She nodded, even as her expression clouded. “I shall … although whether or not I stay to serve the new king remains to be seen.”
“He can’t be any worse than Mor, surely?”
“No … but I’m not sure I want to serve anyone now.”
Alar’s lips quirked. “We have that in common too then.”
Fern smiled back, even as a muscle feathered in her jaw. Turning from him, she placed a hand upon the cairn. She then bowed her head. “Go to your long sleep, father. Rest easy … until we meet again.”
And with that, she nodded to Alar and swiveled on her heel.
“Wait,” he said softly.
Fern glanced over her shoulder.
“You aren’t alone.” His pulse fluttered as he spoke. He wasn’t used to making himself this vulnerable. It made him feel as if he were standing there naked. “I’m always here … if you need me.”
Her proud face softened, her eyes glistening now. “Thank you … brother.”
She walked away then in determined long strides.
Fern’s stag trotted toward her, halting so that she could spring up on its back. An instant later, they were racing away, east.
Alar watched his sister go, wondering if he’d ever see her again.
When Fern was little more than a speck in the distance, he turned, his gaze traveling along the shore to where the others stood. He approached them cautiously. They’d gone through much together, but none of these people were his friends.
And as he walked down the shore, he caught sight of a magnificent red stag grazing a few yards away. A tired smile tugged at his lips. Reedav. He’d been sure the stag would have departed with the Shee. But he’d stayed.
Lifting his proud head, Reedav watched him. Dark liquid eyes.
Alar’s smile widened. They couldn’t touch minds, but his gut told him that the stag had stayed for him.
Hearing the crunch of his boots on gravel, Bree glanced over her shoulder. And then, to his surprise, she nodded to him. “You’re just in time … Roth has nearly finished.”
Drawing up to Bree’s side, Alar watched as the warrior twisted the last reeds together.
A large swan, its neck curving majestically, sat upon his lap.
“You’ve hidden talents,” Cailean observed as Roth climbed to his feet and handed the swan to Lara.
Roth’s lips curved. “My mother is a basket weaver … I learned a few tricks from her.”
“It’s beautiful,” Lara murmured as she moved toward the water’s edge. “You’ve done Ruari proud.” Leaning down, she set the swan on the water.
It floated away, bobbing on the rippling surface. The wind was getting up now. The Whistle had started to sing around them. Above, the sky was clear, the sun a golden halo to the east. It was the first time in nearly a moon’s turn they’d seen its friendly face.
Alar exhaled slowly, the tension in his gut unraveling. The world felt right again.
Lara cleared her throat then. A moment later, she began to sing—a soft, sad lament.
“Bone-reader, dream-walker,
May the current carry you gently
To the shores we cannot see.
This loch will remember,
