“Don’t you have anything to say to each other?” Mor asked finally.
Sablebane’s chiseled features tightened, while Alar folded his arms across his chest. He shifted focus to Mor then, meeting her gaze.
“My thanks for the family reunion,” he said, iron edging his voice. “I’m touched. However, why don’t you just tell me what you want?”
Alar didn’t speak as Mor explained about The Shattered Crown, about ‘the anchor, the bridge, and the weaver’, and how the three of them were needed to mend the tear in the veil.
His expression never changed. Only the slight narrowing or widening of his eyes betrayed his surprise at certain points in her story. Lara also sensed his growing wariness and suspicion.
As she had, he was examining every word, waiting to expose a lie.
But Mor told the tale plainly. Honestly. The starkness of it reminded Lara of everything that hung in the balance. At a certain point, Alar’s gaze flicked momentarily to her. She glimpsed the questions in his eyes, ones she wouldn’t be answering.
“Will you join us?” Mor asked once she’d finished.
“It’s convenient that I’m required at all,” he replied, brows drawing together. “What exactly does ‘the bridge’ do, beyond kneeling on a stone?”
“You form a conduit between Lara and me,” Mor said evenly. “We are three points of a triangle.”
Alar’s frown deepened. He glanced over at where Annis stood, watching the exchange. The counselor’s white robes gleamed in the torchlight. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t rituals like these require a sacrifice of some kind? Blood-letting?”
His question echoed Lara’s own from days earlier. She imagined he’d have directed his question to Gregor, but since the sacrificer was absent, Annis would suffice.
The druid grimaced. “They did in ancient times,” she replied. “When seeking favor or summoning—”
“But we’re notsummoninganything,” Mor interceded, her tone surprisingly patient. “We’re sending wraiths back into The Threshold and closing the rift.”
Alar studied her. A weighty silence followed. Lara watched his face, saw him turning Mor’s words over in his mind.
“Your presence is all that’s needed, Alar,” Mor said eventually. “Your mixed heritage … the bridge between our peoples … completes the binding. That’s all.”
Alar’s scowl remained, but something in his posture shifted slightly. His shoulders lowered. What Mor said made sense—restoration didn’t require the same price as intervention. Balance could be achieved without sacrifice.
“We’re all risking our lives by making this journey,” Mor added. “The spirits will try to stop us. You’re in no more danger than the rest of us.”
He snorted softly, though his suspicion had eased somewhat. “That’s not particularly reassuring.”
Mor’s lips tugged up at the corners. “No … but I think you’d prefer the truth.” She paused then. “If you have any more questions, now would be the time to ask them.”
Another silence settled, and everyone waited.
Right now, the Half-blood had them all in his hand—and he knew it.
Lara clenched her back teeth together. How he’d be gloating. Gods, to ask anything of him was humiliating.
“I do have questions … but not for you,” Alar replied. His gaze snapped to Lara then. “I want to speak to my wife first … before I give an answer.”
Heat rolled over her.My wife.
How dare he speak about her as if she belonged to him? As if they were together.
“I have nothing to say to you,” she replied.
He looked her way then, his gaze pinning her to the spot. “If you refuse … I’ll walk away.”
Her pulse went wild. The selfish prick meant it too.
“Indulge him, Lara,” Mor said, shattering the weighty silence that followed. “Just this once.”
