowed over his broad shoulders, framing a leathery face. And atop his head sat a dark-red cap—a grisly accessory that obtained its color from being soaked in the blood of his victims.
The powrie’s long, thin, claw-tipped fingers flexed around the hilt of his pikestaff, and then he rushed her.
Whoops cut through the clearing as his companions did the same.
Lara dropped into a fighting stance and slashed her dagger at him. However, the next thing she knew, she was on her back, and the powrie was driving his blade toward her face.
Iron met steel as she blocked him, the sound ringing through the woods. The powrie laughed before raising his pikestaff.
A scream ripped from her throat.
The Gods save her.
And then, the powrie who was about to stab her through the chest let out an unearthly howl.
An instant later, a ball of flame erupted in Lara’s face.
Crying out once more, she raised her free arm to protect her eyes, and when she lowered it, the powrie had gone, taking the pikestaff with him.
Only its steel dagger fell onto the mossy ground next to her.
Blinking, she scrabbled to her feet. She didn’t know what had just happened to her assailant, but she needed to be ready for the others. Blood roaring in her ears, she scooped up the fallen dagger—for two blades were of more use than one—and crouched, readying herself.
But the remaining powries weren’t focused on her.
Instead, they were fighting someone else.
A tall, lean figure, cloaked in black, danced in their midst. The stranger wielded two long fighting daggers.
And as Lara looked on, frozen in place—her fingers clenched tight around the grips of her own knives—the newcomer drove a blade into one of the powries. With a shriek, the imp burst into flames, but its companions didn’t draw back. Instead, teeth bared, the other three rushed at their attacker.
Skillfully avoiding being stuck by a pike, and moving with fluid grace, the cloaked one slashed their way through the powries, dispatching the last of them with a vicious downward cut using both blades.
A final ball of fire erupted in the glade. Meanwhile, the corpse candles still hovered on the tree line, as if curious to see what would happen next, their pale glow illuminating the clearing.
Heart pounding, Lara straightened up, watching as the stranger turned to her. They then advanced, walking in long, smooth strides until they were around four feet distant. Stopping, they sheathed the fighting daggers at their back in one smooth movement.
A hand pushed back their hood.
Lara stilled.
A man stood before her—whether he was Marav or Shee, she couldn’t tell at first. A thick mane of long, tangled dark hair framed a pale face with high cheekbones and sharp features that made him look eerily fae.
And yet, he didn’t have cat-like eyes, with elongated pupils, like one of the Shee.
His eyes were slate-grey and slightly slanted, with round pupils just like hers.
Lara had never seen a man of his like. It was difficult to place his age.
He could be just a couple of years older than her—or a decade.
She marked the long, thin silver scar that slashed down one side of his face then.
It started just above the left eyebrow to level with his mouth. A second scar encircled his throat.
“You should be careful,” he said, his voice low with a gravelly edge. “Didn’t anyone tell you never to follow the lights?”
Lara swallowed, heat flushing through her. Indeed, she felt foolish. “It enchanted me,” she replied, still breathless. “I don’t know how—”
“Lara!” A man’s voice rang through the trees, echoing in the mist. “Where are you?”
“Captain!” she shouted back, her heart kicking hard against her ribs. “I’m here!”
Meanwhile, her savior slowly backed away, even as his gaze never left her face.
“Wait!” she gasped.
He paused, inclining his head.
“I should thank you.”
His dark-grey eyes glinted. “You’re welcome … Your Highness .”
Heat crept up her neck now. So, he knew who she was. “What is your name?”
Her savior paused an instant before replying. “Alar mac Struana.”
He pulled up the hood of his cloak then and, before she could ask him anything else, melted like a shade into the swirling mist.
Lara stared after him, heart still pounding, her breathing still labored.
Thanks to this stranger, she’d just dodged The Reaper’s scythe.
A moment later, the sound of twigs cracking underfoot made her spin on her heel and raise her daggers once more.
Roth erupted from the tree line, face taut, and broadsword at the ready, with three black-clad enforcers behind him.
Relief barreled through Lara, making her knees wobble. Never had she been so relieved to see anyone.