“Blodwen—if anything happens to me, you’re in charge. Keep Sinéad and the smaller draigs safe. Travel south until you reach the coast, then to the Summerlands as swiftly as you can.”
Blodwen bobbed her red head. Sinéad went even paler. “That doesn’t sound promising.”
“Come now.” Laoise forced herself to grin despite the trepidation beginning to clang and clatter inside her. “Do not let fear of what has not yet passed steal your enjoyment of the present moment.”
“Enjoyment?” Sinéad’s eyebrows drifted up. “What enjoyment?”
Laoise gestured broadly at the sheer, stark mountains painted bloody by the dying sun. “Is this not an utterlystunningview?”
Sinéad scoffed, punched Laoise gently on the shoulder, then dragged her in for a brief, bullying hug.
“Be careful,” she commanded, gruffly, before planting her back against a large rock and drawing her daggers. “And quick. I’m already freezing. Don’t think I’m leaving here without you.”
Laoise watched until all six draiglings arranged themselves close around Sinéad—the older three buffering the wind with their wings, Gwyr and Anwyll snuggling on either side of her, and Enfys climbing into her lap—before shifting back into her anam cló and winging toward the crater.
The gateway to the Hollow of the Sun was well hidden and barred with metal. Laoise had always found this humorous—after all, who would willingly break into a volcano? That would be like gift wrapping your own doom with a bow on top. The key guarded by the Sunkeepers was long lost, so she blew white-hot flames over the bars of the gate until they melted into rivulets of gleaming metal, then returned to her Gentry form to sidle through the gap.
She descended the winding steps carved into the throat of the volcano, each one slick with ancient ash. They were warm beneath her feet, moving gently as if the dark stone breathed as itslumbered. Shadows and glow flickered along the walls, cast from below by restless light. The hot air was oppressive, heavy with the scent of sulfur as it beaded sweat along Laoise’s skin and crisped her hair. The molten heartbeat of the crater throbbed louder, echoing through the depths.
The staircase bottomed out in the heart of the crater. Spires of glossy black obsidian, able to withstand incredible temperatures, branched up through the bubbling pit of molten lava, towering nearly a hundred feet to the ceiling of the crater. They formed a circle, at the center of which sat a block. A dais, analtar.
This was the Hollow of the Sun, where Laoise had made yearly pilgrimage when she was a child. The Sunkeepers’ song trembled up the throat of the volcano as the potential heirs trailed them in their golden robes. The reigning tánaiste, Dímma, had conducted the ritual beneath the nemeton. Upon his broad arm lay the Flaming Shield, intricately carved in obsidian atop a circle of sacred wood, wreathed in glowing flame like a small sun.
Laoise had always known, in her heart of hearts, that her destiny would carry her here. The circumstances were just a bit different than she had imagined.
She tried to remember the Sunkeepers’ song as she approached the altar, avoiding deep pockets of magma simmering upon the rock. The lava couldn’t hurt her, but she liked these boots. She hummed a snatch of a melody, brokenly, but could remember only a few of the lines.O radiant flame, heart of all light! The sun is arisen, with dawn from night.
A figure materialized in the spitting, seething glow at the heart of the nemeton. Laoise could not quell the burst of fear sharpening its teeth upon her ribs and slashing its tail along the contours of her stomach. But the figure was only a child—perhaps eleven or twelve. Laoise briefly thought it must be herself—before Scáthach had made her cut her hair, she had worn it in long, loose curls like that. Her silken gown was the warm copper and sharp red worn by the high houses of the Sept of Scales. But a narrow scar bridged thegirl’s nose from a childhood accident, and the color of her eyes was not molten ember like Laoise’s and their mother’s, but dark and opaque as their father’s and brother’s.
Laoise’s stomach twisted with a new fear—a chill clawing her spine and freezing her breath in her lungs. Horror rocked her, even as terrible hope scattered her thoughts.
“Elen?” she whispered.
The girl slid off the dais and approached Laoise, her steps dainty and careful. Laoise used to fling herself where she wished to go—running up stairs and dashing down hallways. Elen had always been more measured. More refined, their parents had always said. But as she approached, Laoise saw the girl was not her sister. Not truly. Her red curls were coils of living flame; her bones were tattered kindling, glowing blue at her core; and her eyes were black—black as soot, black as choking smoke, black as the blight spreading over the city Laoise had once called home.
She swallowed her grief, forcing it into the cold, tight dungeon where it usually lived.Despair is a two-edged blade, Scáthach always used to tell her.Learn how to wield it so it does not cut you but instead acts as a shield against those who would harm you.
“You’re not Elen.”
No, agreed the Elen-shaped entity—the Bright One of the element of fire. Laoise knew this being—had seen them in her dreams for as long as she could remember. The Sunkeepers had seen this as yet another sign that she would one day inherit the Flaming Shield. The Bright One’s voice flicked in Laoise’s mind like a tongue of twisted flame, leaving a sooty residue in its wake.You know us. We know you. Let us not play games.
“Oh, good,” said Laoise, a touch dryly. “I outgrew those a while ago.”
You may not have what you wish for, they thundered against the inside of Laoise’s skull, drowning out all other words or thoughts. Anger flashed, hot and bright, but it did not mask the sucking darkness lurking beneath. A bleakness—the smoldering ruin of awildfire that had devoured everything in its path.For too long we have served others. We have been enslaved by the Fomorians. We have been enslaved by the Folk. We will not be enslaved again—not even by you.
Laoise took a deep breath. “Not even if I promise to set you free?”
There is no such thing as freedom. There is only power. And I can offer you endless amounts of it.
Laoise cocked her head. “Endless?”
Endless.Eagerness hammered her psyche, greedy and grasping. Images and sensations shattered in her mind’s eye, bright and brutal as falling stars. She saw herself crowned upon a throne of obsidian, surrounded by seven massive draigs breathing flame in the dark. She saw vast armies prostrated before her. She saw Idris beside her, whole and unblemished; she saw Elen, grown to womanhood and surrounded by a happy family.
With all her strength, Laoise shoved the terrible, tempting images away. She forced her eyes open. Gazed at Not-Elen.
“Is that how you get them?” She infused her voice with as much humor as she could muster. “What a cheap trick. I can’t believe anyone falls for it.”
The corrupted Bright One unspooled in a thread of fire, then rematerialized to whisper in her ear:They all fall for power in the end. Power is everything. Powerisfreedom.
