From the trees to the left, Elijah burst forward, drawn by the sound of battle. He reached Lydia just as she faltered, pulling her behind him and placing himself squarely between her and danger.
“Ye’re safe,” he said firmly, one arm steadying her. “I’ve got ye.”
“Take her out of here!” Kieran growled, tossing a glance their way before turning back to Sebastian, who spun back toward him, eyes wild now, stripped of calculation and left with nothing but rage.
“Ye ruined everythin’,” Sebastian hissed, drawing another blade. “I built this. I sacrificed for this.”
“Ye murdered for it,” Kieran replied coldly.
They collided. Sebastian struck first, fast but sloppy, driven by desperation rather than skill. Kieran met him head-on, turning the blow aside and forcing Sebastian back with relentless precision. The difference between them was stark. Sebastian’s age showed now, his movements slower, his strikes heavier, easier to read.
Kieran pressed the advantage, driving him toward the tree line. Sebastian stumbled, recovered, then lashed out again, but Kieran disarmed him with a sharp twist of his wrist.
The blade fell into the mud. Sebastian stared at it, disbelief flickering across his face.
“It should have been me,” he whispered.
Kieran struck him down, not with cruelty but with finality. His blade pierced through Sebastian’s gut, taking away any chance he had of enacting his plan. Sebastian collapsed to the ground, defeated at last, his ambitions ended where they had begun—with his own envy.
But Kieran didn’t care about the man he had once called his uncle. He turned immediately, seeking the only thing that mattered.
“Lydia!”
She stood a short distance away, wrapped in Elijah’s cloak, pale but upright, her eyes locked on him. Relief flooded her face when she saw Sebastian fall, and now, she was looking at him with such warmth, such solace that he could hardly bear it.
Kieran took a step toward her then another.
And then the world tilted.
Pain surged, sudden and overwhelming, the strength draining from his limbs all at once. He barely registered the sound of his sword hitting the ground when it clattered next to him.
“Kieran!” Lydia screamed.
He tried to answer, to reassure her, but his knees buckled. The last thing he saw was Lydia breaking free of Elijah’s grip, running toward him as the sky spun and darkness rushed up to meet him.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Consciousness returned to Kieran in fragments. First, the scent of damp earth and crushed pine needles. Then, the dull ache spreading through his side like a slow-burning fire, the murmur of voices somewhere nearby—low, urgent, familiar.
Then a sound cut through everything else. A sob, the sound of it painfully familiar.
His eyes fluttered open. At first, all he could see was blurred color and movement. Then the world steadied, and Lydia came into focus, kneeling beside him, her hands clenched in the front of his tunic as if she were afraid he might vanish if she let go.
Her face was streaked with tears, and for a heartbeat, he simply stared at her, stunned by the sheer relief of seeing her alive, whole, right there with him.
The inside of the healer’s cottage was close and warm, the kind of warmth that settled into the bones. The hearth crackledsoftly, firelight flickering over rough stone walls stained dark by years of smoke. The air was heavy with the mingled scents of dried herbs, sharp alcohol, and clean linen. From the low beams overhead hung bundles of plants—yarrow, rosemary, and things Kieran could not name—twisted with twine and left to dry.
A narrow bed had been pulled close to the fire, layered with thick wool blankets and a faded quilt, its frame scarred by time and use. A small table stood beside it, crowded with bowls, bandages, and clay jars sealed with wax. Everywhere there were signs of careful hands at work: water warming near the hearth and a chair drawn close for long vigils where Lydia now sat.
“Lass,” he croaked.
Lydia gasped sharply, as though the sound of his voice had struck her. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide, then instantly filled again as fresh tears spilled over.
“Daenae,” she said, her voice breaking. “Daenae ye dare?—”
Kieran winced and shifted, immediately regretting it. Pain flared, not only in his shoulde, but also in his head, the ache almost blinding, but he ignored it.
“Hey,” he said. “Daenae cry.”
