Lara glanced the warrior’s way to see he’d gestured to where a dark shape crouched next to a boulder. Golden eyes glowed. Dorka was watching them. She was still chained to the hawthorn, waiting for Mor.
The Raven Queen would never return for her.
Lara studied Dorka’s shadowed face, remembering how the Shee queen’s eyes had softened every time she touched minds with the clag-doo, her joy when she’d finally managed to gentle the feline. It had meant so much to her and had revealed unexpected vulnerability. A chink in Mor’s armor. She’d hidden it well, but she’d been a lonely queen desperate for connection.There was a price to pay for killing anyone who threatened your rule, a price for never letting anyone into your heart. Dorka had given Mor the intimacy she craved.
Not that Mor’s connection with Dorka had altered her plans.
If she’d had her way, both Alar and Lara would be in The Threshold now.
Lara’s belly tightened. No, she wouldn’t feel sorry for Mor. She’d done this to herself.
“We need to set her free,” Alar replied, heaving himself to his feet.
“I’ll do it,” Cailean grunted. “Sit down.”
“Careful,” Bree warned as he made his way toward the clag-doo.
A moment later, Dorka gave a warning hiss, and Cailean’s pace slowed. Her tail started to lash, her ears flattening. She wanted Mor. No one else would do.
Ren stood up. Her sharp-featured face was haggard, yet she flexed her hands at her sides. “You’ll need my help.”
Cailean cast the bard a grateful glance. “Aye.”
Stepping up to his side, Ren drew in a slow, deep breath. And then, the soft, beguiling melody that she’d sung to help gentle Dorka echoed through the still air. The hissing subsided, the tension easing from the feline’s supple frame.
Eventually, Cailean moved closer once more, easing up alongside Dorka. She watched him warily, but Ren’s charm had lowered her defenses. The chief-enforcer reached down, his hands sliding over Dorka’s thick neck, to the steel collar. “Just bear with me,” he murmured. “And I’ll get this off … then you’ll be free. Finally.” His fingers worked swiftly, and with a ‘click’, the collar released, falling away.
It hit the ground, metal clanging against stone. The sound shattered the reverie.
Dorka sprang forward, knocking Cailean over as she went.
Racing past Ren in a black streak, the clag-doo disappeared into the shadows.
Dawn rose over Darkmere.
Mist evaporated off the loch’s shadowy surface before rays of sunlight sparkled upon it. Streaks of rose, lavender, and gold painted the sky.
It was the most beautiful sunrise Alar had ever seen.
Walking across the dry trampled grass near the edge of the loch, the toes of his boots scattering small grey pebbles, he made his way to where a leather-clad Shee female finished building a cairn. The pile of stones sat back from the Darkmere, upon a rise, not far from the base of the outcrop where The Shattered Crown stood.
As he approached, Alar glanced up, taking in the grey monoliths. Sunlight now bathed them. They looked far less ominous with the dawn. Just an ancient ruined stone circle. Now that the rift had sealed, that was exactly what it was.
Farther down the pebbly loch-shore, Lara and her escort had gathered. Roth was making something out of reeds he’d collected. They were preparing to send Ruari’s spirit to the Otherworld. Traditionally, the Marav burned their dead upon a pyre, but that wasn’t possible for Ruari. Alar would join them shortly. But first, he needed to pay his respects to someone else.
The crunch of his boots alerted Fern to his arrival.
Turning, she glanced over her shoulder. Her gaze settled on him, noting the sling he now wore and his bandaged hand. “Lara took that blade successfully out of your shoulder then?”
Alar grimaced. Lara had worked as gently as she could, but it had still hurt. She’d given him a tincture for the pain, but his shoulder throbbed, nonetheless, in time with his heartbeat. “She did. Sorry … I wanted to help you build his cairn.”
Fern snorted. “You aren’t much good to me one-handed.” She paused then, looking away. “Besides … I needed some time. Alone with him.”
Alar nodded. He understood.
Moving up next to her, he surveyed the mound. Wynn Sablebane’s final resting place.
The two of them stood silently then, listening to the cawing of a raven. Looking up, Alar’s gaze rested on a large black bird. It perched upon an outcrop of rock jutting out from the promontory.
