Something flickered in his sister’s grey eyes before she gave a tight nod. “I was one of the party sent to report on the goings on at the stone circle.”
“Did the spirits bother you?”
Her proud features tensed. “Aye … a little. Although we were careful to visit on a new moon. It’s the safest night to walk amongst wraiths.”
“And you saw the rip in the veil?”
Fern nodded. Their gazes met, holding for a few moments before she looked away.
Alar studied her profile, curiosity wreathing up. “Do you have any other siblings?” he asked after a pause.
Her gaze cut back to him, eyes narrowing. For a moment, he thought she might snap at him, but instead, her lips thinned. “No,” she replied stiffly. “Shee families aren’t large.”
“And are our father and your mother still together?” Alar’s gut tightened as he asked this.
Did it matter? Did he care? Aye, he did. He wanted to know more about the warrior who’d sired him, of the life he’d returned to in Sheehallion. He wanted to find the piece of himself that had always been missing.
“No,” Fern replied. “Their relationship ended a century ago.”
Alar stilled at that. Half-bloods lived longer than Marav, yet he’d never get used to the way Shee viewed time. As if a century meant nothing. They weren’t immortal, but since their lifespans often stretched into thousands of years, a century was a mere blink of the eye.
“Does he have another mate then? Another family?”
“No.” Fern looked away. “He’s had little opportunity.” Her voice lowered. “For he’s only recently gained his freedom … he spent nearly seven decades in a labor camp.”
Alar’s heart kicked.Nearly seven decades.He was seventy-three, which meant his father had been imprisoned for most of Alar’s life. The news unbalanced him.
“Aye, he was punished for his transgression.” Fern now stared resolutely ahead. “Mor was … displeased.”
Mind reeling, Alar took this in. All these years, he’d imagined Wynn Sablebane had gotten away with planting a bastard in a Marav woman’s womb. But he hadn’t. He glanced ahead at where his father rode alongside Vyr. Mor led the way now, stalking ahead on Dorka.
Suddenly, his head was full of questions, one tumbling over the other.
“And you don’t resent him for what he did?” he asked finally. “He disgraced you, didn’t he?”
Fern snorted, casting him a sidelong glance. “He disgracedhimself,not me … and he’s paid for it.” She paused then, her features tightening. “My mother and I are estranged … he’s all I have.”
Alar inclined his head. Their gazes met and held.
His sister fascinated him—especially since he recognized some of himself in her. A loneliness she hid well from the world. For the first time, she’d lowered her shields and let him glimpse beyond.
Alar’s chest tightened. He wanted to tell her that she had him too but wisely swallowed the words. Fern wouldn’t want to hear them, and he wouldn’t be stupid enough to make himself so vulnerable around her.
A mournful long cry echoed across the hills then, shattering the fragile connection between brother and sister. Grief distilled into one keening scream that made the fine hairs on the back of Alar’s arms stand up.
The Weeper.
It warned them not to go any farther. But they would.
Behind him, someone shouted a curse. Glancing over his shoulder, Alar looked to where Roth was pointing east—to dark shapes boiling over the hill.
His heart bucked against his ribs. Next to him, his sister was silent.
Alar leaned forward, his sharp eyesight slicing through the murky gloaming. In amongst the approaching swarm, he made out heavyset bodies gripping pikestaffs, red caps bouncing asthey ran. Alongside them were smaller wiry imps with hooked noses and sagging faces, gripping daggers. Powries and trows.
He swiftly drew his twin blades, his pulse thundering now as fury washed over him in a blistering tide. These creatures were the Shee’s allies. Five years of service and they’d be able to return to Sheehallion.
A fucking ambush.Mor had turned on them.
