47. Mare
Mare
Iclung to the spines of a dragon soaring above the Shadowlands. An alien world unfolded beneath me.
Saints, it was beautiful.
Flowering vines tumbled from floating islands, their petals glowing phosphorescent blue. Herds of deer, their sides etched with runes, pranced across the mountains and dove into forests of dark trees. Their branches twisted like vines, concealing whatever hid within.
Brighid clung to my waist, red hair flying in the wind. Quinn had taken Liam on a second scáde. Its wings flickered in the darkness ahead, becoming one with the black sky.
My scáde pulled up, soaring up a steep mountain’s ascent. Gritting my teeth, I gripped its spine with sweaty hands. The wind poured down onto my face.
Then we were over its peak. Light pooled in the basin tucked safely in the mountain’s embrace.
Lanterns. Dozens of them.
Brighid tightened her grip around my waist as the scáde soared down into the valley. A humming song vibrated in its neck, and harmonies rose from around the basin. My hair stood on end, listening to a pack of scádes sing.
Our scádes landed in the puddles of a wetland, claws sloshing through shallow water. Breathing out, I observed our destination.
It was a city of wooden huts clustered around the wetlands, connected by wooden pathways and bridges. Lanterns hung from posts, glowing with white fire.
And there were people—here, in the depths of the Shadowlands.
Quinn slid off his scáde and helped Liam down. My brother had been unresponsive since I’d found him. Fog danced in his eyes, and he never seemed to hear us.
Carefully climbing off the scáde, I chased after them and grabbed Liam’s other arm. Quinn shot me a glance, but said nothing. Blood had soaked through Liam’s coat and trickled down his side.
I hated this, having to trust this Solheart with my brother’s life. But Quinn had brought us this far, lent us his dragons when he could have thrown us from their backs.
I looked up—a watchtower loomed above us, and I could see two armored men monitoring us as we passed into the city's bounds.
“Where are we?” I asked.
Quinn nodded at the men above us. “You’ll see.”
Brighid caught up to us as we trudged across a wooden bridge, hollow thuds echoing beneath our feet. My pulse hammered in my neck, and sweat trickled down my palms. I was trapped in a nest of enemies with no one I could trust.
My gaze fell on a passing woman. Her skin was covered in thick paint, patterns and runes that meant nothing to me. Hardly anything covered her modesty; only a thin silk wrapped around her breasts with a matching skirt.
She shied out of our way, watching us nervously.
Quinn pulled us toward one of the huts and kicked the door open. Releasing Liam, I held the door open and watched as Quinn led my brother to a cot in the corner.
“Light a fire.” Quinn gestured to the fireplace in the center of the room. “Healing magic isn’t as effective out here.”
Brighid snapped her fingers and flames burst to life on the pile of wood. Grabbing a candle from the bedside table, I dipped it into the fire and carried it to the bedside.
Drawing a dagger from his belt, Quinn sawed through Liam’s blood-splattered shirt and the cloak Brighid had used to stem the bleeding. I winced at the sight of the wound.
The cut was jagged and deep. Carved by claws.
Quinn sat back, eyes darting about.
“What are you waiting for?” I demanded, voice shaking.
“Catalysts don’t always make it easy to cast the magic we want.” Quinn looked up at me, brow furrowing.
“What?”
“You’re hers, and he’s yours,” Quinn muttered. “That’ll work.” Turning back to Liam, he hovered his hand above the wound.
I stared at him in confusion, oblivious to what his words had meant. But they brought his catalyst, his magic, to life.
Gentle light streamed from his fingers, cascading over the gash. Liam winced, jerking out of his daze as his flesh knit itself closed. Grabbing his hand, I turned his face away.
Quinn’s face contorted with effort. Yanking his hand away, he stood, breathing like he’d run a mile.
“There,” he panted. “He’ll be fine, now.”
Brighid raised an eyebrow. “Reese makes that look easy.”
“I told you, healing doesn’t work well out here,” Quinn said, straightening himself out. “Like the shadows themselves try to stop it.”
I swallowed, remembering how it had burned when Reese had tried to heal me, how my body had rejected his magic.
Tracing my thumb across Liam's cheek, I tried to comfort him. He stared through me, eyes concealed by mist.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, looking back at the others.
“That.” Quinn shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Let me.” Brighid motioned me up. Reluctantly releasing Liam’s hand, I stepped away, letting her take my place by his bedside.
A door creaked, and I spun around, hand flying to my blade. The cottage’s door slid open as a shardwolf pushed into the room.
Quinn tutted. “Let yourself in, why don’t you?” He reached down, running a hand between the shardwolf's broken horns. One of his yellow eyes flicked to me. “You need to come with me.”
“Why?” I stepped back. “Am I to be your prisoner?”
“I guess we’ll find out.” He motioned for me to follow him.
I glanced back at Liam. Brighid met my eye. “Go on. Your brother’s not going anywhere.” When I didn’t budge, she sighed. “I’ll take good care of him, I promise.”
My bottom lip trembled. I couldn’t muster a clever response. Nodding, I followed Quinn outside. The shardwolf padded along beside us, sticking to Quinn’s leg like a well-trained hound. A hound as tall as a horse.
Grabbing a lantern hanging from a tree branch, Quinn held it up to light our path. Willows grew between the walkways, their hanging leaves drifting over the dark waters like ghosts.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked.
“To our leader.”
“Is he the one who ordered the attacks?”
Quinn shot me a sidelong glance. “Ask her yourself.”
The shardwolf darted ahead of us, sniffing at the base of an unusual tree. It stood out from the willows around it—brilliant violet petals bloomed from its black leaves. A manor rose behind it, painted white against the night.
A guard stepped from the shadows of its entrance and trotted down the porch steps to meet us. I stopped dead in my tracks.
He wore the uniform of Tirnanog—the same I wore. Our great tree was etched on his silver armor, laid over a dark purple gambeson. Raven feathers decorated his light leather helm.
“Lord Seradh,” he said. “What brings you . . .” Trailing off, his gaze swept over me.
“Am I interrupting anything?” Quinn asked.
“Yes.” The guard’s gaze refused to leave my face. “But I doubt they’ll mind. This way.” He spun on his heel, leading us to the doors.
My heart hammered; my head spun. I could no longer feel the world around me as I followed the men into the manor—it was like I waded through water tucked within a dream.
Shouting echoed from deeper in the home, bouncing off the bright walls. My vision spun as we marched through the foyer into an expansive sitting room.
Fire burned in a mantle, casting shadows across the wood floor. Two people stood opposite one another, locked in an argument: a man and a woman.
I didn’t hear their words, couldn’t read their lips. My gaze fell solely upon the woman.
She was beautiful—the picture of regality.
A beautiful gown of deepest purple draped her figure, and a raven-feathered cloak gathered around her shoulders.
White hair pooled atop her head, braided into an ornate bun.
The same circlet I wore rested on her brow—the twigs of our tree, and its light purple flowers.
A half-drained wine glass balanced in her left hand.
She gestured with it every time she spoke.
The argument ceased as we entered the room. Their eyes shot toward us.
Bowing, the guard stepped away. Quinn lowered his head. “Forgive the interruption, Ethna.”
Ethna. Ethna.
The name bounced around in my skull, growing louder with each echo.
That was my mother’s name.
The woman’s pale lavender eyes locked on mine. She dropped the wine glass, and it shattered on the floor.
"Mare?" She breathed.
Like she'd seen a ghost.
I backed up. My head slammed into the wall.
My people were gone. Dead. Finding them had been a fleeting fancy, a far-fetched dream.
All this time, my mother had been alive. She'd been here. In the darkness. Why?
Why?
Spinning on my heel, I fled through the manor and burst through its doors.
I didn't know why I left. Where I was going. Everything was a blur.
I knew nothing—nothing of who I was, of who my people were. Nothing of this world, of the shadows to which I belonged.
The one goal that had anchored my listless shell was a mirage. My mother had not died, my city had not fallen. It did not need saving.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized a terrible truth.
Those bodies lining the streets of Galasvar, the terror etched on their faces, the torn off limbs, the crushed children . . .
It had been my mother's doing.