CHAPTER 27
Wait here.”
“But it’s been a long time since—”
“If you hear me scream, you’ll know there’s a problem. I will go in alone.”
They didn’t argue further. Maire’s escort of guards knew the routine, even if it had been a while.
No one entered her cottage without her permission.
It was her sanctuary. A place where her mind both fogged and cleared.
An in-between place where she was outside herself, where time ceased to exist. Where she was still a girl watching her mother spin, watching her father stir the stew over the fire, where she was a child playing beside the hearth with dolls made of yarn and felted sheep’s wool.
When she told Kierus about the abandoned cottage, she never thought either of them would see it again, much less return to it.
The Runic River was long and twisted, and the cottage dark and dull—easy to miss, which was why she had chosen it.
Had he actually been able to find his way there?
But Kierus was aptly named the wonder of Danu.
That was what drew her to him in the first place.
She recalled another cottage, the one where they first met, his invitation impossible to refuse.
She had known his intent, but she was good at killing too, and he was a challenge she couldn’t resist. But she had underestimated his golden tongue, his eagerness that disarmed her, and when it was over, his fingers still strumming her arms like . . .
If anyone could find this cottage, Kierus could.
She climbed the gentle slope up to the old mill, still broken and creaking in the current. The peace here was hypnotic. Maybe that was why she told Kierus about it. Peace. They had always chased after it.
When she reached the porch, she spied a smudged footprint of dried mud on the first step.
Her heart sped up. Kierus’s boot? She sensed his presence all over the porch.
She was certain of it. She walked up the steps and drew in a deep breath before giving the door a gentle nudge.
It squeaked on its hinges. Light streamed in from the opposite window, illuminating her loom in the center of the room, but nothing more.
She stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the dark corners of the cottage and then the open loft.
Nothing. But then she spotted more footprints on the dusty floor.
Smaller boots. Bristol. She had come, just as she promised.
She had gathered up her father and taken him back home.
She kept their bargain. That is good, Maire told herself.
But nothing inside her felt good. It’s done.
Over. He can’t ruin anything again, she repeated to herself.
And then she spotted her leather slippers, the ones she always placed on the floor beside the treadle, flung across the room.
Maire felt the burn of Kierus’s anger, and something inside her choked.
She pressed her palm to her mouth, but then caught herself.
He’s angry. He’s gone. He’ll never come back. Just as I wanted.
But when she walked over to her loom, something shot out of her, something just as angry, and her fist came down, shattering the wooden crossbar. Rotted yarn rained to the floor.
“Now it is done. There is no going back.”