A few yards away, two women were bringing in washing from a line outside a roundhouse. They stared at their High Queen as if she’d just sprouted horns and fangs. Wide-eyed and nervous, they whispered together before one clutched at the iron protection amulet around her neck.
Lara murmured an oath, even as the ache under her breastbone deepened. Of course, her army’s morale and the mood in Cobblebrae weren’t helped by the fact that everyone knew she was a fire-wielder now. “We’ll need Ren to sing to us tonight,” she announced then, looking away from the women. “Something cheerful to keep the despair at bay.”
“Good idea,” Bree replied. “The villagers won’t be able to defend Cobblebrae if they can’t rise from their furs in the mornings.”
Most of the residents had returned to the village now. They’d welcomed the weapons eagerly, and the training that came with them. A few yards away, warriors guided a line of men and women through basic drills—parry, strike, defend—but the Weeper’s distant wail kept shattering their focus. Cobblebrae had been fortified, yet fear still lingered in the faces around her.
“No,” Lara agreed, her pulse quickening. “Hopefully, when we move on … the Weeper will follow us and leave these people be.”
The two women continued their circuit then, around the palisade. Lara had wanted to see it before nightfall, although it was difficult to concentrate. Tomorrow, they’d pack up and begin the journey back to Duncrag.
Maybe I should just give up. Just leave the North to Mor, and the borderlands to Alar. None of it matters. Not anymore.
She caught herself then.Shades.The Weeper was altering her thoughts now.
Jaw clenching, she quickened her stride. No, she wasn’t giving up. It would take more than a wailing spirit to best her.
“My Queen.” She glanced over her shoulder to see Roth approaching in long strides. The captain’s auburn brows were knitted together over the blade of his nose. His lips compressed; he struggled like the rest of them. “The Shee are back.”
Lara halted and turned to him. “Mor asks for another audience?”
He nodded.
Lara breathed a curse.
“You knew this was coming,” Bree reminded her gently.
The last of the light was fading when Lara emerged from the village. As before, Bree and Cailean strode at her side, with Skaal padding silently behind them, while Roth and a group of warriors brought up the rear.
And like two evenings earlier, Mor and her Ravens waited for them—tall, cloaked figures surrounded by flickering torches.
“Have you changed your mind?” The Raven Queen greeted her without preamble. Eagal perched on her shoulder, beady eyes fixed upon Lara.
“No,” Lara replied, folding her arms across her chest as she halted.
Mor sighed. “We’re wasting time here. The full moon has just passed … we need to get to The Shattered Crown before the next one.”
“Off you go then.”
Mor’s black eyes narrowed. “Not without you.”
“Why does this matter to you so much?” Lara demanded. Bree had counseled her to work with Mor, but over the past two, largely sleepless, nights, she’d relived their conversation multipletimes. Something didn’t make sense. “Surely, the spirits are more of a problem for my people than yours?”
Bree had told her that the Shee couldn’t control the spirit world, yet Lara couldn’t imagine they were bothered by most of them. Mor had gone to a lot of trouble to search for a way to mend the veil, and Lara wanted to know why.
A nerve flickered in the queen’s smooth cheek. “The wights that dwell in our barrows grow … unruly.”
Lara stilled. Of course, wights were spirits too, malicious ghosts. The barrows that the Shee used to travel between Sheehallion and Albia were the tombs of ancient kings, and their spirits still lingered.
“Of late, crossing between realms has been … difficult,” Mor admitted after a lengthy pause. “If things continue, we won’t be able to travel back to Sheehallion.”
Or it might drive you back to your realm for good.
Lara’s pulse quickened. Perhaps she’d just found a way to rid herself of the Shee.
She caught herself then. Was that really her priority right now? The likes of the Slew were a far greater risk to Albia at present than the Shee. She had to focus on them.
Mor had finally given her a solid motivation, one she could actually believe. Yet, at the same time, there were so many things that were wrong about all of this. Her enemy was proposing that they work together. Every instinct rebelled against it.
