Laoise glanced sideways at her friend, who kept her eyes downcast. Laoise knew without having to ask that the human girl was thinking of her actions on the Longest Night—how she had dropped onto Eala from halfway up the cliff without an ounce of hesitation, then brutally stabbed the other woman until she believed her dead. Laoise did not blame Sinéad for her violence—she had witnessed enough thoughtless death to recognize a righteous kill. She only regretted—for Sinéad’s sake, if not her own—that the human maiden had not stayed dead.
“We don’t know what Eala wants or what she is planning,” Laoise said. “But we must find out. And soon, for the specter of destruction haunts her steps. I plan to scout her location in the form of my anam cló—I wish to see with my own eyes where she is going, what allies and armies she gathers.”
Sinéad looked up, blue eyes blazing. “I’m coming with you.”
“Absolutely not,” Laoise said shortly. “When I return, it will hopefully be with enough intelligence to inform our plans for what comes next.”
Her words were met with a tense silence. Sinéad rose to her feet and stalked from the cavern. Laoise swallowed the sudden knife in her throat as she watched her go.
Images and memories lapped over her: Blodwen, small enough to carry in her arms, her forked tongue laving sweat from Laoise’s collarbones; Sinéad and Chandi, singing off-key with their arms twined through Laoise’s, smelling of spiced wine and fresh snow; Nidhoggur—sweet, dear Hog—desperately trying to speak her first word between puffs of acrid, sulfuric smoke.
Mmm.Mmm.Mum!
She still remembered the sunlight slicing through the fog on the morning she approached Fia and Irian on the cliffs by the sea. Irian’s words, tense and dismissive:If chaperone befits your skills, then our camp waits atop the hill.
Laoise barely understood how she had become a mother to seven unruly draiglings. She understood even less how she had become chaperone, friend, then family for two human girls.
Chandi and Sinéad were both nearly women grown—seventeen and nineteen, respectively. She was not their mother or even their sister. Yet she had come to care for them both. Chandi’s betrayal still twisted like a knife in her gut—for Sinéad, the anguish was far worse. Laoise did not wish to cause her any more pain.
“I beg your pardon.” Laoise stood, cutting her eyes around the room. “I will attend to Sinéad. Perhaps in the meantime, the rest of you can decide how you will contribute to this stirring war effort.”
“I’ll plan the valiant retreat,” Wayland said glibly.
“I think we’ve just lived that, Prionsa,” Laoise called over her shoulder. “And I’m afraid I’m running out of hidey-holes.”
Sinéad sat on the plush carpet in her chambers, toying with her daggers as she stared at nothing.
“Sinéad?” Laoise’s voice broke the other woman’s reverie—the rhythmic motion of her hands faltered. One of her spinning daggers fell to clatter on the floor. The other dashed against her wrist, blooming red upon her skin. Sinéad hissed in pain, folding her palm over the injury as Laoise cursed and rounded the bed toward her.
“Shite! I’m sorry.” She drew Sinéad’s hand from her wrist and inspected the cut. It wasn’t deep, but the blades were sharp—it was bleeding profusely, the scarlet blood a shocking shade against Sinéad’s pallor. “Let me help.”
“It’s fine.” Sinéad jerked her arm from Laoise’s grasp and put her already bloodstained hand back over the cut. “It’ll stop in a minute.”
“There are bandages in the bathing chamber—”
“I saidleave it.”
Laoise stilled at the icy snap of Sinéad’s voice. She allowed herself a brief moment of longing for her anam cló—the ripple of hot scales over sleek muscle; the steady, thrilling pump of vast, leathery wings; the singeing blast of fire in her belly.
Draigs did not need to talk about their feelings.
“I’m sorry if I was sharp with you, just now,” she began, carefully. “But—”
“Are you?” Sinéad finally looked up at Laoise, her azure eyes blazing like the heart of a flame. “Or were you saying exactly what you meant? That I am useless and you may command me as you please?”
Her vehement words shocked Laoise. “Sinéad—”
“Well?” She glared and glared. “Am I good for anything? Or am I just the weak human girl who tires fastest and eats the most and doesn’t know how to fight and—”
“Stop.” Laoise reached out and covered Sinéad’s mouth with her hand. It was a crude gesture, but effective—Sinéad abruptly shut up. “You know I do not believe you weak. I certainly do not thinkyou are useless. But you are human. And you have spent nearly a month traveling over rough country without adequate clothing or food. Frankly, it is a wonder you are still alive. I will not risk your health for a reconnaissance mission I can perform in my sleep.”
Abruptly, tears welled in Sinéad’s eyes. She tore away from Laoise, hiding her face as she threw open the sink’s taps and scrubbed the cut on her arm with soap and water.
That had been the wrong thing to say. Apparently.
“I would take you with me if I could, Sinéad. But I plan to fly hard and fast. Once I find Eala, I will observe her movements, count her troops, then ideally return without incident. You will miss nothing but another unpleasant journey. I promise.”
Sinéad dried the now-abraded cut, then briskly wrapped it with the bloody rag. She fumbled with the ends of the bandage; Laoise pushed her trembling fingers away and tied it for her. Sinéad leaned back against the sink and finally said, “I need to see her. With my own eyes.”
