Dorka crouched on all fours now. Her golden eyes fixed upon Ren. Unblinking. Hungry. Earlier, one of the Ravens had thrown her a hare carcass, but ever since Mor had taken her captive, she hadn’t been able to hunt.
Ren studied Dorka for a while. The wind tugged at her robes and pulled tendrils of red-gold hair free of the tight braid she wore. Extending both hands, she then closed her eyes, and as everyone looked on, the tattoos on her exposed forearms and neck started to glow.
Mor’s nostrils flared, and she moved back farther.
The scent of pine and ash swirled through the air.
And then, Ren started to sing. It was a soft, haunting melody—one that Lara had never heard before. It made her breathing quicken and caused something to twist deep in her chest. Without meaning to, she glanced over at Alar. He too was watching Ren, a groove etched between his dark eyebrows. But, somehow, he marked her gaze, and his attention flicked back to Lara.
They stared at each other for a heartbeat, as Ren’s song swelled.
An ache rose under Lara’s breastbone. Longing.
Heart pounding now, she tore her gaze away.Gods. It was the song. It was worse than The Gaulas, for it was tearing down her defenses. Confusing her. Weakening her.
Meanwhile, Dorka continued to watch Ren. Her tail had been beating against the ground, yet it stilled now—and as thesong continued, the hackles on her neck, shoulders, and spine smoothed.
Eventually, Ren’s voice died away, and when it did, another sound vibrated through the air.
A deep, rumbling purr.
It was coming from the clag-doo.
To Lara’s shock, Ren then moved toward Dorka before reaching out a hand and stroking her sleek forehead. She bowed her head and pushed against Ren’s hand, her purr loudening.
Mor whispered something before stepping up next to the bard. “What manner of song was that?”
“An old one,” Ren murmured, her voice soft now. “A lullaby of sorts my mother used to sing to me when I was afraid of the dark … when no amount of reassurance would quieten my fears. It’s a surrendering sain.” The bard glanced Mor’s way then. “Dorka was afraid. She has now lowered her guard.”
16: SHAME
LARA WALKED THROUGH the woods. Weaving in and out of the trees, she was alone, barefoot, and wearing nothing but a thin linen tunic that brushed her ankles as she moved. Cold air kissed her naked arms, causing goosebumps to rise, and she quickened her step.
She wasn’t sure where she was going, and yet urgency beat in her breast.
The ground was damp underfoot, wet leaves sticking to her feet. Rustling in the undergrowth warned her that others were watching, but strangely, she wasn’t afraid.
Lights flickered in the distance, and her breathing caught.
Corpse candles.
Lara hurried on. She didn’t fear them now. These flickering flames were her allies.
The lights led her deep into the woods, darting out of reach every time she neared them. And when she finally caught them up, the corpse candles hovered in a ring around a large dark tree.
The ancient yew stood like a sentinel in the heart of the misted wood, its massive trunk twisted and gnarled. The bark was a patchwork of deep russet and silver-grey, peeling away in long strips. Its base spread wide, buttressed roots disappearing into the soft loam where fungi grew in ghostly pale clusters.
Above, the canopy formed a living vault. And upon one of the ancient limbs, Lara spied the shapes of perching birds.
Crows, large and black with glossy feathers and sharp eyes.
Seven of them—all watching her.
She froze, her pulse now thudding in her ears. And as the moments slid by, the smell of burning caught the back of her throat.
Smoke, drifting like mist through the air, started to curl around the heavy trunk. Crackling split the deep silence of the woodland. Flames erupted then, devouring the yew tree. The crows started to shriek, and she stumbled back, shielding her face.
Lara’s eyes snapped open.
