She then urged Bracken forward.
To her surprise, Mor fell in next to her, while Bree followed close behind.
Dorka didn’t enjoy slowing her pace. She made a spitting noise in protest, but Mor leaned forward and placed a hand on her neck, murmuring to her until she settled.
“Your gaze often seeks him out,” Mor said then. Her voice was quiet. No one else would have heard—but Lara did. “And he often watches you … when you’re not looking.”
Lara stiffened, not sure how to respond.
“It seems his betrayal didn’t break everything, after all.”
Lara swallowed. “I’m not sure about that.”
Their eyes met and held for a heartbeat before Mor’s mouth curved into a half-smile. “You don’t love him then?”
Her pulse quickened. “It doesn’t matter if I do. It’s over.”
A dull ache rose under her breastbone then: the weight of a love that had been doomed from the start. Aye, she loved the bastard. There wasn’t any point in denying it. But love wasn’t enough.
Mor didn’t reply to that, and Lara found herself studying her.
They’d been traveling together for a moon’s turn, yet didn’t really know each other at all. They’d been guarded with each other. This was the first intimate talk they’d ever had, although Lara didn’t wish to discuss Alar. It hurt too much.
“Why have you never taken a husband?” she asked finally.
“Shee don’t have handfastings,” Mor answered. “We take mates for as long as it suits us … and end the arrangement once things grow stale.”
“Stale?”
Mor gave a soft laugh. “I’ve seen the turn of two thousand years. Even the most exciting of lovers grows boring in the end.”
Lara supposed they likely would. “So, you’d never share power?”
Something moved in the depths of Mor’s onyx eyes. “Never.”
Silence settled between them. They’d left the corrie behind now, riding over wind-blasted hills studded with towering tors of stacked stone.
“Males … whether Shee or Marav … always want to be the ones in charge,” Mor said finally. “When a woman rules, she can never show vulnerability … or others will exploit it.” She paused then, eyeing Lara. “You’ve learned this too.”
She nodded, even as she thought about Bree, Cailean, and the others who’d followed her north. She’d also learned that relationships were more complex than that. Ruari was right. Trust had to be given if you wished to receive it. There was vulnerability involved, and that could be terrifying.
“You can love and hate someone at the same time, you know?” Mor said then. “I loved my brother … and yet I had Bree hunt him down and chop off his head.” A brittle smile tugged at the Raven Queen’s lips. “The people you love are the most dangerous of all.”
Alar had only ever traveled this far north once. When he was around thirty, and determined to see every corner of Albia with his own eyes. Even so, he’d found this place unsettling. Even with the low cloud, the sky was endless up here, the screech of eagles hunting echoing for furlongs across the hills and off rock. On that trip, he’d camped on the southern edge of the Darkmere but hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d lain by the fire he’d lit, imagining something whispering to him in the darkness. Despitethe fire’s heat, cold had prickled his skin. It had been a relief to get up early, kick dirt over the embers, and ride south.
But here he was, decades later, approaching the same place.
Dusk was settling now, a bright, cold, windy day darkening into a murky gloaming. And as the shadows lengthened, the world grew quiet, as if it were holding its breath. The stillness had followed them all day; a watchful silence that had put everyone on edge. Even the Shee.
Reedav snorted then, tossing his head. Leaning forward, Alar stroked the stag’s neck. “Aye, lad … I feel it too,” he murmured.
The waters of the loch were dark and still, the color of beaten iron. The Darkmere sat in a cradle of mountains, sharp grey peaks that seemed to lean inward, shadowing the loch and glen below.
Urging his stag forward, Alar drew up alongside his sister.
Fern rode just behind Mor and Vyr. She cast him a wary glance.
“Have you ever visited The Shattered Crown?” he asked.
