Chapter 12
Unequal Power
Flora
T
he sound of urgent footsteps drags me from a fitful sleep.
My neck aches, and my head rests at an awkward angle against the back of the chair beside the bed in my brother’s room, where Chyr is sleeping.
The Ever has kicked the covers off again, his legs tangled in the skirts we were too tired to wrestle off him when we arrived.
I can’t have slept for long. The sun slants low through the window, laying bars of light across the wooden floor. Rab lifts his head from his paws and yawns.
“Flora, wake up,” Catriona whispers. “Come here.”
Her face is pale, tension bunching her shoulders. I follow her out into the corridor, my mind spinning through possible disasters.
“Your uncle’s sent a letter for your mother,” she explains. “The messenger says he barely made it through the pass ahead of a company of the queen’s Greys and soldiers. They’re marching, not riding, but they’re no more than a day behind.”
The news jolts the last remnants of sleep from my brain.
“That’s sooner than we’d hoped,” I say, “but not unexpected. Did Morag and Faolan get the Evers buried?”
“Aye, and I’ve seen to Padraig’s house and burned the herbs you told me to use. There’s no smell of blood, no sign the Ever was there.”
“Thank you.” I pause, thinking fast. “We’ll get the women and children to safety.
Iain can move the best horses up Ben Aran—it’s hours of riding and a hard climb, but the soldiers won’t waste time going there with easier targets closer at hand.
I’ll take most of the sheep and cattle up to the summer pastures and leave enough here so it doesn’t look suspicious. ”
Catriona presses her lips together. “I hate to say so, seeing as I’m the one who suggested you should bring the Ever here, but having him here is a mistake now that the soldiers are coming.
You need to see reason, lamb. He’s got one foot in the grave already, that one.
And if they’re looking for injured men, they’ll look extra hard at anyone who’s bed-bound.
We’d be better off burying him in the midden heap before they come. ”
“He isn’t dead, and he won’t be if I can help it.”
“I’m not asking you to stab him with a knife, but in the state he’s in, he’ll die soon enough without medicine and water. You know the Evers would cheerfully leave us all to die.”
“All the more reason for us to do better.”
“Being righteous doesn’t curry favour with the gods.
Haven’t you learned that yet?” Catriona crosses her arms as if I’ve exhausted her patience.
“I’d rather sink low and keep breathing.
This is what comes of your mam always pretending your shiftless, selfish brothers were better than you, isn’t it?
You set impossible standards for yourself. ”
The words hurt more than I expect. Catriona is always happy to share her opinions, but not this harshly. The war coming to Dunhaelic scares her, and knowing she is frightened cuts me to my soul. She’s the strongest woman I know.
I wish I could explain why I need to save the Ever—but he’s given me no details. That’s the curse of unequal power. I know he wants to keep his people safe, the same as I do. Still, it chafes to know he holds knowledge he won’t share, while I must content myself with crumbs.
Smiling at Catriona with as much confidence as I can muster, I draw her farther from the bed where Chyr is sleeping.
“Is my mother awake yet?” I ask.
Catriona nods. “She’s about to have her breakfast in the solar.”
“In that case, I’ll take the letter up myself. I’ll need to start preparing her. In the meantime, will you see if the messenger has anything else to tell us? Feed him, and pay him enough to ride on to warn the villages. There’s gold at the bottom of the trunk in my chamber.”
“I know where you keep it.” Catriona casts a wary glance at the Ever and lowers her voice. “I also know there’s little left.”
“I won’t pinch pennies when it comes to saving lives. Ask him to ride as far as Camhrain, Raghnall, and Gleanngaradh. Their chiefs can send him further to warn the other clans.”
“And him?” Catriona nods towards Chyr.
“Can you lend him an old nightdress and cap and help him change into them when you have a moment? Since we don’t know when the soldiers might arrive, he will need to be ready at a moment’s notice. I’ll change his dressings myself when I get back.”
Catriona’s lips tighten, but she gives a small nod. Then she presses my uncle’s letter into my hands and strides back down the corridor.
The Ever stirs restlessly on the bed. Heat radiates off him like a forge.
Either Catriona or Morag must have come in while I slept. They’ve emptied the washbasin, refilled the water, and left a fresh pitcher of willow-bark tea. It hasn’t fully cooled, but sediment swirls from the bottom as I pour a dose into a cup.
I gently shake the Ever. He jerks and tries to sit up, only to fall back as his strength fails.
“Steady. Let me help.” I ease a hand behind his shoulders.
He stares as though he’s not certain who I am at first. But then he blinks, and the frown line disappears from between his brows.
“Flora.” He licks his lips. “Is everything all right?”
“Shh. Nothing to worry about for the moment. I need you to take some medicine.”
His mouth twists—resistance, pride, or pain, I can’t tell which—but he drinks what I give him.
I press a damp cloth to his forehead; he exhales slow, shuddering breaths and reaches for my hand.
His pulse is thready and uneven, but he drifts into a restless sleep with his fingers still wrapped around mine.
I linger, studying the rise and fall of his chest, the parted lips, the dark lashes against fever-flushed cheeks. And for all that I want to dismiss Catriona’s fears, I can’t.
Seated in a darkened corner when the soldiers come, with a shawl drawn low over his face and us nearby to create distractions, the Ever might pass as a woman.
But here, in my brother’s bed, with sunlight falling across his face, he is every cautionary tale mothers have told their daughters. Too clearly an Ever.
I’ve long since stopped praying to gods who abandoned us. Still, I send a silent plea to the Great Mother to spare us and let the queen’s soldiers pass by Dunhaelic to wreak their havoc elsewhere.
That sort of selfishness makes me feel guilty, but that’s a hard truth I’m discovering about survival. Most people matter to someone, yet not every death matters equally. Some weigh heavier on the scales of fate.
I know Dunhaelic remains a symbol of hope for many in the Highlands, but the more I consider what Chyr has told me, the more I’m certain the Raven Queen must be stopped. If Chyr can help make that happen, we need him to survive.
I’m more convinced than ever that this war between immortals wasn’t ours to fight. But we have made our choices, and I’m not blameless, either.
In hindsight, I should have ordered our remaining Dunhaelic men to come home after the twins were killed in the third battle of the war.
If I had, they might be here to defend their families now.
But I wasn’t willing to test my authority before the Council met.
I brought the crimson banner of Clan Domhnall home to Dunhaelic instead, and I gave the warriors the choice to continue fighting to avenge the dead, as long as they fought under the banners of the lesser Domhnall chiefs.
If I’d found the courage to be a true leader, I might have saved them. I can’t change that, but I can ensure I do not fail their families now.
Leaving Chyr to sleep, I climb to the solar with Rab at my heels, taking the letter for my mother with me. Rab waits outside when I enter the room, as though he remembers that he’s not welcome.
My mother’s head is bent over her embroidery beneath the circular window. The sun streams through the thick diamond-shaped panes of glass, casting prisms along her skin. She looks peaceful, unbothered. Innocent. That’s the advantage of escaping into a kinder reality beyond the reach of pain.
I don’t know how to prepare her for what’s coming.
My footsteps ring hollow as I cross the room, and I put on a smile that I hope looks more authentic than it feels. “I’ve brought a letter from your brother. With all that’s happening, I doubt it’s good news, but would you like me to read it to you?”
“That would be lovely. I long to hear news of him and the girls. It’s so unfair of your father never to take me to Caelsolas anymore. It’s been an age since I’ve last been shopping or heard a scrap of gossip.”
The wax snaps as I break the seal, and the parchment trembles in my hand.
My dearest sister,
If you haven’t heard yet, know that the queen’s armies have cut through the king’s forces at Culodur, sending all who survived to hide as best they may.
It’s said the rebel king has taken ship for Eireen, there to remain until he can assemble enough gold and men to return.
The queen sends her Butcher out with Greys and soldiers to punish all who might support the rebels on their return.
Even here in the city, her soldiers go house-to-house, but the Highland clans like yours will feel her punishment most. She means to break them all.
Be warned, dear Sister. It can be only a matter of days before they reach you at Dunhaelic.
We have narrowly escaped ourselves and mean to go south to find refuge.
I urge you to let Flora help you do likewise.
We shall pray for you both and hope to see you when we can, though I do not know when that might be.
I remain your loving brother, Eachann
A shiver runs through me as I finish reading. It isn’t merely punishment that Vheara seeks; it’s annihilation. She means to ensure the clans can never rise against her in the future.
But I can’t let the letter turn me into a simpering miss. There’s too much to do.
A small sound, almost like a choked sob, draws my attention back to my mother. Her embroidery hoop has fallen, forgotten, into her lap. Tears shine in her eyes, but when I go to her, she looks up and smiles with perfect calm.
“I do hope they will have a pleasant journey,” she says. “Do you suppose they shall go as far as the queen’s palace at Dunfithic? There will be such celebrations there. Could we not go with them, dearest? We must ask your father. He should be back soon, don’t you think so?”
I used to wonder how much of her refusal to live in the present was a deliberate choice, and now the doubt comes roaring back. I’ve tried to be enough for her, but I was never one of them: the four men who were her pride and joy.
My breath leaves me in a long, trembling sigh.
Does she know? I want to believe she doesn’t.
“It’s likely to be a long time before you see Father again,” I say, my throat squeezing around the words. “I did bring you some good news. Do you remember the visitor I mentioned? Rowan, Catriona’s niece, has finally arrived to be your companion.”
“She has?” For an instant, my mother stares at me, her expression inscrutable enough to be unsettling. “Where is she? It’s unkind of her to keep me waiting, I must say.”
“She caught a fever on the journey, but she’s eager to see you.”
My mother’s lips set in a determined line as she discards her embroidery on the bench. “Then I should go to her immediately.”
“Not yet, darling.” I touch a hand to her shoulder. “Rowan is sleeping and shouldn’t be disturbed until the fever breaks. Do you remember that she’s mute? Imagine what a strain it must have been for her to travel this far.”
“Oh, the poor child.” My mother peers at me, then her smile brightens, and she pats the seat beside her. “In that case, you must stay and entertain me after getting my hopes up like that. What other news do you have to share? It’s so dull here, day after day, with nothing and no one new.”
I stoop to kiss the top of her head and let her down as gently as I can. “There’s no time for a visit today, I’m afraid. But I’ll make it up to you soon, and Catriona and Morag will stop to see you whenever they can.”
She makes a show of pouting and doesn’t answer, but as I begin to turn away, she clasps the hand I placed on her shoulder and squeezes hard before letting go. I turn back and fling my arms around her, as I haven’t done since I was a child.
Her bones are sharp and fragile beneath the fine wool of her dress and the shawl she wears against the morning chill. I whisper that I love her, because the important things can never be said too often.
As bleak as things seem, I’ll cling to any small ray of hope.