25 THE BEAST AND THE BROKEN ARROW #2
Lara’s breathing caught. This Slew was different from the others. Bigger. More solid. It shoved Cailean and Roth aside as if they were bairns. Gil and Ruari stabbed at it uselessly.
Bree threw herself forward, but it smacked her across the face and sent her sprawling.
And then it lunged.
Lara stared into its dead eyes, and her world narrowed.
It’s over.
But then Alar stepped between them, twin blades catching the firelight. “Stand down.”
The wraith’s maw stretched impossibly wide—rows of jagged teeth glistening.
“If you want her,” Alar snarled back, “you’ll have to take me first.”
Lara’s chest clenched. Gods, no!
Her dagger felt useless in her grip. Behind her, the hearths blazed against her back, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.
The fire.
Her pulse hammered. She’d hidden this her whole life.
But Alar was about to die, and everyone else would follow.
Those who were taken by The Unforgiven were doomed to join their ranks, lost forever in the Threshold or the places where the veil between the living and the dead was at its most fragile.
And then, as she hesitated, Alar rushed forward, straight into the embrace of the grasping Slew. He moved with a swiftness that caught her off guard.
His act propelled her into action.
Lara sheathed her dagger and flexed her hands.
Heat flooded her veins. The roar in her ears drowned out everything else—the screaming, the clash of steel, her own thundering heartbeat. The hearth flames behind her blazed so hot her skin felt as if it were blistering.
What if I can't control it? What if I burn us all?
Alar was losing. Shadows wrapped around him like hungry vines.
She flung her hands wide.
Fire erupted from the hearths, arcing over her head in twin streams. It slammed into the writhing mass of Slew. Their shrieks changed—from hunger to pain.
The power nearly buckled her knees. Fire coursed through her blood, her bones, threatening to tear her apart from the inside. She gritted her teeth and held on.
Cast them out.
Another wave of flame. Warriors threw themselves flat as the heat washed over them. Skaal yelped, bounding out of the way. The Slew writhed, fought back, but the fire was relentless.
Sweat poured down her spine. Her mind went blank except for one hysterical, burning, thought— push them back, push them out —and the flames obeyed, hammering the wraiths toward the doorway like the fist of an angry god.
Climbing off the floor, Cailean, Roth, and the warriors moved cautiously after them, keeping clear as the wall of flame forced the Slew back. Alar and Ruari joined them. Her long coat smoking from where the flames had singed her, Skaal prowled forward.
Moments later, the fire had shoved the Slew into the entrance hall beyond. And then, it went out.
The strength drained from Lara’s legs, and she collapsed onto the floor. The heat dissolved, shivers wracking her body instead.
“Ren!” Cailean shouted as he moved through the door. “We need you!”
The chief-seer stumbled forward. Ashen-faced and shaking, she followed the others out into the entrance hall.
Moments later, the chief-bard’s singing began, rising above the fading shrieks of the Slew. A repelling sain.
Boom. The great iron doors to the broch swung shut.
“Secure them!” Cailean’s voice echoed through into the main hall.
Gregor, who was bleeding from a cut to his forehead, lurched to his feet from the foot of the high seat and staggered through the debris that now littered the floor toward the entrance hall. They needed the chief-sacrificer too, if they were to keep the Slew out.
From where she sat crumpled upon the raised dais, Lara gazed around her. It was a mess in here. The fire had scorched the interior of the hall. The heavy wooden beams crisscrossing above smoked. Black scorch marks covered the stacked-stone walls.
Annis sat a few yards away, cradling what appeared to be a broken arm.
Her face was blistered from the heat that had roared through the hall.
Meanwhile, Gil crawled over to his sister.
Bree had just roused herself from where she’d hit the wall earlier.
Her hazel eyes were unfocused, her face flushed.
“Lara.” A gravelly voice drew her attention then.
Her gaze jerked to where Alar limped toward her. He’d returned from the entrance hall. His left leg was bleeding, and claw marks bloodied his right shoulder and arm. Unlike Annis, he’d managed to avoid being burned. Nonetheless, sweat slicked his face, neck, and bare arms.
His gaze raked over her. “Are you hurt?”
Lara swallowed as her mouth filled with saliva. “I don’t know.”
He knelt before her and, reaching out, took one of her hands, checking it as if looking for blisters and burns. “How,” he said roughly, “did you manage that?”
“I’m not sure,” she whispered.
Their gazes met and held for a long moment. “I suspected … that you had fire magic in your veins,” he murmured. “But I never imagined—”
“Neither did I.” Lara shuddered as chills rippled through her. Now that she’d severed the link with the fire, she was suddenly cold. “I’ve been able to … play … with flames for a while now … but I’ve never wielded it properly. Not like that.”
“You never confided in anyone?”
She shook her head, even as her teeth chattered. “Fire magic is o… outlawed, Alar … G… Gods know what my father would have done had he known.”
His sharp features tightened. They both knew what he would have done.
Daughter or not, Lara wouldn’t have been allowed to live.
The Royal line of Albia had made the law clear over the centuries.
Fire magic was forbidden—even to a High Queen.
She could try and change the law now, but that wouldn’t change people’s prejudices. They’d fear her. Turn on her.
“I shouldn’t have used it,” Lara said, her throat hurting with each word. “But I … I couldn’t let you … all … die.”
Alar stared down at her. She’d expected to see censure flare in his eyes, or even fear, after what she’d done. But instead, all she saw was concern, and something oddly tender that made her throat tighten.
“Can you stand?” he asked after a pause.
“I’m not sure.”
“Let’s see then.”
Gently, he took hold of her arm and helped her up. Lara’s legs trembled like a newborn foal’s. Chills wracked her body. She felt ill, as if she had a fever. Wielding fire did indeed have its price, it seemed, and she was paying it.