The sisters had shown surprising mettle the night before. However, she didn’t want to drag Eithne and Duana into this. She couldn’t abandon them either. They couldn’t go back to Dulross, and the road ahead led into Shee territory. She’d hoped they’d pass a village where she could leave them, yet there hadn’t been any. There was no safe place for them now.There isn’t for any of us.
Despite that all their party survived the night, the mood had been subdued when they packed up at dawn. The Slew attack had rattled them, even Mor. The Raven Queen went first up the mountain, leading Dorka. She loped alongside Mor’s white elk now, far more placid. Alar was among the leaders of the group, astride that magnificent red stag.
Lara had to admit that he looked right on its back.
She checked herself then.
Alar. Wherever she turned these days, there he was.
He’d helped her fight back against the fire that threatened to consume her—had risked himself to do so. He’d been standing nearby when she collapsed. It was likely he’d been the one to carry her over to the fire. Heat rolled over her then, a warmth that had nothing to do with her fever.
His face had been the first she’d seen after waking. He’d been watching over her.
She’d been aloof with him ever since. She wasn’t ungrateful. She just didn’t want to rely on him. Ever again.
It galled her that she’d feared for his life as she’d watched him fight that terrifying Slew, that his burns had concerned her, and that some traitorous part, deep inside, had melted at his protectiveness.
No, none of that mattered.Hedidn’t matter. All that did was reaching their destination with her sanity intact.
“Gut it like this.” Eithne dug her knife into the hare’s belly. “You then get rid of everything inside.” Reaching into the body cavity, she pulled out its guts in deft, practiced movements. The rank odor of offal made Lara’s nose wrinkle. Nonetheless, it was a useful lesson.
Following the lass’s lead, she sliced open the hare she’d just skinned and plunged her hand inside its still-warm body, fighting squeamishness. She was still sweating from her fever, chills crawling over her skin, and her body trembled from exhaustion, but this task was a welcome distraction.
They’d made camp against a steep scree slope, just off the narrow path. Beyond, there was a dizzying drop that plunged down to a deep corrie. The setting sun gilded the sea of craggy peaks, bringing out the streaks of gold, ochre, grey, and black rock. The wind was sharp up here. The Whistle echoed off stone. Nonetheless, Lara was so relieved to be free of The Gaulas, she didn’t care.
“Fucking grimlochs.”
Lara glanced up. A few yards away, Roth was bent over smoking tinder, clutching his flint. As Lara and the sisters looked on, he struck it once more. Flames flared, and then something doused it, like a puff of wind.
Lara frowned. Dark shapes writhed around the fire pit, eyes glowing in the gloaming.Aye, the smoke spirits were making trouble.
Still, Roth persisted, his curses growing ever more colorful as his efforts were blocked.
A few feet away, Fern muttered something in her own tongue. She eyed the warrior as if he was inept. She and her father were gutting and skinning a wild pig they’d taken down earlier in the day.
“Shall I help?” Lara called out.
Roth looked up, his brow furrowing. “Is it safe?”
She nodded. In truth, she was wary about wielding fire again, but surely, she could manage something simple. She wouldn’t even need her cairn stone.
Pulling out the last of the hare’s entrails, she passed Duana the carcass. She then wiped off her hands, rose to her feet, and crossed to the fire pit.
“Try again,” she instructed.
Casting her a wary look, he did as bid. The flint sparked, and flame spurted upward.
Lara wiggled her fingers, and a line of fire shot across the laid hearth, igniting the dry grass and twigs he’d arranged. “Off you go,” she murmured to the swirling smoky shapes. “Bother someone else’s hearth tonight.”
The shadows grew frenzied, and then, buzzing like an angry swarm of wasps, they departed.
Lara sat back on her heels, meeting Roth’s eye. His lips quirked. “You’ve pissed them off.”
She huffed. “No doubt, they’ll be back.”
Singing intruded then—the same haunting melody from a couple of nights earlier. Lara glanced over at the path, where Ren stood at Mor’s side, hands outstretched, tattoos glowing. Dorka crouched before them, ears back. Mor was tense, her lipstight. Being so close to earth magic pained her, yet she needed the bard’s help with this. Eagal had flown from Mor’s shoulder and now looked on from a scraggly hawthorn a few yards distant.
Meanwhile, Eithne and Duana had busied themselves pushing the hare carcasses onto spits. Likewise, Fern and Sablebane readied the boar for roasting. It would be a hearty supper tonight, and anticipation of it had lightened the mood slightly.
