A sacrifice larger than life, Fia had told him, during one of their muttered, secret conferences in his workshop. To destroy Eala—and unforge their Treasures—all four heirs would have to make a sacrifice. One that demanded far more than death—a sacrifice that demandedlove.
What love did Wayland have to barter? He had earned so little. Deserved even less. It seemed a cruel and petty thing to bargain with such a meager thing ashisheart.
It was as it had always been. He shook his head, levered himself to his feet. He had made a promise—one he intended to keep. Even if it killed him.
He had a feeling this was going to be worse.
“By fire and by sky,” he spat, the words bitter as poison on his tongue. He fought the urge to choke them back, dreading the burden of giving them voice. “By fast water and by ancient tree. By the power of my willing heart, I tithe my Treasure to thee… O Eala.”
He closed his eyes. Muir rose from the depths of him, as vast and vengeful as they had been on the ocean floor. Their massive tentacles reached for him, curling and sucking—somewhere between a caress and a strangulation. Wayland was not afraid.
He was terrified.
The cost will be high.
“I know.” He forced his jaw to loosen, forced his hands to unclench. “Only, I beg of you—let me choose.”
You cannot trick us. If this price is not enough, balance will demand a reckoning.
“A sacrifice larger than life!” His power sloshed and surged inside him, hungry and eager. “Is that not the price?”
It is. What do you offer?
“The only love I’ve ever earned. The last love I ever wanted. The love that made me whole. But letmetake the pain—let no one else bear the cost.”
The love we give is equal to the love we take.The leviathan smiled as it furled tighter around him. Devouring.
Idris.
Laoise
The midnight sky was alive with flames.
In the form of her anam cló, Laoise surfed the scudding breezes with her three eldest draigs, hurtling low between the trees to rain fire upon the ravening dead before lofting once more into the darkness. The forest was burning—new green giving way to crackling leaves of red. Trees became pyres of fire, slashing the stars with orange claws.
As the moon lofted, Laoise turned her gaze toward the Heartwood. She knew it was nearly time, but she could not tear herself away from the battle, which raged in and out of the Willow Gate with ongoing intensity. Nor could she tear herself from her children—their scaled bodies arcing through the night. What had she been thinking, letting them fight? They were too young—Blodwen barely grown, the others even younger. It should not have mattered that they begged to come, eager to lend their fire to the fight. She should have fought harder to keep them safe. But now she could no longer shield them.
A thorn tore against the fire in her bones, even as a sweepingtide pulled her toward the colossal tree. With a cry, she ripped herself from the battle and winged toward the Heartwood, her vast, leathery wings tousling the canopy as she streaked through the night. The Heartwood reared up; she tucked her wings and dove, the ground rising to meet her. Quickly—too quickly. She tried to check her speed, but it was not enough. She slammed to the ground in her Gentry form, injuring her shoulder. She muffled a cry, forced herself to her feet.
Wayland was already there, bowed over his trident as if in prayer, his hands curled tight around the haft. His lips moved, but she could not hear what he said. Magic—sticky as foam and fast as a riptide—sloughed away from him like water disappearing down a drain.
Where was Irian?
There was no time. She stared at the moon—the moon stared back. She knelt a pace away from Wayland, crossing her vambraces before her so the shards of the draig egg almost joined. The ever-molten metal of the Flaming Shield seemed slicked with dancing fire, and answering fear licked at Laoise.
A sacrifice larger than life, Fia had said, as they sparred in the Underbrush, sweat darkening their tunics.For love demands far more than death.
“By fire and by sky,” Laoise whispered, the words scorching her throat like magma. She had never wanted this inheritance—this magic, this power. But now that she had it, she could not help but clutch it like a living coal, burning even as it beguiled. “By fast water and by ancient tree. By the power of my willing heart, I tithe my Treasure to thee… O Eala.”
She closed her eyes. Grian was already there, constant yet changeable as the flames in the earth’s deep core. Their face was Elen’s but their eyes were supernovas, blazing so hot they burned holes in Laoise’s mind.
The cost will be high.
“I know,” Laoise whispered. “I beg of you, though—do not make me choose. Do not make me pick my own pain.”
Grian nodded. When they spoke, their voice carried both the warmth of the hearth and the last obliterating spark of a wildfire.
The love we make is equal to the love we break, they said. The embers in Laoise’s core throbbed hot, hot, hotter, consuming her with a heat even she could not bear.
