32 FAR GREATER THINGS
“CAILEAN STILL DOESN’T like you much.”
Alar looked up from where he’d been unlacing the leather bracers on his forearms. His lips then lifted at the corners. “I’d noticed.”
“Bree doesn’t either.”
Her husband shrugged. “They’re both just doing their jobs.” He paused then. “And they’re loyal to you.”
Lara smiled. “They are.”
His gaze met hers then. “True friendship is rare, Lara. Guard it. Treasure it. Never take it for granted.”
Something in his tone made her still. She’d just gotten up from kneeling before the shrine where her four rosewood figurines sat. It was time to retire to the furs, yet she hesitated. Things had been frosty between them for days now, yet tonight, curiosity made her thaw a little.
“Lyall and Dolph are loyal to you too,” she pointed out.
“Aye.” He cut his gaze away as he removed both bracers and set them down on a stool next to the furs. He then started to loosen the ties on his vest. “We’re as close as brothers.”
“You don’t have any siblings, do you?”
“No man would go near my mother once they learned she had a Half-blood son.” His voice was quiet, yet there was a slight edge to it. “She didn’t seem to care though.”
Silence followed this admission before Lara cleared her throat. “I had an elder brother.”
“I know.” Warmth flushed across her chest. Of course, he did. “Were you close?”
“Aye … you remind me of him sometimes.”
His eyebrows raised as he cut his attention back to her. “Aye?”
“Calm, clever … with a wry sense of humor. There was an edge to him too. Anger that often simmered just beneath the surface.”
“And why was that?”
Lara’s chest constricted, as it often did when she thought of her brother. “His relationship with our father was … strained. Nothing he did was good enough.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Father used to tell him he didn’t have the stomach to rule … but he was wrong.”
“Maybe … maybe not.” Alar’s voice had veiled now. “But he wasn’t destined to take the throne. You were.”
Lara’s pulse quickened then. How had they ended up talking about this? It was her fault for engaging him in conversation in the first place. However, he was looking at her intently now—in that way of his that made her feel seen .
“Do you think it was fated then?” she whispered.
He smiled. “You were never meant to remain by the hearth while your husband went off to battle. Look at what you did today.” He paused then, his grey eyes darkening. “No, you were meant for far greater things.”
Her breathing grew shallow. Be careful , she warned herself. The Half-blood could speak in a way that made her unfurl like a flower with one breath and bleed with the next.
An ache rose under her breastbone then.
No, she’d be a fool to let her shields down again with him.
All the same, there was no denying that he believed in her.
They’d crossed swords about what the future held for Albia; but when he looked at her as he was doing now, she felt capable and strong, as if there was nothing she couldn’t achieve if she put her mind to it.
His belief banished her lingering doubts and fears like The Sweeper clearing away sea fret on a spring morning.
Gods, she wanted to prove him right.
A misty rain began to fall as another long day of travel ended. Rubbing her back, which was stiff after a day in the saddle, Lara walked at Alar’s side through the encampment.
And all the while, her gaze kept flicking west.
The Slew always came from that direction, and she had to be ready for them. At the first sign, she’d rush back to her tent and throw on her cloak.
Her palms grew damp then. She hoped she could wield fire out here as successfully a second time.
Approaching the eastern perimeter, Lara’s gaze traveled over where warriors were pushing torches into the damp ground and lighting them.
They’d camped off the road, in a wooded glen. The silhouettes of tall, dark pines stood out against an indigo sky, and the rugged outline of the Shiel Range was a faint shadow to the south. They were well into the borderlands now. Albia would grow wilder from this point on.
And among the trees, golden lights flickered. Corpse candles.
Lara halted, her breath catching.
The Mother bless her, she’d never seen so many of them. With the spirit world churned up at present, the faerie lights had come out to play in force. Nonetheless, they were far more pleasant visitors than the ravenous Slew or the sorrowful wail of The Weeper.
The corpse candles lit up the wet dusk like hundreds of lanterns moving through the pines.
Memories of that evening near Doure rolled in then, returning with vivid clarity. They called to her now too, beguiling and beautiful. The Ord-ree seal on her right hand flickered, answering the flames.
“Careful, Lara,” Alar’s voice drew her away from the flickering lights. “Don’t stare at them too long.”
Shaking herself free of the corpse candles' call, she swiveled on her heel and came face-to-face with her husband. She wiped the rain off her face before grimacing. “Thank you.”
Alar stepped in close then, glancing around to make sure they weren’t overhead before murmuring. “Your love of fire betrays you … the corpse candles sense it.”
Her heart kicked, and she cut a wary glance back at where the lights still burned amongst the trees.
She wanted to deny his words, but her gut told her he was right.
The dancing flames were likely more attractive to her because she was a fire-wielder.
It was best she kept her gaze averted from the woods at dusk in future.
She looked up at the sky once more. “No sign of the Slew … yet.”
“They haven’t come two nights in a row so far,” he replied. “Although that doesn’t mean they won’t. There doesn’t appear to be any pattern to their arrival.”
“No,” she agreed, even as her pulse sped up. Taking back The Uplands from the Shee was going to be hard enough without having to fight off malevolent spirits along the way.
Heaving a sigh, she raised her face to the rain.
Its gentle caress was soothing, yet it couldn’t wash away her worries.
Ardroth hadn’t been the only village plagued by wraiths.
They’d passed through another at noon with similar tales to tell.
Grimlochs had been causing problems too—putting out hearths and filling homes with choking smoke.
The villagers were frightened, and they’d looked to her for answers.
However, she couldn’t give them any. Not yet.
“There are so many things I need to put right,” she whispered. “But I swear by The Five that I will.”
Alar watched his wife as her eyes fluttered shut. A faint sheen of rain covered her lovely face. Nonetheless, there were lines of strain there. She hid it well, but he could tell this campaign was already taking its toll on her.
Unfortunately, it would continue to.
His chest tightened.
He didn’t want this woman to suffer.
“You aren’t responsible for everything, Lara,” he said finally, choosing his words with care. The last time they’d ventured into this territory, they’d argued. But he didn’t want to clash with her this evening.
Opening her eyes, Lara shifted her attention to him. Her gaze was dark, reflecting the flickering flames of the nearby torches. “Someone has to be accountable,” she said huskily.
He frowned. “Aye … but we all have our limits.”
Their gaze drew out before Lara raised her chin. It was a look he’d come to know well over the turns of the last few moons. His wife was digging her heels in. The tension under his ribs sharpened then. The Hearthkeeper smite him, he wished she weren’t so brave. So determined and defiant.
“You say there’s no going back to how things were … and maybe you’re right.” Her voice was low and steady. “But I will still fight to stop the Shee taking my homeland … or die trying.”