“The Loch-Bhàn are gone—”
“Haven’t seen a boggart in days—”
“My nets are full again … the fish came back—”
Lara’s vision blurred. She blinked hard.Not now. Don’t start weeping.
A flash of crimson robes caught her eye.Mairead. The sacrificer grinned, waving to her.
And then she saw two familiar figures pushing through the crowd. Duana and Eithne. The sisters looked different. There was color in their cheeks and light in their eyes now; they weren’t just surviving anymore.
“My Queen!” Duana reached her first, nearly tripping in her eagerness. Her gaze went to the scabbed scratch on Lara’s upper arm. “Are you hurt? Is everyone—”
“We’re all fine.” Lara caught the lass’s hands and squeezed. “It’s a relief to be back though.”
Eithne smiled shyly then. “We haven’t been idle since you left. We’ve been helping in the kitchens. I’ve been learning how to smoke eels.”
“Come, My Queen!” Orla called out, beckoning to Lara. “We thought you’d return today … and have been preparing a feast in your honor. We’ve got ducks spit-roasting inside, bread straight from the ovens … and fresh goat’s cheese.”
“And ale,” Connor added with a grin, winking at Roth. “Lots of ale.”
The crowd began to move, drawing Lara along with them. Hands touched her arms, her back—not grabbing, just making contact. It was as if they wanted to reassure themselves that the High Queen was real, that she’d returned to them.
“Look at the chief-enforcer’s tattoos,” one of the bairns whispered.
“Is that really a fae hound?” another gasped. “I’ve never seen one.”
“The man riding the red stag … how does he control it?”
As the chatter continued, Lara glanced back over her shoulder.
Her companions were dismounting, surrounded by crannog-dwellers eager to help with the horses. Bree was laughing at something someone said. Cailean looked bemused but pleased. Roth was already being handed a cup of something.
And Alar.
He still sat astride Reedav, watching. His face was tired, lined with pain he’d done his best to hide during the journey south. He watched the crannog-dwellers surround their High Queen—watched the people reach for her with joy and relief—and his lips curved into a half-smile.
Their eyes met across the crowd and held for a heartbeat.
Warmth suffused Lara’s chest. Aye, she’d done this.They’ddone this. Together.
Then someone tugged her arm, and she turned away and let herself be pulled along by the tide.
They led her to the largest of the roundhouses, the chieftain’s residence. Inside, torches blazed in every bracket. Logs of pine roared in the hearth. As promised, ducks spit-roasted over glowing embers. Fat dripped, creating a fug of smoke, but no one seemed to care.
The rich aroma of roasting duck hit Lara as she made her way toward the hearth. Her stomach growled so loud that Eithne heard it and giggled.
“The ducks will be ready soon,” someone assured her.
“Sit, My Queen, please.” Orla motioned to a stool.
“Try a honey cake,” a lass thrust a wooden trencher toward her. “They’re still warm.”
Women surrounded her, eager to share, to give, to make their High Queen proud.
Lara let them fuss, let them pour ale into a cup. And as they did, she couldn’t stop smiling.
This was why she’d gone north—why she’d faced the Slew, the frost spirits, and the rift itself.
