“You want to see her broken.” The accusation fell like an axe.
“No.” Heat rolled over Alar. “You’re wrong. I don’t.” He’d never wanted that.
“But youcouldbreak her.” Cailean’s lips twisted. “She’s strong … but she has a weakness.You.”
Alar stared back at him. His heart started to kick against his ribs. He was still reeling when Cailean leaned in, as if about to share a secret.
However, something else rolled off his tongue. A threat. “Hurt her again, and I’ll kill you.”
25: A BRAVE FLAME
“WELCOME TO CRASK, My Queen!”
The slender man with a thick mane of flaxen hair swept into a bow. “You must take my roundhouse while you’re here.”
Lara studied Connor mac Garth’s face—young and open, despite the shadows under his eyes. “That’s kind, but we’re a small party. Another dwelling will do.”
He smiled, although the expression was strained. “Of course. And you’ll be wanting supper?”
“Aye,” Roth cut in. “Blood sausage. Bread. Cheese. Ale. Lots of it.”
Connor’s blue eyes widened slightly.
Lara shot Roth a sharp look. “Forgive my captain. We’ve had a few lean days.”
Lean barely covered it. They’d hunted what they could since the cave, but game had been scarce—unnaturally so. The land felt wrong, like something had curdled in the soil itself. Their last two suppers had left everyone hollow-bellied and irritable.
And all the while, as they’d pushed hard toward Crask, they’d been aware that the full moon loomed like a specter. As hungry and tired as they all were, their stop here would have to be a brief one.
Seeing Loch Glass’s dark surface through the fog had been a relief. Crask rose from the water on its man-made island, the largest crannog on these shores. Roundhouses clustered at the center—wood and wattle walls, turf roofs sagging with damp. More dwellings perched on wooden walkways that radiated outward like wheel spokes, their pilings sunk deep into the loch bed.
Woodsmoke curled through the air. The aroma of baking bread threaded through the resinous scent, making Lara’s mouth flood with saliva. But other smells also intruded: fish left too long in nets, the sour tang of spoiled grain, and underneath it all, something she couldn’t name. Something dank and disturbing. The spirit world was closing in, tainting their own.
Her stomach growled despite the unease prickling her skin. Like her companions, she was starving.
Her nose wrinkled. She also stank—they all did. First thing: a bath.
“We’ll need supplies for our journey,” Mor said, her voice cutting through Lara’s thoughts.
Connor’s gaze snapped to the Raven Queen.His expression shifted, going from welcoming to cold in an instant. His shoulders went rigid.
Lara tensed as well. Mor had suggested the Shee ‘guise’ themselves as Marav warriors. Their magic allowed them to wear the skin of others for a short while. It would make things easier, less tense, but Lara had refused. If their races were ever going to move past centuries of hatred, they needed to start appearing together. United.
Even if it made moments like this excruciating.
“Connor,” Lara said quietly, drawing his attention back. She kept her voice low, conversational. “Could we speak? Just for a moment?”
Something flickered in his eyes—relief, maybe, at being pulled away from Mor’s unsettling presence. He nodded and stepped aside with her, far enough that their words wouldn’t carry.
Lara glanced back at the crannog—at the roundhouses with their sagging roofs and the walkways where fog clung like cobwebs. On the approach, she’d seen the fields on the shore, where late-season crops should have been standing tall. Instead, brown stalks listed sideways, leaves curled and blackened. Dying.
“I saw your fields,” she said softly.
Connor’s throat worked. He looked away, toward the grey water. “Aye.”
“And the spirits? They’ve been worse?”
“Much worse.” The words came out rough. “The Loch-Bhàn took two fishermen last week. The aughisky drowned a child. And the Slew” —he swallowed hard— “they hunt regularly now.” He cut himself off, as if worried he’d said too much.
