25 THE BEAST AND THE BROKEN ARROW
“HOW ARE THINGS with Alar?”
Lara stiffened before glancing Bree’s way. Her cheeks warmed. “Better than expected … considering everything that’s happened of late.”
The two women stood on the walls, watching as the light gradually faded. It was the eve of Gateway. Shortly, they’d have to retreat inside the broch, for it wouldn’t be safe out here.
It wasn’t just the Slew that emerged on this night.
On Gateway, the veil between worlds grew thin.
Many people swore they saw the ghosts of dead kin on this night, while others had to deal with the botach and other mischievous or malevolent spirits, who’d try to claw their way in through air vents or gaps around shutters and doorways.
It was on this night that faerie creatures were also on the prowl, often helping themselves to the cakes and other sweet treats left out as offerings for the dead.
A groove formed between Bree’s eyebrows. Clearly, that wasn’t the right answer.
Her warder was so serious these days. Lara missed the banter they’d once shared and Bree’s wry sense of humor. Their relationship had developed a formality she hated, although she didn’t know how to bridge the distance between them.
It didn’t help that Lara could focus on little but her upcoming campaign. They were just a day or two from departing now. Even her overkings’ treachery couldn’t distract her from it. “He’s surprised me at times,” she admitted then.
Bree cocked an eyebrow, inviting her to elaborate.
“He was gentle on our wedding night.” She cut her gaze away, her cheeks burning now. “He’s often busy training his wulvers, but when we do spend time together, he listens to me. You’ve seen how he backs me up in council meetings. He’s clever, Bree. I’m learning much from him.”
Her friend paused before answering, “Just be careful. You deserve to be treated well. Don’t let gratitude override good sense.”
Lara’s heart started to race as she turned back to Bree once more. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
Bree grimaced. “I know how exhausting it’s been for you … to shoulder all this alone. Alar will be only too happy to help … to make himself useful. Remember who he is though. The man’s slipperier than a bog wight.”
Queasiness churned in Lara’s belly. Bree’s words were cynical, but was she right? Was she that starved of attention that she wasn’t seeing things clearly? Was she letting the pull between her and Alar blind her?
“I will be wary,” she assured her friend. “I understand our marriage is nothing but an arrangement. He’s using me to give the wulvers the freedom they deserve … but I’m using him too.”
Bree nodded slowly. Worry flickered in her eyes, and her lips parted, as if she wished to say something else. However, she didn’t.
Lara glanced up at the sky, her brow furrowing. “We should get inside,” she murmured. “It looks as if a storm is on its way.”
A pause followed, and when Bree replied, there was an edge to her voice. “That’s not bad weather.”
Lara stiffened and looked closer. Bree was right. At first, she’d thought it was dark, swirling clouds that approached from the west. Yet there wasn’t any wind this evening. And when she narrowed her eyes, she swore she could see winged shapes, long, trailing hair, and snaking limbs.
Her heart jolted, and she drew her fur cloak tightly about her.
“Right.” Bree took her arm firmly. “Inside.”
The two women descended the steps from the wall, where the guards had just lit a line of braziers. Usually, the sentries would stay outdoors and keep watch overnight, but once the braziers and torches were all burning, they too would take refuge inside.
Lara crossed the yard beneath the walls, noting the hurried step of the servants and slaves finishing their chores. No one wanted to linger out here any longer than they had to.
They were climbing the steps to the broch when a shriek ripped through the air.
Lara’s step faltered. “So soon?”
“Aye.” Bree linked her arm through Lara’s and quickened her step. “It’s not even sunset, and they’re on their way.”
The guards within nodded to the High Queen and her warder as they stepped into the entrance hall.
“The Slew are coming early,” Bree informed them. “Make sure everyone’s inside and then secure the doors.”
The guards hastened to obey, and Lara and her warder made their way into the hall.
“My Queen.” The chief-seer rushed up to Lara, green robes swishing.
She halted, wondering if he had discovered the cuckoo in their nest yet.
As Alar had suggested, she’d spoken to her seer, and he’d set about ‘interviewing’ the broch’s residents.
So far though, no one had raised his suspicions.
“I’ve just cast the bones … and they have a warning. ”
Her belly flipped. Great .
She was just about to question Ruari when Alar entered the hall and strode toward her. Their gazes met as he approached, and Lara’s racing pulse settled a little. His presence often steadied her—but recalling her conversation with Bree on the walls, her spine stiffened.
She needed to be warier.
“The broch is secure,” he announced. “Although it’ll be a wild night.”
Cailean, who’d just entered the hall with Skaal and Roth, snorted. “Aye … the fuckers are circling the broch like crows as we speak.”
“The beast and the broken arrow.” Ruari raised his voice to be heard over the howling and shrieking of the Slew. Even through the thick walls of the broch, it was an unearthly sound, full of desperation and rage. The Unforgiven were tormented, ravenous. “Danger and vulnerability.”
Seated upon the high seat, Lara’s palms grew damp.
She, the five druids, her captain, warder, archivist, and husband all sat around the table, while a handful of warriors looked on from the shadows.
She’d gathered her council for an emergency meeting.
As often, Skaal had settled before one of the hearths.
However, she wasn’t relaxed this evening.
Instead, the fae hound sat up, her amber gaze watchful.
On the eve of Gateway, the bones had delivered a warning; one she shouldn’t ignore. However, it was too late to do anything about it.
“Something is different this year.” Annis was the first to speak. “The Slew have never been this loud before.”
“Aye.” Cailean’s gaze lifted to the sturdy walls surrounding them. “It sounds as if they’ll actually manage to claw their way inside this year.”
No sooner had the chief-enforcer spoken than a loud ‘boom’ echoed through the broch, and its very walls shuddered.
“Shit,” Bree growled. “What was that? Has the main door been breached?”
Shouting started then, coming from the direction of the entrance hall.
Everyone surged to their feet, the rasp of drawing weapons filling the smoky air. Likewise, the warriors who’d been standing watch stepped forward, readying themselves.
Skaal rose swiftly to her feet and moved to the front of the high seat. As she did so, the fae hound’s hackles lifted on the back of her neck and shoulders.
Alar now gripped his fighting daggers. He moved close to Lara. She’d also drawn her blade.
The shouting morphed into screams, and then the doors to the hall itself flew open.
A group of terrified servants rushed inside.
Then came the sound—a low hum that vibrated across the floor and up through Lara’s feet.
A heartbeat passed before darkness surged into the hall, bringing with it a mass of writhing figures.
And as she watched, transfixed, the mass separated into individual forms, each wrong in a different way.
Arms that bent too many times. Faces stretched like melted candle wax.
Some beat the air with leathered wings, while tattered cloaks fluttered and snapped behind others.
The humming slid into ear-splitting screeches. The sound of insatiable hunger.
Even at this distance, she could see their fingers. They were too long, ending in curved claws that caught the firelight. Their mouths hung open, but not to speak. It was as if they were tasting the air—readying themselves to taste them .
They caught up with the slowest of the servants then, swooping down on two lads and plucking them off the ground. An instant later, the Slew carried them away, while more writhing shapes boiled into the hall.
Lara gasped a curse, watching helplessly as iron blades sliced through the empty air.
The warriors might as well have been fighting smoke.
One man’s broadsword clove into something massive—wings that blotted out the torchlight—but the wraith didn’t flinch.
Claws found the warrior’s throat. His boots scraped against stone as he was lifted, then gone.
Ren sang from the high seat, her voice cracking. The melody wavered, but pine and ash still swirled through the air. Some of the Slew recoiled, shrieking. Others kept coming.
Lara’s knuckles clenched white around her dagger hilt. Between her and the advancing darkness stood Alar and Bree.
Silver light erupted from Cailean’s tattoos as he channeled earth magic through his blade. The pungent smell made her eyes water. For a heartbeat, the wraiths hesitated. Then they surged forward again, and Lara’s stomach dropped.
Skaal leaped into the fray, snarling. The Slew scattered as she attacked, but then reformed immediately afterward. The fae hound was snapping at shadows.
Gregor stepped into their path. His knife opened his palm in one swift cut. Blood dripped as he chanted, calling on The Five. His raspy voice was almost lost in the chaos.
Lara found herself whispering too—to the Gods, even to The Reaper. Please. Spare us!
Her protectors closed ranks around her. Annis clutched her iron sickle charm, but her hand shook. They all knew. They couldn’t hold back the flood.
A terrified wail tore through the hall as the Slew took another servant. Cailean, Roth, and the warriors were drowning in black shapes, sweat streaming as they fought the tide.
Then one broke through—a huge wraith with seaweed hair and teeth like jagged, broken blades.