Chapter 26
I t was cold. So incredibly cold. There was no sunlight to warm her or illuminate her climb. The walls of the Well were damp and mossy.
Deep gouges were carved into her palms—a record of the many times she had slipped from the rough stone and plunged back into the dark water. Her father ’ s waning heartbeat echoed and ricocheted all around her. Her mother cried from somewhere above, and Emer covered her ears against the assault.
Reaching for the stones again, she tried to climb, but again, she slipped, her fingernails peeling back as she fell. When she crashed into the water this time, she did not sink. Instead, she collided with something floating. It rolled as she pushed herself up and away.
The dead eyes of Lachlan peered back at her through the darkness. The only thing she could hear over her screams was Finn telling her that she had failed.
Emer tried to curl into herself and away from the horror of her nightmare, but she was met with resistance. The more she focused on the tangible sensation of the weight restraining her, the more the illusory surroundings of her dream began to fade. The macabre bled away, and the darkness eased, taking with them the chill that had gripped her skin, leaving her with the sensation of cascading warmth.
Unwilling to relinquish her contentment to the waking world, she permitted herself one more moment to keep her eyes closed and her soul quiet. One more deep breath before she faced the day. The scent that filled her lungs conjured thoughts of warm whiskey and ocean air.
Eyelids fluttering open, she watched dust dance in the air through beams of light filtering past boards over the window. A languid smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as her head rolled to the side, bringing her lips against something solid. Calder’s palm pressed against her collarbone—his long fingers curved over her shoulder, holding her.
After several surprised blinks, Emer’s gaze trailed down where his forearm draped over her chest, snagging on how it rose and fell with her breaths. The arm not currently swallowing her whole was propped under his head, face turned down and out of view.
Beneath his hold, she looked small, but not in a way that made her feel inconsequential or fragile. He held her like she was something precious worth coveting. Like she was his.
Emer shifted, becoming acutely aware that one of Calder’s legs was nestled between hers. Her movement caused him to stir, but he did not wake. Instead, he pulled her closer, shifting so that the sunlight now brushed his pouted lips.
Calder’s eyes flew open as if the weight of her attention had become a tangible caress. Unguarded and bathed in the morning sun, she learned that throughout the deep stormy blue of his gaze were thin lines of gray that crossed at sharp angles. The knowledge felt like a secret—something known only by those he allowed close enough .
He blinked hard, and his fingers twitched against the skin of her shoulder where they had slipped beneath the loose tunic.
“You had a nightmare,” he said quickly, his voice rough with sleep.
“Oh, right.” She nodded subtly, the nightmare forgotten. “Calder?”
“Yeah?” he asked with a swallow.
“Not having a nightmare anymore,” she confirmed.
“Right,” he echoed, pulling his arm away, only to realize his lower body was just as entangled.
Clearing his throat, he rolled to his back, adjusting the blanket over his hips. Emer shifted to her side, no longer hiding her grin.
“Don’t,” he groaned into his hands and rubbed them over his face.
Emer smirked, her delight growing the longer he avoided looking at her. Despite his efforts to present himself as annoyed, he was clearly flustered. An accomplishment she wanted to be passed down through oral tradition alongside all the other tales about the Morvran. Looking at him now, hair mussed and features boyish, she couldn’t recall any others. She did know that none of them captured this version of him. Like the ley lines in his eyes, this Morvran was a secret.
“Don’t what?” she asked.
He turned his head slightly, peeking at her from underneath the hands pressed into his face, and Emer caught the slightest color in his cheeks. Propping herself up, she tugged at his arm.
“Calder Morvran, are you… blushing?” she asked, pulling harder.
He snatched her wrist in his other hand, pulling her until her upper body was draped over him.
“One more word and I promise I will make your cheeks far redder,” he warned.
“How?” she challenged.
There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he arched slightly and lifted his chin, bringing his nose to hers. When she didn’t pull away, he angled his head, allowing his mouth to brush hers in the ghost of a kiss.
Emer’s lips parted as she sucked in a sharp breath, which was quickly stolen by the feel of his smile.
“Sometimes.” He turned his head from side to side, drawing their lips together and apart—a tempting tide she could drown in. “Like when you were standing by the fire last night, standing in my home, I let myself imagine it,” he said dreamily, his mouth still coasting over hers.
“Imagine what?” she whispered back.
“Getting to keep you,” he confessed.
The words were a spell that wove magic through her body, pulling her lower and into a vision of what that life would look like.
Another featherlight brush and he was gone.
“But I will not be my father, and you won’t choose this place and all its horrors over yours, so we should get up, or else I will be too tempted to prove how quickly I can make us both forget that.”
Emer’s attention snapped back to him. She searched his eyes for something to grasp to halt the strange sensation of falling.
He brought his hands up to either side of her face, pulling her back down and placing a kiss on her forehead, letting his lips linger. When he pulled back, he gave her a soft smile.
“There’s that blush,” he said, stroking his thumb over her cheek. “We should go. The tide was on my side when it brought you, but time seems to hate us both.”
The desire that had been warming her veins suddenly burned like shame with the knowledge he was right. Her father’s life depended on her, and instead of being up before the sun, she was in his arms, thinking of all the ways she could forget.
Shifting her so he could sit up, he bent over to slip on his boots before standing and looking down at her. He studied her the same way he had when they first met but rather than devoting his intensity to puzzling out where she had come from, he seemed content to memorize her just where she was.
Still dazed, all Emer could do was stare back.
“I’m going to clean up. Your clothes should be here soon. If someone knocks, don’t answer it. Wait until they leave to open the door,” he advised, then left.
In the silence of his departure, Emer felt the acute ache of losing something she didn’t even know she had held. It joined the ache of knowing all that she had the potential to lose, and she sucked a sharp breath because, in the stillness, she felt just how much she hurt.
Pressing her nails into her palms, Emer stood from the bed and made her way into the living area, where she proceeded to pace and spare brief glances at the door of the bathing room until a sharp impact against the door drew her attention. Per Calder’s instructions, she waited several moments before opening the door, and when she did, she found a neatly stacked bundle of clothes.
As she began to close the door, a piece of parchment nailed to it caught her eye. “ To friendship ” was scrolled elegantly on the note, and from the nail hung a thin strip of leather that threaded through one of the several naturally occurring holes of a pale stone.
Emer ripped the note free and clutched the necklace with a smile, savoring the weight of the gift and the sense of belonging that accompanied it.
Back in Calder’s room, she quickly donned the light, fitted tunic and dark breeches. Slipping on the corset, she tightened the laces so it hugged her waist and hips. Lastly, she retrieved the necklace, tying the leather around her neck and letting the weight of the stone slip beneath her tunic to rest between her breasts.
Reaching for the door, she paused at the sound of hushed arguing from the other room. When the voices fell silent, she exited with more noise than necessary. Calder loomed in the doorway of the main entry, staring at the male caller in a way that would have most individuals backing away slowly. Hearing her arrival, he turned to acknowledge her.
When the stranger attempted to peer past him, Calder gripped the door and pulled it closer, blocking the man’s view. The sun caught on the signet ring and various heirlooms that now adorned Calder’s hand. Though, by the standards of Isle Basalt, he was no royal—in this town, he was king, and that thought caused the traitorous flutter of Emer’s heart to make an appearance. The jewelry was not the only change. While his dark stubble remained, his thick onyx hair was now free from the grime of the journey and curled at his brow. The fresh black tunic and breeches he wore were darker, but even these were well-worn.
Calder assessed Emer in kind. When his eyes lingered on her corset, she wondered if he was once again allowing himself to imagine.
A throat cleared from the other side of the door, and Calder stepped back, closing it entirely before making his way to his belongings resting in the corner of the room.
“It appears my sister is not quite finished with her… hospitality . I need a moment with her this morning before we leave,” Calder explained.
The heaviness of their earlier conversation caused her shoulders to fall, and despite the added disappointment of this latest news, she nodded.
Calder’s movements were clipped as he slid into an array of leather straps and fixed his various weapons to his person. He had an ax at his waist, a knife on his thigh, and two short swords at his hips. Those, combined with the tension in his jaw, had her fearing for the safety of the man she could hear pacing just outside.
Unsheathing one of the knives, he flipped it so he was holding it by the blade and tapped Emer playfully on the nose with the hilt. “What if I promise you a honey cake and give you my blessing to stab the messenger?” Calder asked, offering her the knife to replace the one she had lost, nodding towards the door .
Snatching the blade, she shot him a disapproving look and slipped it into her boot.
“I wager before we leave, your fingers will be itching to inflict at least a flesh wound,” he swore.
With a sigh and a crack of his neck, Calder opened the door and gestured for Emer to follow. The man, who had ceased his pacing, turned on his heels. He let out a relieved breath as if he expected Calder to sneak out the back window, which, given how they had arrived, was not entirely unfounded. With an outstretched arm, he moved past Calder and towards Emer. “I was sad to hear I missed your arrival last night. I’m Ewan. Dia duit .”
The butchery of her native greeting almost caused her to sneer, but she quickly found herself more concerned by how he was raising her hand to his lips.
Calder’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, pulling him hard enough to turn him away from Emer. “Keep to task, Ewan,” he demanded, gesturing him on.
“Of course,” Ewan responded stiffly.
The lane they walked was cast in shadows by the surrounding pine and yew trees, revealing glimpses of the loch between them. Ewan quickly proved he could fill the silence with various anecdotes of the village, which, by all accounts, was well-established and home to many skilled workers, warriors, and artisans. Emer soon realized she could not let her gaze linger on anything too long lest it invite further commentary.
“Ewan.” Calder paused, giving the man time to shift his attention from Emer. “Is there a reason you are giving me a tour of my village?”
“I just thought the lady—” Ewan began.
“The lady does not care about the native flowers. If you want to impress her, pick something more violent or magical. Or both… like Aggie,” Calder said with a wave of his hand.
“Aggie?” Emer asked, speaking for the first time since they left the cottage .
Calder leaned towards her and, in a conspiratorial voice, answered, “Our witch.”
He spared Ewan a smug sideward glance before returning his attention to the path ahead.
“I’m sorry… what?” Emer balked.
“Oh, she is harmless. Unless you try to play her in a game of chance, then she is most definitely a witch,” Ewan explained.
A statement that caused Calder to let out a derisive snort because, while Sea Ravens were gifted with magical talents, witches could draw upon the magic, possess it—wield it. This not only made Aggie one of the most interesting residents, but also one of the most formidable.
Emer’s thoughts were cast back to childhood, hiding beneath the sheets from the noonday witches said to hunt disobedient children. But witches were not just simply stories designed to scare young ones. When unexplained things occurred in her village or one of its neighbors, there would often be talks of Fae or the Old Wives—powerful witches older than the tomes that held their secrets. Whispers of the influence of the Maidens of the Moon would sweep through the night when celestial bodies grew strange. It was often said that those who did not heed the cautionary tales learned quickly that one does not cross a witch more than once .
Ewan gestured to one of the cottages across the village square and, as if conjured by the mention, an older woman appeared at one of the open windows. She removed a candle nearing the end of its life and replaced it with a fresh one, already burning. An act that was particularly strange given that the sun was high in the sky and would be for some time. She then proceed to riffle through a stack of cards before placing several in the sill and studying them with a furrowed brow.
“Why the candle?” Emer asked, tilting her head.
“Oh, Aggie calls it her sentry. Something about blue flames warning of the presence of an evil spirit. She has a candle burning in that window morning, noon, and night. Seems like such a waste, but who am I to tell a witch what to do with her candles?” Ewan said with a shrug.
“Who, indeed,” Calder muttered as he paused and urged Emer towards one of the structures.
“Of my two promises this morning… which one are you finding more appealing?” Calder asked with a sly grin.
Emer glared at him. “Honey. Cakes,” she said slowly, and Calder shrugged.
“Slight change of plans, Ewan. The Merrow requires sweets, and I would be loath to tempt her hunger if I were you,” Calder explained, a glint in his eye suggesting he might hope the man did just that.
Ewan hesitated momentarily, his gaze darting around as if expecting Lina to appear out of thin air and reprimand him for the detour.
Before the man could speak, Calder turned. “I wasn’t asking, Cunningham,” he called back, leading Emer towards the bakery.
Warm air carrying the scent of baked goods and all things saccharine greeted them as they opened the door, followed quickly by Calder barking, “Oh, what the fuck!”
Surprise flickered over Banner’s features before he schooled them into cool indifference and pushed from the counter where he had been leaning.
“Has Lina recruited you in her schemes to keep us here?” Calder asked harshly.
“I just arrived. Coincidentally, her schemes are not what called me away from the keep. I was asked to look into Dempsey’s disappearance. I think I’m on to something,” he replied.
Emer would have been concerned by the mention of Dempsey’s name if not for the knowing grin Banner shot her as he spoke. He paused for a moment, taking her in. Gone was the broken girl he had wrapped with bandages. “Looking good, little monster. The Isle suits you.”
Something about the approval in Banner’s expression made Emer preen because though his words were often dripping in flirtation, his regard seemed far harder to win.
“So, you were looking into a crime you had a hand in covering up… and?” Calder let his question trail off.
“ And . Given I know precisely where the fucker is, I decided to use this time to come home and water my plants. Obviously.”
“Which fucker?” Lina asked from where she stood, leaning in the door frame.
Calder pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Mornin’, Li. A dead fucker,” Banner answered before turning his attention back to Calder. “What are you doing here?”
“We experienced a complication,” Calder said.
Lina snorted.
Banner straightened. “Did you kill those people in Arborlynn?”
“Person!” Calder corrected. “I killed a person in Arborlynn.”
“Really? Because the overly chatty man I passed early this morning said three. In fact, he talked about it so much that he almost joined them,” Banner said with a roll of his eyes.
“That could have been unrelated. Did he say where they were found?” Calder asked.
“In the alley near the tavern,” Banner advised, confirming Calder’s fear that something else was hunting that night. The question was whether or not they caught what they were looking for. He glanced at Emer, and Banner tracked the movement.
“Either the Elders don’t like you, or their beasts just really do,” Banner observed, and there was something unsettlingly true in his words.
Sensing her unease, Calder stroked his knuckles down her spine, and the thread of dread tugging at her began to ease.
“Depending on the day, sometimes I think it’s both,” she sighed.
Calder led Emer to the fountain’s edge outside the bakery, where she sat contently with her dandelion tea and honey cake. She trailed her fingers over the soft purple buds of the heather that sprouted through the stones at the base.
“Lina!” shouted a man in the distance as he weaved through various passersby and crossed the square.
“Okir, if you are here to win back your coin, you have a better chance of Emer here agreeing to ride a horse through the village naked,” she greeted.
“That’s not happening,” Calder interjected.
“You heard the man,” Lina said, crossing her arms with a smirk.
Okir, a man with kind features colored tan from extensive time at sea, shook his head. “Elders, Lina. The scribe needs to speak to you about one of the recent raids. They’ve gotten worse these last few days. Ideally, both of you.” He gestured to Calder.
“Nice to see you too, Okir,” Banner chimed in.
The man shot Banner an incredulous look. “I’ll be sure to call for you if we need anyone dead.”
“Rude,” Banner barked. “I have good ideas,” he muttered into his tea.
The siblings shared a brief glance, and it was clear that while many things between them remained unresolved, they were a united front when it came to their village.
“Enjoy the morning and wait for me. I’ll be right back,” Calder instructed Emer as he leaned forward and took a bite of her honey cake before darting away.
As the pair left, Lina said faintly, “You really are the worst.”
“As much as I would love to stay and see what kind of trouble you can stir up, I actually do need to water my plants,” Banner said with a bow.
“Poisonous ones?” Emer called out as he walked away.
Banner turned on his heels, walking backward and smiling at her so alluring and sharp that she was sure it had made more than one heart bleed.
“You know how I like pretty, murderous things,” he answered with a wink before turning and striding into the stream of people.
With the butter and sugar melting in her mouth and the tea warming her belly, Emer stared down at her reflection in the fountain. Her eyes were not focused on her own features but on the way the sky and edges of the town were captured on the surface. The longer she stared, the more she seemed to be able to see.
A murky figure took shape in the reflection, a soft smile on their face, made slightly crooked by a thick scar running through their upper lip. When she turned, she found a face free of scars but wrinkled with age. Emer, startled at the elderly woman’s unexpected nearness, knocked over her tea.
“Didn’t mean to scare you! I was just curious what you saw,” the old woman said with a smirk.
“Nothing. Just a little jumpy is all,” Emer advised, lifting her hand dripping with tea and giving it a shake.
The woman raised a brow.
“The constellations in your eyes would lead me to believe otherwise,” the woman observed, reaching out to take Emer’s nearly empty teacup.
“It’s Aggie, right?” Emer asked.
The woman hummed in acknowledgment, swirling the remaining tea in the cup several times before allowing the liquid to fall to the stones. Eyes narrowing, Aggie’s brow furrowed as she studied the cup. Leaning forward, Emer stared down at the bits of tea coating the inside and then back to the woman whose face was now pinched in concern.
“Elders, what is it now?” Emer asked with evident exasperation.
The woman’s eyes snapped up to hers, wide and worried.
“What did you see?” Emer asked again, more urgently.
“Drowning,” the woman answered quietly.
Saltwater coated Emer’s tongue, and a shiver rolled down her spine as she recalled slipping beneath the waves .
“I’ll be keeping my boots on the ground for some time then,” she remarked, shifting slightly away from the offending cup.
“There are different types of drowning, child. It is unclear if it is your body or your spirit that cannot breathe,” the woman said softly.
Emer swallowed—the honey cake in her stomach soured.
“Why would my spirit not be able to breathe?” she asked warily.
Aggie’s eyes turned apologetic, and Emer knew the answer before the woman spoke.
Grief.