Chapter Nineteen Laoise #2
But she had seen the way he had changed these past weeks.
How he had straightened into himself, thrown off the last tatters of his childhood.
How he glanced at Wayland when he thought no one was looking, with wonder and hunger and something like hope.
How he seemed poised on the precipice of a new story, barely begun—only Laoise did not yet know whether it would be a triumph. Or a tragedy.
She wanted Idris to have the chance to live. To love.
But she had already hurt him so much. And she did not wish him to experience any more pain. “All that love lost, in return for pain avoided?”
“For my sake? Never,” Irian said vehemently.
“I would trade a thousand days of torment for a single day with her. To hear her laugh. To touch her skin. To taste her lips. But for her sake? If I knew my sacrifice would bring her peace?” Irian broke off, his eyes flying far away.
“I think perhaps it is good it is not my choice to make.”
Laoise could have traversed the caverns blindfolded.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to—her eyes adjusted as Dwyn came gamboling behind her, her scales gleaming copper.
Laoise could hardly believe how large she’d become—another few years, and her eldest three draigs wouldn’t be able to fit inside the Cnoc anymore.
The thought sent a spark of agony to lick at Laoise’s heart. She doused it before it could devour her, and stepped into the library.
Idris and Wayland were bent over the same large tome, ostensibly doing research but clearly doing anything but.
Idris had his eyes locked on the page in front of him, but he had his lips pressed together like he was trying not to laugh.
Wayland wasn’t looking at the book at all, but had his chin propped on one hand as he gazed at the other man.
He was speaking in an undertone, and the blush rising steadily on Idris’s face made Laoise think he wasn’t discussing the properties of metallurgy.
She shut the door with a click. Both men startled. Idris had the grace to look faintly guilty; Wayland grinned as he sprawled back in his chair.
“How goes the research?” Laoise asked, a little tartly.
“Excellent,” Wayland said. “Assuming you’re looking for a method to imprison your enemies’ souls in crystal orbs, perfect for shattering when you grow tired of them staring at you from their glass prisons.”
Disgruntled curiosity made Laoise ask, “Who did that?”
“Lady Saorla of the Sept of Scales had quite the penchant for inventive punishments,” Wayland said, his smile exposing too many teeth. “An ancestor of yours, perhaps?”
“Alas, my ancestors were far more efficient.” Laoise grinned back. “Why waste time with anything but the classics? Thumbscrews… hot coals… a good whipping.”
Wayland put a hand over his heart and sighed theatrically. “Don’t tempt me.”
“That’s enough, you two.” Idris slapped the book shut and glared at Wayland before his eyes landed on Laoise. “Anything amiss topside?”
“Mercifully, no.” She’d scouted as far as she could easily fly in a morning but seen little more interesting than tufts of grass and nerve-weed. “Eala remains in the human realms, but a moon has come and gone. Spring is upon us. We are running out of time.”
The smile fell from Wayland’s face. But as Laoise turned back to the door, she heard him whisper to Idris, “Better read faster, Red. Or it’s the thumbscrews for you.”
Laoise rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her.
The Farm was empty. Laoise followed the sound of loud crashing to one of the lesser-used passageways—a straight, flat hallway between the dining hall and the latrines.
There she found Balor, his huge bulk obscuring the corridor.
Laoise peered around his massive frame as he rolled enormous boulders to crash into stalagmites sticking up from the floor.
“Balor?” she called over the reverberating noise. “What in the gods’ names are you doing?”
“Boulder bowling, lady!” He cheerfully hurled another massive stone. “Would you like to try?”
Laoise looked askance at the massive pile of rocks. “No, thank you. Any idea where Sinéad and Fia are?”
Balor pointed down the hall toward the bedchambers, and Laoise left him to his thunderous game.
She’d nearly reached Irian and Fia’s bedroom when Sinéad came hurtling out, her hair half-braided and her knives unsheathed.
They nearly collided; Laoise put gentling hands on the human girl to keep her from stumbling over her own feet.
She took in Sinéad’s twitching mouth, her wild eyes. “What’s the matter?”
She was answered by a coughing moan emanating from the open door behind Sinéad. Laoise pushed by the other girl to stare inside. Fia, as usual, was laid out on the bed like a corpse, with her singed hair fanned out around her and her arms crossed over her chest.
The sound came again, half a gasp, half a sob. Laoise stared over at Sinéad. Sinéad said, strangled, “That’s what’s the matter.”
Without warning, Fia’s body began to jerk violently atop the sheets, the stillness of her daytime slumber shattered in an instant. Her chest heaved, ragged breaths tearing through her as her limbs convulsed, twitching with a wildness that made Laoise’s stomach twist.
As one, both women wordlessly lunged for the bed. Laoise grabbed Fia’s shoulders, bracing her against the mattress. Beside her, Sinéad sheathed her daggers and steadied Fia’s shuddering legs, even as she glanced instinctively at the ceiling.
“It’s not yet noon,” Laoise confirmed, her voice tight. “She does not usually transform until nightfall.”
“We should fetch Irian.” Sinéad’s eyes were wild with panic.
Laoise shook her head. “He’s at the nemeton. It’s too far.”
On the bed, Fia’s fingers clawed at the sheets, opening and closing as if for purchase.
Another low, guttural sound escaped her lips.
Beneath her eyelids, her eyes darted back and forth.
Laoise held on to her, although she did not know what was happening—every time she had witnessed Fia transform, there had been warnings beforehand.
Feathers rippling over her arms. Claws bursting from her fingertips. Horns nubbing her forehead.
“Go,” Laoise said. “Bar the door behind you. I’m stronger than you, and heal faster. I’ll do what I can to keep her safe.”
Sinéad did not move a muscle except to slowly unsheathe her daggers again.
Fia’s eyes flew wide, locking onto Laoise’s with terrifying intensity.
Filaments of silver shattered through her green eye; veins of gold glittered from the brown.
Before Laoise could react, Fia’s hands shot out and seized her wrists with an iron grip, her fingertips scalding on Laoise’s skin.
Fia’s body convulsed again, but her gaze never wavered, as if she were dragging herself upward from some abyss and using Laoise as her anchor.
For a brief, terrifying moment, Laoise couldn’t tell whether Fia was fighting her way out of a nightmare… or pulling Laoise in with her.
Then she opened chapped lips and croaked, “The circle. Take me to the circle. Now.”