Chapter 35
E mer startled awake. Unlike the nights before when she had woken in a panic, it was not a nightmare that had her chest tight with fear. The unease that reached for her in the depths of sleep pooled heavily in the pit of her stomach at the sight of the two empty bedrolls on either side of her. Hoping to quell the rising panic, Emer slowly slid her hands over the material, searching for the telltale warmth of a body having been there.
Just like the bedding, everything was suddenly cold.
Peering over the fire into the darkness ahead, Emer waited for them to emerge from the shadows. Moments passed, but they didn’t appear.
Only the occasional crackle of the fire broke the eerie quiet. Then, in the distance, a sleepy, dreamy sound in the wind took the shape of the word.
“ Emer.”
As she reached for her knife, she noted that their weapons were also missing. Wherever they had gone, they were armed, and Emer couldn't decide if that knowledge brought her comfort or fueled her concern.
The familiar hum beneath her skin began to pulse. A warmer wind blew in beyond the trees, beckoning her closer until she could make out a faint glow in the distance. Carefully, she stepped over tree roots and fallen leaves as she made her way closer and discovered it to be the fire of a neighboring encampment. There was a body curled up next to it, sleeping, though she couldn't make out anything more due to the cloak they used as a makeshift blanket. If the dreamer did not know what happened to her friends, surely the large form crouched at the tree line watching them did.
Emer held her breath until she was certain she had not been noticed. Eyes closed, she willed the hum in her veins to quiet long enough for her to approach. As soon as she reached the shadow, their shoulders began to straighten. Emer lunged forward, knocking them off balance, and brought a knife to their throat as they fell.
Calder’s stark black eyes stared up at her, his nostrils flaring. With a slight snarl, he repeatedly cracked his head against the ground in frustration.
“Oh, Merrow, you will be the death of me,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Emer’s chest heaved in preparation to yell a variety of obscenities, but they were captured by Calder’s hand firmly pressed over her mouth. Her eyes blazed with anger while his remained distant.
“You can stab me later, but right now, you need to be quiet,” he whispered.
He dropped his hand and placed a finger to his lips, pleading for her silence. Tipping his head, he drew her attention back to the individual by the fire. Emer didn’t understand what game Calder was playing at. She turned back down to him with an unamused glare.
“As much as I regret saying this… you are going to need to get off of me.”
She had not realized how he held her until she felt the increased pressure of his palms over her hips. An act that felt in stark contrast to his command. He slid his hand down her thighs, drawing attention to the fact that she was straddling him, and tapped the sides of her legs. While the dark of night hid the rosy hue of her cheeks, it did little to conceal the hitch in her breath. Emer startled as she returned to her senses, leaning to one side and un-caging him from her legs.
Calder rolled to his stomach and she mirrored the position.
They both remained low, shoulders pressed against each other, and their eyes focused on the clearing ahead.
“Why are you hiding? Or better yet, who are you stalking?” she scolded in a hushed tone.
“You are supposed to be asleep,” he observed.
“You cannot be serious right now,” Emer groaned.
“ You cannot be serious ,” he echoed with such severity that it made Emer pause.
Even when they fought on the beach, his tone had never been so feral. It took her a moment, lost in the onyx of his eyes, but when she regained her composure, she set her jaw and let out a frustrated exhale. The sound caused a muscle in his jaw to tick.
“Should I remind you of the monsters you are likely to find in the dark?” he asked ominously, but Emer felt herself questioning whether it was a threat or a promise.
“ You left me alone?—”
He interrupted her with a hush.
“Momentarily. You weren’t supposed to wake up before we finished,” he began to explain, but his tone was unsure and his voice trailed off.
“Were you… am I interrupting some weird midnight tryst with some random woman in the woods? Because if so, I hope she makes your coc?—”
“Is that a serious question?”
His voice was like gravel as he turned his still-black eyes to hers. Leaning in slowly, he brought his nose a feather’s width from hers. Salt and whiskey coated her tongue as she breathed him in .
“Ask me. That. Again,” he dared, and Emer’s heart stuttered.
Her mind became devoid of thought as she felt the heat of his breath against her lips. Calder blinked, his eyes shifting back and burning into hers.
“Later. We will be talking about this later.”
His hand slipped to his chest, unsheathing his knife and placing it against his lips, demanding her silence. She followed Calder’s gaze just as a man emerged on the other side of the clearing.
His tall form stalked out of the shadows like a giant stepping out of the pages of myth. His eyes and hair were like charcoal, their darkness mirrored in the leathers that adorned his muscled frame. If Death had knights, he would be one of them.
A soft whimper spilled from her lips as the man unsheathed a short sword from his back. Calder’s hand slid to hers and he squeezed it, pleading with her not to make another sound. She tugged in return, begging him to say something… to do something.
“We’ve got it under control,” he reassured her, and Emer swiftly turned her gaze back to the giant and the one he lumbered over. The one she now realized was Keane.
The man kicked the sleeping form over, and surprise flashed in his features a moment before he plunged his sword down. A scream was building and ready to burst free from Emer, but it halted in awe as Keane darted out of the sword’s path. The man stared in shock at his would-be victim, who now crouched on one knee several paces away.
Still kneeling with one hand pressed into the dirt, Keane’s head rose, revealing a wicked smile. His magic was already crackling through the air as he closed his eyes and took in a deep and pleased breath.
“You,” Keane hissed, releasing the clasp of the cloak he had borrowed from Emer. He straightened his jacket and froze. Leaning to the side, he examined the tear the man’s sword had left in his jacket .
“These aren’t made in periwinkle anymore, asshole,” he snarled.
Sparks arched as Keane reached his hands behind his back and jerked free the twin curved blades concealed beneath his wings. The ornate designs woven into the gold handle of the knives made them look as if they were merely extensions of him—beautiful and deadly.
Keane surveyed the man, whose surprise had been replaced by a murderous glower. The flames of the campfire began to dance as a warm wind, sweet with Keane’s magic, stirred the area like a goading entity counting down to their first strike.
The man gripped the hilt of his blade with both hands as he swung it down in a large arc. Keane brought one blade up and knocked his opponent’s blade away. With the next strike, Keane spun to the side out of the weapon’s path. His wings, which had been tucked tightly to his back, caught the firelight and cast an iridescent glow. The man shrank back, wearing a distasteful expression.
“Fae,” he cursed before spitting.
“Nothing gets past you, does it, big guy?” Keane punctuated his mocking with a flawless wink.
Keane tossed his blade up, catching the knife so the sharp edge curved away from him. The man charged, but Keane vanished, becoming nothing more than a haunting chuckle carried on the wind.
Reappearing at the man’s side, he left a shallow slice on one arm before repeating his vanishing act to leave a mirrored wound on the other side.
The man hissed, his sword swinging wildly but too slow to be effective.
Keane appeared once more in front of him, and the series of beats that followed rang sharp through the air. The men’s bodies blurred into a sequence of thrusts, slices, and guards. Keane controlled his movements and shifted his weight with exquisite grace. Soon, he had locked the man’s sword between his blades, knocking him back with an unforgiving kick to his abdomen and a forceful break. The man’s next thrust was desperate. Keane gripped his wrist and slid the blade tucked along his forearm effortlessly across his opponent’s chest, grinning at the melodic sound of the roar the act evoked.
All teeth and wicked delight. He stepped back to admire his work. This was the Keane that Calder was wary of—the Wraithnocti, the trickster, the killer.
“Aren’t you going to help him?” Emer pleaded.
“Of course not, we drew lots to see who got to be bait… and besides, he doesn’t appear to need any help, and I am in charge of standing watch in case there's more,” Calder explained, remaining entirely focused on the clearing and the men that barreled across it.
Another roar sounded, and the man stumbled back, staring down at the large cut that now ran down his shoulder. Keane danced around, waiting for the man to collect himself.
“What a disappointing date you have turned out to be,” Keane sighed before he tipped his chin up. “But have no fear. The night is young, and it’s not time to die just yet.”
Keane's magic slithered between them, coiling around the man's arm before cracking the bone to an unnatural angle. Moving forward with lightning speed, Keane gripped him by the back of the neck. “Although, I will make you bleed until you wish it was,” he promised, driving his blade into his opponent’s side.
Fire reflected off the unforgiving curve and drips of crimson dotting the ground as Keane moved to where the man’s sword had fallen. He picked up the blade and tossed it into the distance before returning and cleaning his own on the man’s shoulder. An act that had the previously indomitable man flinching.
Calder let out a deep breath and then pulled Emer to her feet. “You weren’t supposed to be here,” he said once more as his features turned distant and cold.
He freed his hand from hers as he moved into the clearing, clapping. Keane, dripping in hubris, gave a bow. The pride slipped from his face as he noticed Emer following behind. Blood streaked down his harsh features, and even if she had not been there for the fight, the evidence of his brutality was tacky on his skin. The warm, sweet wind died in an instant, and only the iron-rich scent of violence remained as all Keane’s attention fell to Emer.
Calder’s steps were calculated as he descended on their victim like a feral beast. He grasped the man by the hair and ripped his head back to meet his gaze. “Did somebody send you?” his guttural and fierce voice was unrecognizable.
The man swallowed hard and grunted as he held his bleeding wound tighter.
Calder bent closer to his face, teeth exposed and movements more animal than man. “Who sent you!” he roared, but the man remained resolute in his silence.
“As much as I don’t like you, I am going to give you a bit of advice. Talk to me, and I will kill you quickly. He won’t,” Calder explained, motioning to Keane.
Eye still fixed on Emer, Keane said, “He’s right. I won’t.”
“Either you are here for him, which would make you a madman. You are here for me, which would make you a fool. Or…” His words trailed off as he again tilted his head and studied him. “You are here for her, which makes you a dead man.”
Something in the man’s eyes must have given him away. Calder released his head with a shove, leaving him collapsed at his feet. He groaned and turned his eyes to Emer. The pain in his gaze was gone, overtaken by something that looked strikingly like betrayal. Calder pressed his boot into the man’s wound.
“Do. Not. Look at her,” he commanded, pushing harder with each word.
Emer winced at the cry that filled the air. Before she could plead with Calder to stop, a familiar voice whispering in her ear had her breath catch in her throat.
“Hurry while they’re distracted. ”
The words made Emer’s body seize like the unforgiving hands of winter had gripped her very bones. She turned over her shoulder, expecting to see a ghost, but instead, found a very alive Lachlan.
Emer gasped, and Lachlan’s eyes darted to where Keane and Calder still interrogated their captive.
“We have to go,” he urged.
Ignoring his urgent commands, she wrapped her arms around him. Lachlan did not return her embrace. Instead, her disobedience caused his chest to vibrate in a frustrated growl. Lachlan gripped her arms tightly and moved to pull her into the shadows of the tree line. She needed him to understand—she needed to explain. Too late, she realized the space had gone quiet.
The heat of Calder’s body pressed against her back, and his tattooed hand snaked around her hip, pulling her into his chest. Instinctively, Emer moved to grab his other hand, but Calder already held a blade under Lachlan’s jaw. Wrapping her hands around Calder’s forearm, Emer pulled with all her strength as she cried, “It’s Lachlan. It’s just Lachlan.”
Calder’s expression did not soften with her pleas, and he remained like stone beneath her grip. When he did move, it was not to pull away but rather to allow his knife to bite further into Lachlan’s throat. “Right. The friend who threw you off your ship.”
The corner of Lachlan’s mouth tipped up at how Calder spat the word ‘friend’. Emer pushed against Lachlan’s chest in an attempt to force him back, but one of his hands moved to cover hers. A gesture that was far too intimate and caused that thread of anxiety spun through her spine to tighten.
“Good. You know who I am then. Thank you for keeping my girl safe, but I can take it from here. ”
Emer’s eyes widened.
Calder’s narrowed.
“Yours?” Calder challenged, tilting his head and twisting his blade enough to draw a small bead of blood.
Finally, Lachlan released Emer’s hand, raising his as he stepped back and surveyed the way Calder held her. He let out a derisive snort and shook his head, evident disgust in his features.
“Elders, Em. Did you even try to get to the Well, or did you forsake it immediately just because you got a little attention?” Lachlan accused.
Emer sucked in a shocked breath.
“What the fuck did you just say to our girl?” Keane barked, straining as if something was physically preventing him from charging forward.
Lachlan’s features quickly shifted, taking on the fond expression she was familiar with seeing. “I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t mean it. It’s just that I have been looking everywhere. I thought you were dead, and now here you are. We can talk about all this later, I just need you to come with me,” he urged, offering his hand and pleading for her to follow.
Calder guided Emer several steps back, his hand still splayed over her lower belly. “Anything you want to keep should stay far away from her,” he warned.
Leaning down, Calder collared his hand lightly around Emer’s throat. He did not exert any pressure—instead, he used his grip to keep her attention on Lachlan as he brought his mouth to her ear. “Tell me what you see?” he asked.
For the first time, Emer allowed herself to take in her friend. His appearance was more unkempt than she had ever seen him before, which was understandable given the circumstances. However, his loose-hanging tunic revealed strange symbols inked into his skin. Symbols that, if he were properly dressed, would be hidden entirely. They snaked up from beneath his tunic and to just below his neck.
Having calmed slightly, Keane stood shoulder to shoulder with Calder. He drew in a deep breath and hissed, “Magic.”
“Magic?” Emer questioned.
“You see those markings, sweetheart?” Calder asked in a rough whisper. “Your Lachlan plays with a very dark kind of magic.”
His lips brushed her ear as she shook her head in denial.
“Calder,” Keane said sternly. There was a weight in his voice that hadn’t been there before—one that curved the word into a question.
“It doesn’t look like Keane trusts you much, Lachlan. If I were you, I would work real hard at convincing him. I’d start with explaining why, if your destination was Lunochy, you were attacked while on an entirely different course,” Calder challenged.
Lachlan let out an amused huff before he turned his eyes back to Emer’s with an arched brow as if the question were unreasonable. It was a familiar expression, and suddenly, Emer realized how often she had seen it when she’d questioned something.
“Emer?” Lachlan beseeched.
The longer Emer looked into his eyes, the less she recognized him. When she saw him in the tavern, she never considered he was actually there because of the way his dead eyes had watched her, absent of all warmth, but it had been him. As Lachlan’s eyes darted to Keane, Emer realized the reason he had not come for her then was the very reason why he tried to escape with her now. She had protection, and he was something to be protected from.
Watching as the firelight danced in the milky sheen of Lachlan’s gaze, she wondered how she had ever seen anything else—because in her bones, she knew this was how they’d always been, but she was so busy painting pretty lies of her own, she hadn’t seen his.
“Your eyes,” she whispered.
A hum vibrated deep in Lachlan’s throat, and he hung his head briefly .
“Calder is right. Keane gets bored quickly, and you still haven’t convinced him,” Emer said calmly.
Lachlan ground his teeth. “I need you to trust me.” He echoed the words he used when he told her they needed to sneak off the Isle for the Well. When he told her, she needed to leave with him.
Emer’s gaze dropped and everything around her fell silent. She no longer had to wonder if she could trust her old friend. She found her answer in the very hand he held out to her. It came in the form of tiny dark moons on Lachlan’s nail beds. The acute anguish the knowledge brought had her sucking in a sharp gasp.
“You did this.” The words were laced with so much pain that they carved and cut her throat, burning her as she spoke.
Lachlan pulled his hand back, balling it into a fist as if she would forget the sight. The evidence that he had been in contact with poison. Poison, she was now certain, ran through her father’s veins.
She would tear into this man until he looked as raw as she felt. Emer gripped Calder at her back and, with a feral sound, relieved him of one of his daggers and threw it.
Lachlan staggered back slightly, gripping the hilt of the blade and pulling it free from his shoulder with a hiss. Darkness leaked from the wound and slipped free from the symbols on his skin like smoke, bleeding across the ground. It decayed fallen leaves and turned stray branches into dust.
Lachlan was poison.
Calder grabbed for Emer, and Keane appeared in front of them, a barrier between them and the ravenous smoke that crept toward them.
With each of Keane’s footfalls, the smoke dispersed as if it were merely fog. Extending his sword directly in front of him, Keane snarled, “Tell whoever you borrowed your magic from that it lacks heart.”
Lachlan’s gaze darted over them before once again settling on Emer. “He never would have let you leave with me and if you stayed. You would be dead.”
“You’re lying,” Emer screamed, pushing against the restraint of Calder’s arm.
“The men who died in the alley. Tell me, Raven, do you know what killed them?” Lachlan asked. “I do, and you are no match for them. If you want her to leave this Isle alive. Let her leave with me.”
“Calder, get her out of here,” Keane demanded.
But it was Emer who responded. “Not until I know why. Not until he is dead!”
Keane turned to Calder.
“We protect her from anything, remember?”
“I’m sorry,” Calder whispered the moment before he lifted Emer, kicking and screaming, and fled into the shadows.
Calder kept a firm grip on Emer’s wrist as they tore through the camp, collecting what he could with his free hand. A task made insurmountably more difficult with Emer fighting him every step. With as much as he could manage loaded onto Aven, he lifted Emer onto Danu and then situated himself behind her.
“You’re a bastard,” she said. Her voice was hoarse from protesting, although the rasp did little to hide the way it still shook with emotion.
Pressing his lips to the back of her head, Calder closed his eyes.
“I know.”