Alar’s gaze narrowed as he stared back. It had been a long while since he’d come face-to-face with a boggart.
It was small and wiry, like a broonie—its helpful cousin—but the similarity ended there. Everything about the boggart was wrong. Soured. In the flickering firelight, its skin had a jaundiced cast, as did its bloodshot eyes. Coarse, matted hair hung in greasy strands around a pinched face. It wore the stained, tattered remnants of what might once have been humble working clothes—a broonie’s traditional garb. Large hands withunnaturally long fingers—perfect for smothering bairns, unraveling carefully woven cloth, and spoiling fresh bread—flexed against wet stone.
Alar’s lip curled. “Off with you.”
The boggart didn’t move, and so he sheathed one of his blades and reached for the large pouch at his waist instead.
Salt.
Everyone in Dulross made sure they carried it with them these days.
Iron worked well against spirits—but salt was even more effective. Especially with the likes of boggarts.
Opening his pouch, Alar took a handful.
The boggart shuffled sideways on the wall. It then sneered, revealing yellowed teeth that were slightly too large for its mouth. “Don’t be hasty, half-breed bastard.”
Alar stiffened. The insult didn’t bother him. He’d heard worse over the years. However, the boggart spoke in an unsettling, high-pitched, sing-song voice, and it seemed to recognize him.
“Do you know me?” He tightened his grip on the salt.
“Know me. Know me,” the boggart mimicked, grinning now. “Son of a whore. You think you’re king here … but you’renothing. Nothing! But I see who you are … I see the real man behind the mask.”
Alar stilled. The boggart was treading dangerous ground now. His inane babble, mixed with riddles and insults, was designed to unbalance the listener.
“You sold yourself for a victory that is ashes in your mouth!” it crowed. “Ashes. Ashes!” The boggart gave a shrill laugh that cut through the damp air like a blade. Nearby, one of the guards cursed.
“Stay at your posts,” Alar called out. “I’ll deal with this.”
“I’ll deal with this,” it mocked. “Betrayer. Liar. Exile. Outsider. You will never belong. Never! You found something more precious than gold, but you threw it away … and you will regret it for the rest of your miserable life. Every. Single. Day.”
Alar’s blood started to roar in his ears. This time, the boggart had gotten to him.
Snarling a curse, he stepped forward and hurled the salt in the boggart’s eyes. With a shriek that echoed through the darkness, it tumbled off the wall.
6: UNEASY ALLIES
THE SWEEPER TUGGED at Lara’s cloak and whipped hair into her eyes as she rode Bracken through the gateway of Cobblebrae’s new perimeter. Her pulse quickened.This is it. The first day of the journey that would take her to Dulross.
To Alar.
A familiar heat ignited deep in her chest then, as vindictive thoughts wreathed up. She’d fantasized about meeting himagain, about dealing out justice. It choked her that revenge would have to wait.
They needed his help, and if they didn’t get it, this mission would end in the borderlands.
A few yards distant, to the west, Mor and her companions waited upon elks and stags. The queen sat astride a magnificent white elk with massive spreading antlers. In one hand, she held a steel chain, and at the end of it, crouched Dorka. The feline’s plush black coat contrasted against the bright collar around her neck. Golden eyes gleamed in the dawn light, and a long tail swished furiously. The Shee had buckled restraints above each of her four paws, allowing the predator to walk but do little else.
Steeling herself, Lara glanced east.
The last of her army—which included servants and a supply train—was moving out, taking the road that would lead them back to Duncrag. They’d bring word from Lara about the task she’d been set. And, of course, they’d also let everyone in the capital know that the High Queen was a fire-wielder.
A hollow sensation settled in the pit of her gut then.
If she survived this and returned home, would she find the gates of Duncrag barred?
Don’t be a fool. She pulled herself up short.Mirren and Torran will ensure that never happens.
With her steward and protector overseeing Duncrag, the fort and the throne would remain hers. Both her former handmaid and Cailean’s second-in-command were loyal to her—and to each other. She’d left them in charge the year before, and after Alar’s betrayal, had traveled back to Duncrag to discover there had been changes in her short absence. When she’d departed just a few days earlier, their relationship had been awkward and strained, but she returned to find them in love. During thesummer that followed, the pair had wed, and Lara was the one to conduct the handfasting ceremony.
