Her breathing hitched. Hag’s teeth. She couldn’t let herself go to that place. Ever. Again.
“The queen suggests we halt soon, camp on the hillside, and in the morning take a different road to Dulross,” he said, his voice low and flat, with a slight husk to it that reminded Lara once more of Alar. “It’s faster … and we’ll avoid the marshes.”
Lara frowned, even as her pulse quickened. “A different road? Won’t that mean doubling back?” Indeed, they’d passed a crossroads a while ago, and there wasn’t another until much closer to Dulross.
“There’s another path.”
“I’ve traveled this road often and know of no other route nearby,” Cailean muttered.
Sablebane gave him a dismissive look. “That’s because no Marav has ever traveled the Slighe Fraoch.”
A beat of silence followed before Bree spoke. “Mor wants us to take the ‘Heather Path’?”
“Aye. It’s safer.”
Bree scowled. “For Shee maybe … but not Marav.”
Sablebane eyed Bree, his lip curling. “No harm will come to any of you. Just don’t stray from the path … or touch anything … and you’ll all be fine.” He paused and studied Bree’s face intently, as if trying to catch a glimpse of the Shee female she’d once been. “Regretting our choices, are we?”
Bree scowled at him. “No.” Her tone was cutting. She gave Lara a sharp look then. “The Slighe Fraoch can only be used byMarav by invitation … and even then, Shee magic makes it risky for us. He’s failed to mention that the path is a cruel, twisted mirror … it shows you the things you don’t want to see.” Discomfort flickered across Bree’s face. “The Shee don’t make a habit of traveling their greenways with Marav … but on the rare occasions they have, some Marav have lost their minds.”
“Only the weak succumb,” Sablebane replied, his tone dismissive. “Surely, you aren’t afraid to face yourself,Fellshadow?”
Bree stared back at him, her eyes hardening. “No.”
“Good.” He shifted his attention to Lara. “This way, we’ll avoid any bog wights. It’ll rain for a while longer … and if we take the low road, we’re likely to draw the Fuath to us.” Lara and Bree shared a look at this. “Also, time moves against us, and your husband may be difficult to convince. This route will take a day … no longer …andwe’ll approach Dulross unseen.” He paused then, his grey eyes glinting. “The Half-blood won’t know we’re coming.”
The small band made camp a few furlongs above the road, on a rocky hillside strewn with purple heather. They stood under the shadow of the Goatfells now, serrated peaks that pierced the low cloud. The rain fell steadily as they set about getting a fire lit—not an easy task with The Sweeper slamming into them. Both Roth and Cailean had brought rolls of hide with them, and so they managed to put up a windbreak and erect an awning of sorts over the fire pit.
But despite working at close quarters, the Shee and Marav didn’t mingle. Even when they sat around the fire at night, the two races kept to their own sides. Lara had marked the wary looks the Ravens gave her escort—and in turn, the suspicious way the likes of Cailean and Roth, especially, watched their Shee companions.
“Cnoc-banes dwell in this area, My Queen,” Roth warned as he staked down the hide, even as the wind tried to tear it from his hands. “It wouldn’t be my choice for a campsite … especially with the spirit world as churned up as it is.”
Lara frowned. She then glanced over at where, a few yards away, the Raven Queen looked on while Sablebane drove the chain that secured Dorka into the ground. “Surely, Mor knows that?”
“Maybe she has a way of repelling them.”
“Not likely,” Bree answered. “The Shee avoid cnoc-banes as much as we do.”
Meanwhile, Mor crouched before the snarling feline, the melodious strains of her voice rising and falling with the wind. She was trying to gentle Dorka, as she did every evening while they made camp. As yet, she didn’t appear to be making any headway.
Irritation spiked through Lara as she looked on. Instead of messing about with that oversized cat, she should have been focusing on ensuring this was a safe campsite. Over the past days, Lara had noticed that the Mor left such things to her Ravens while she tried to coax the clag-doo into tolerating her.
Dorka hissed then, a large paw raking the air. Mor leaped back just in time to avoid being clawed.
It wasn’t working.
Lara huffed a deep breath. They also needed to discuss how to approach their looming meeting with Alar. Anxiety tightened her belly. She didn’t want to lead the meeting. Mor would have to. The less she spoke to her husband, the better.
Her chief-enforcer approached then, after tethering the horses, Skaal padding along behind him. Lara turned to him. “Cailean … you’ll know. What’s the best way to repel a cnoc-bane?”
Cailean pulled a face. “I’d suggest a ritual where you ask permission to dwell on their hill. Unfortunately, it’s one sacrificers usually perform.”
Lara breathed a curse. The Reaper take Gregor. His absence left them vulnerable to many dangers. Also, without a sacrificer, Cailean wouldn’t be able to replenish his earth magic when the need arose—and it surely would.
“Ren.” She turned to the blue-robed woman digging through a saddlebag behind her. “Can you sing something that will appease them?”
The bard’s brow furrowed. “I will try … in the meantime, I suggest we place some offerings on the highest point of this hill. It should help.”
