Lara stepped closer, lowering her voice further. “Connor, look at me.”
He did. Reluctantly.
“We’re going to Darkmere,” she said. “To The Shattered Crown. There’s something there … something the Raven Queen and I believe can help fix this.” She gestured vaguely toward the dying world around them. “All of this.”
His eyes searched her face. Looking for certainty. “What kind of something?”
“I can’t say more. Not yet.” She held his gaze. “But I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”
A long pause. Around them, the fog pressed closer, muffling any sounds. The water lapped against the pilings with a soft rhythmic slap.
“The Shee,” he said finally. His voice had dropped to barely a whisper. “You’re traveling with them? Working with them?”
“I am.”
“My Queen.” Censure hardened his voice.
“I know what I’m asking.” Lara glanced back at where Mor stood with her Ravens, a dark cluster of cloaks and gleaming eyes. She understood the wrongness they represented to people like Connor. To them, the fae were dangerous. Cruel and capricious. “I know what they are to you. But Connor” —she turned back to him— “If we don’t do this, if we don’t work together, there won’t be anything left to protect. The veil between the dead and the living is failing. You’ve seen how the world has changed. Youknow.”
His throat worked. A nerve jumped in his cheek. He looked quietly terrified—not of her, but of everything her words implied. Of the choice she was forcing him to make.
Behind him, his wife, Orla, stood watching, their wee daughter swaddled against her chest. The bairn was too quiet, Lara realized. Babies should fuss, should cry. This one didn’t.
Seeing the direction of her gaze, Connor glanced over his shoulder. And when he turned back, the shadow in his eyes told her that he understood there was something wrong with the bairn as well.
“Six days,” Lara said softly. “We need supplies to get us there and back. Food, water, whatever you can spare. That’s all I’m asking.”
Connor looked at her for a long moment. Then at Mor. Then back at the crannog—his home, his people, all of it slowly dying under a grey sky.
“Aye,” he said finally. The word sounded like it cost him. “Aye, My Queen. Foryou.”
“Thank you.” She touched his arm briefly. “I won’t forget this.”
He nodded, but his eyes remained shadowed. He gestured to Orla, who stepped forward with the too-quiet bairn. “My wife will show you to your lodgings.”
A short while later, as they followed Orla deeper into the crannog, Lara couldn’t shake the feeling settling in her bones like winter cold. The dying crops. The silent baby. The fog that wouldn’t lift. The chill that had nothing to do with the season.
The spirits were taking over.
And she was running out of time to stop them.
Inhaling the scent of lavender, Lara then sighed. Gods. What a relief.Washing away days of dirt and grime was beyond satisfying. She leaned over the earthen washbowl in her alcove and soaped up her hair. Then, picking up a ewer of cold water, she rinsed it clean.
Back in Duncrag, she enjoyed long soaks in an iron tub. She’d lean back against the rolled rim, eyes closed as the hot water soaked into her limbs. Standing at a washbowl wasn’t the same, but she didn’t care.
Being clean against was what mattered. For a few moments, she could put all her worries behind her.
Her extra clothes had been in the saddlebags the rockslide had taken. As such, Orla had given her one of her tunics to wear. Likewise, all the members of their party would leave their old clothes here to be laundered and picked up when they returned from The Shattered Crown.
Lara’s pulse quickened.Just three days.
When they’d set off on this journey, the destination had seemed distant. No longer though. Now, it breathed down their necks.
Reaching for a drying sheet, Lara toweled off her wet hair. As she did so, she cast an eye around her alcove. It was simple. A sleeping nook with a nest of furs. A ledge where she’d placed her rosewood figures of The Five. A clay pot for her to relieve herself in during the night, if necessary. A soft sheepskin beneath her feet.
Longing wreathed up. How she’d love to stay here for a few days. The alcove was much more rustic than she was used to, yet she liked that.
But no, time raced against them now.If they departed tomorrow, they’d arrive at The Shattered Crown just in time for Gateway.
