I threw my arms up. “I’ll point myself up and stop when I start going down.”
The morning blurred, sultry with heat. I shaded my eyes and peered up at the moor looming gray and purple above the emerald fields. It looked more than high enough for a proper Lughnasa fire.
“Chiardhubh!” A tiny voice interrupted my thoughts. “We want to come!”
Corra pranced behind me in the guise of the little manikin I’d made them, toy legs whirling. They’d made a few improvements to the body—hands fashioned from pink claw flowers, luminescent eyes cut from a dead butterfly’s wing. They wore a petal for a shirt and a cobweb for a hat and a little black mantle crafted from—
My heart jolted. Corra had sewn together a few of the night-black feathers that strewed the dún, wearing them like a cloak that reminded me of—
I tasted blood and heat and ice-chased metal. Iwasn’tgoing to think about him.
I bent, offering Corra my hand. “I’ll carry you. I just need to gather some firewood.”
Corra perked, grabbing my thumb and hauling themself up onto my shoulder. “You won’t need wood.”
“Why not?”
Corra wiggled wilted pink fingers. “You’ll see.”
“Hold on tight, then. We’re climbing.”
Corra curled soft velvet hands in the shell of my ear and began to sing at a bloodcurdling volume. I winced but managed not to protest as I climbed the sunlit moor.
A massive pyre already flared from the peak of the hill. Sparksattacked the sky, red as slaughter against a field of blue. Stripped to the waist, golden muscles flushed with heat and exertion, Rogan tossed a huge log onto the blaze. Sweat-damped hair clung to his neck.
“Porridge Face is here?” I glared at the manikin sitting pert on my shoulder. “You knew.”
“We know everything!” Corra launched themself to the ground, landing neatly on twig legs and sprinting toward the bonfire. Moments later, I spotted the manikin lying prone in the grass while an unearthly mouth howled in the fire. I took a deep breath, feeling mulish, then stalked toward where Rogan toiled.
“Rogan.” He didn’t hear me over the roar of the fire. I touched his shoulder.
He flinched, muscles bunching beneath my palm as he whirled on me. For an instant, his gaze was midnight with something like regret. Then his eyes paled to azure. He barked a laugh and threw his arm around my shoulder in a rough, affable embrace.
“Changeling.” His breath ruffled my hair. He let me go. “You surprised me.”
“And you me. What are you doing up here?”
“You’ve wanted to celebrate every high holy day since we got here.” He shrugged, bending to heave another log onto the eager bonfire. “I assumed today would be no different.”
I stared at him. After our last interaction, I’d been sure I wouldn’t see Rogan again until the next full moon. “I’m touched.”
“Besides, I couldn’t sleep.” Rogan shielded his eyes against the sun, which was roaring toward noon, then glanced toward the shadow of a craggy rock. “I thought we’d make a day of it.”
Frowning, I followed his gaze. Tucked beneath the crag were a rumpled blanket and a basket overflowing with bread and food and a jug of what was likely liquor.
“Mead?” I teased lightly. “In this heat?”
Something akin to displeasure slithered across Rogan’s face. But he hid it, bending to uncork the bottle. He sloshed a measure of amber liquid into a cup. He shoved it at me.
“Yes, mead. I’m in the mood to get blisteringly, blazingly drunk, changeling.” His mouth quirked. “Want to join me?”
We picnicked in the shade, heather-scented wind coiling in our ears and blowing smoke in our eyes. There were bilberries from the garden and tart blackberries from the hedge, fresh bread from the oven and cool cheese from the cellar. All courtesy of Corra, who was ignoring us in favor of tormenting a family of chipmunks nesting in the rocks.
The cool honeyed taste of the mead was hard to resist, and I drank it more quickly than I should have. A buzz climbed my spine and filled my forehead. But not even tipsiness could blot out the weight of my spiraling thoughts.
“Are you going to tell me why we’re getting blisteringly, blazingly drunk in the middle of the afternoon?” I sloshed more of the tempting mead into my cup and tried not to slur my words. The sun had climbed over its zenith, the fire now mostly embers.
For a long moment, Rogan was silent, lying on his back to gaze at the sky. Finally, he rolled up onto an elbow.
