The young man stared back at her, a nerve flickering under one eye.
Lara held his gaze, and as she did, something inside her hardened. Earlier, as she’d dismounted Bracken, she too wondered how she was going to make it through the day. But the things she’d just said to Ruari helped her as well. This road was cruel, and Gods knew it found the soft places in her armor with unerring accuracy, but it wouldn’t break her. It couldn’t. She wouldn’t let it.
Nonetheless, when they resumed their journey, the assault began anew.
The weight of ancestral guilt pressed down on her, as though generations of the dead now rode upon her shoulders. She was the inheritor of their mistakes. The rift in the veil—the spirits that clawed their way through to torment the living—all of it traced back to blood she carried. Her ancestors had opened the door, and she was expected to close it, but the path whispered a darker truth: what if she only made things worse? What if her meddling tore the veil wider still?
Her chest constricted. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, rapid and unsteady.
Then came the fire. Not the physical flames she could summon, but the hunger for them. The path showed her what she tried to hide even from herself—that every time she called upon her fire magic, it answered more eagerly. That the rush of power through her veins was becoming sweeter, more necessary. What if, one day, she reached for it, only to find she couldn’t let go? The magic would consume her from the inside out, burning away everything until only the fire remained, wild and mindless. Ravenous.
Her breathing grew shallow, then shallower still. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision.
No.
The word came from somewhere deep, somewhere the path hadn’t reached yet. She dragged in a breath, then another, forcing air past the tightness in her throat. “Your words are venom,” she whispered aloud, her voice hoarse. “They have no sway over me.”
The path didn’t relent. But this time, Lara didn’t try to argue or deny its cruelty. Instead, she reached for Bree’s words like a lifeline thrown across dark water. “I’m strong enough to stare you down.” Her lips barely moved. “I’m more than the darkest parts of myself.”
The whispers continued, but she met them with the same words. Again. And again. A sain. A shield. A defiant snarl in the face of everything that wanted to drag her under.
And slowly—so slowly she almost didn’t notice at first—the crushing weight eased. Not gone, but bearable. There was space now between her and the poison the path poured into her mind. A sliver of distance that let her breathe.
She wouldn’t let self-loathing take her. Not today. Not on this cursed road.
The afternoon dragged on. The sun moved across that impossibly blue sky while Lara fought a war inside her own skull. Her jaw ached from clenching. Her shoulders burned with tension. Bracken’s steady rhythm beneath her became a prayer:One step. Another step. Keep moving. Don’t stop.
They made their way down a steep hill now, strewn with gold and pink heather, where bees buzzed and butterflies fluttered. A soft, scented breeze tickled Lara’s cheeks, yet she barely noticed. Every sense was turned inward, focused on the battle for her own mind.
She’d never thought beauty could be such a trial. She just wanted to be free of this place.
And then, moments later, she was.
As they neared the bottom of the hill, the sunshine faded, the breeze grew cool and damp, and mist rolled in. The multi-colored swathes of heather drew back, and familiar clumps of faded dark purple dotted the roadside. The soft grass beneath their horses’ hooves turned to rough pebbles.
The crushing pressure on Lara’s breastbone eased all at once, like shackles falling away. The vicious whispers cut off mid-word, leaving a ringing silence in their wake.
Her spine straightened. She threw her head back and sucked in a lungful of air—real air, clean and cold and blessedly free of magic. Tears stung her eyes. Relief. Bone-deep, overwhelming relief.
“Thank The Mother,” Ruari rasped from behind her.
Aye. They were through. The Slighe Fraoch hadn’t beaten them.
Ahead, the mist parted, and they rode into a stand of pines. The sharp scent of resin, reminiscent of earth magic, filled the air. Lara’s hands still clenched the reins, but the worst had passed. They were home.
She glanced over at Bree then, and they shared a long look. No words needed. Just the understanding of two people who’d walked through fire and emerged on the other side.
Twisting in the saddle, her gaze slid over the three druids riding behind them.
Annis, Ren, and Ruari were all pale and drained, their eyes hollow and haunted. But like her, they’d survived.
The Shee waited for them up ahead. Mor watched Lara intently as she approached. “All is well?”
Lara lifted her chin, eyeballing the Raven Queen. “We’re still here, aren’t we?” If she’d known just how hard this ‘shortcut’ would be, she’d have willingly faced the Fuath instead. Perhaps the Raven Queen had known that.
“You are,” Mor murmured.
The two of them locked gazes then, and Lara had the impression she’d just passed a test.
