Lara obeyed, moving over to the southwestern edge of the circle.
Alar shifted to where a flat circular stone lay in the midst of the circle, worn and pitted with age. He cast his gaze over it before glancing Mor’s way. “Here?”
“Aye,” she replied, sheathing her sword. “On your knees. Face Lara.”
Alar’s gaze narrowed. However, he didn’t obey.
“You need to kneel, Alar,” Mor repeated.
“Why?”
“It’s all part of the ritual.”
Tension rippled over his lean frame.
“I’ve already explained this,” Mor said, meeting his gaze squarely. “You are the bridge.”
“Aye … but—”
“You need to be close to the earth when I begin the binding … and that means you must prostrate yourself upon the stone.”
A nerve flickered in Alar’s cheek. He didn’t look any happier about this than earlier. Yet, he didn’t argue with her now. Moments passed, and slowly he sank down upon the stone.
The sight made Lara’s pulse stutter. Bathed in moonlight, he appeared a sacrificial victim from the old stories, back when sacrificers had been permitted to kill people to appease the Gods. The comparison disconcerted her.
Mor approached Alar. She then pushed back her cloak, revealing a row of blades strapped to her belt. The largest was a fighting dagger, the smallest the size of a boning knife. Morselected one of the smaller ones, a thin-bladed dagger. “Hold out your hand.”
Confusion flickered across his features. But this time, he didn’t do as bid.
Making an impatient noise in the back of her throat, Mor grabbed hold of his wrist and slashed him across the palm.
Alar jolted, his hiss of pain following. His blood flowed thick, running through his fingers. “What thefuck?” he ground out.
“Let the blood drip onto the stone,” Mor ordered. “It’s all part of the grounding … connecting you to the earth through blood.”
“But you said—”
“Quiet.” Mor snapped.
Lips pressing into a thin line, he watched Mor warily as his blood dripped. Anger and suspicion blazed in his eyes.
Lara’s own unease spiked. This wasn’t right. Mor had said no blood was needed.
The Raven Queen moved back, taking her place at the southeastern edge of the circle, behind Alar. “Extend your right hand, Lara,” she called. “Let theOrd-ree sealannounce its presence.”
Forcing herself to focus, Lara lifted her hand. Her gaze lowered to where the amber stone set against iron gleamed silver in the moonlight. “The ring feels warm.”
“Good … it’s seeking a connection to the Threshold. As anchor, you must hold fast. Don’t take off the ring … no matter how hot it burns.”
Lara nodded, sweat beading on her forehead. She stared into the swirling darkness between the two leaning stones. Moments passed, and her breathing deepened. Pushing her uneasiness aside, she concentrated on the task at hand. She’d made it. Shewas finally standing in The Shattered Crown. The wraiths hadn’t taken her, and neither had fire-madness. Not yet. She’d survived, and now she had to end this.
Her fingers flexed. The void before her was mesmerizing.
And then her ring started to pulse. Red-gold light flooded through the stones. TheOrd-ree sealwas an ancient thing. Forged in another age, for a chilling purpose. There were many things about the ring she didn’t understand, but she’d seen its legacy. It had brought darkness into their world. She couldn’t wait to rid herself of it.
The ring grew warmer still against her skin, stinging now.
Mor began to sing then. Words in the Shee tongue. Lyrical. Beautiful. Poignant. Holding her hands aloft, the Shee queen dropped her head back, staring up at where the full moon hung above them. Her slender hands moved. Indeed, she did look as if she was lacing something together.
