“Let’s hope so,” the first man muttered. “It’s hard when everyone back home is struggling.”
Sorcha kept the men’s conversation in the back of her mind as she ate, their words sitting uneasily with her. Is that why she and Riona been sent out there in the first place? It was supposed to be a routine patrol, a simple task to “keep an eye on things.” Commander Nethran had been casual about it, almost too casual. He’d given no indication that the area was of particular concern, yet as she reflected on what they’d encountered he didn’t seem surprised. She couldn’t help but think that her patrol wasn’t about prevention; it was about observation. Had she been sent just to see how bad things had gotten?
The realization left a bitter taste in her mouth. If the Circle knew more than they were letting on, then the people in the towns surrounding the Hollow—Fearnmhar, Fionn na Mist, and Clochar na Mist—needed their help.
Sorcha’s fingers brushed against the edge of the table, her runes tingling faintly beneath her skin. Her appetite faded as she pushed her plate aside, her mind a mess of questions.
She reached her home just as the last light of day faded into night. Inside she sat in her chair, opened her journal, and began putting her thoughts on paper. The sickness in the Hollow, the Wolves of the Wild Hunt, the kelpie, and, of course, Kyron. What was it about him that kept pulling her attention, no matter how hard she tried to push it away?
She closed the journal and turned her attention to the dress hanging in her wardrobe, a stunning emerald gown embroidered with delicate flowers. Beaded adornments glimmered like dew on the fabric, and the thought of wearing it stirred a mix of excitement and unease. She hadn’t allowed herself a moment of joy in so long, and the idea of celebrating felt odd. But as her fingers brushed over the fabric, she resolved to let herself enjoy the festival, even if just for one night.
Chapter 24
A Watcher’s Duty
Kyron outwardly complied with orders at the Tuatha Court, but his obedience was merely a facade. He performed the required training with the warriors, attended council briefings, and endured the interminable discussions about the spreading sickness. His body was present, yet his mind was elsewhere. He attempted to convince himself that he was fulfilling his duty, that remaining at the Court was the correct course of action, and that observing from a distance was sufficient. However, these thoughts grew increasingly empty with each repetition. Initially, he remained near the borders of Eadartha, rationalizing his presence as mere observation and monitoring of the mortal realm. But his surveillance intensified, and he began to slip past the gates of Lumora, concealed within the city’s shadows, watching its inhabitants. He was watching her. Each night, Kyronresolved not to return, but each night he did. One evening, he saw Sorcha arrive with Eirin and the others. From the rooftops, he observed them dismount, their horses weary from the journey. Something about Sorcha had changed; her steps were tense, and her shoulders were tight. Something had clearly affected her, and he needed to understand what. He trailed them through the city’s winding, narrow streets, navigating from rooftop to rooftop until they reached the Druid School. Remaining hidden in the shadows, he watched them disappear inside. He then heard their voices emanating from an open window, listening as they recounted the encounter with the kelpie. His fists clenched as his mind raced.
Kyron was haunted by chilling possibilities. What if she had been alone? What if something else had found her?
He remembered the shift in the air, the unsettling restlessness of the land. The weight of his inaction pressed against him, a constant reminder of his failure.
That night, Kyron fled to Lumora, telling himself the departure was temporary, that he would return to the Court once the unrest had subsided. However, each step away from the Tuatha made the lie heavier. The further he walked, the clearer the truth became.
Farmers reported finding livestock dead in their pens, stiff and blackened. Merchants spoke in hushed whispers of the sudden spoiling of their goods, with crates of grain turning sour and fruit rotting overnight.
He once found a lifeless hare at the treeline, its eyes clouded and leaking black. The same dread he’d felt after crossing paths with Alenia washed over him. A sickness was moving beneath the surface of the world, and he wanted nothing more than to shield Sorcha from what was coming next. He knew this was just beginning even if the council refused to admit it out loud.
He had endured countless council debates that ended without a decision. Words were not enough to hold back what was coming. The Circle wasn’t ready, Lumora wasn’t safe, and Sorcha was the most vulnerable of all.
When the city gates finally rose into view again, the air hummed with anticipation. The Festival of Light was approaching, and preparations filled the streets. Silks adorned windows, spices perfumed the square, and lanterns shone in careful hands. While most saw cause for celebration, Kyron felt the city’s festive atmosphere was a flimsy shield against a gathering storm. He tried to convince himself that he was only fulfilling his duty, that he stayed for Lumora. Yet, the moment he stepped through the gates, his eyes searched for her.
Chapter 25
Glimmer Before the Dark
Lumora transformed as the festival drew near. Streets were dressed in ribbons of gold, and lanterns etched with illuminating runes hung from every post, casting the town in a warm, radiant glow even after night fell. By the time the first night of the festival arrived, Lumora was alive with light and music. As Sorcha stood before her mirror, adjusting her gown, she took a moment to truly see herself. The emerald-green fabric clung to her frame, highlighting her toned figure in a way she hadn’t seen in a while. The gown’s hollowed out sides exposed just enough to hint at the swirling runes tattoos that danced faintly beneath her skin, their soft glow barely visible through the intricate embroidery of flowers and vines. It was both simple and extraordinary. Her auburn hair was loosely braided and
tousled to fall over her shoulders. The firelight kissed her hair, making it shimmer like a crown of autumn leaves.
She reached up to fasten a small gold clasp at her neck, shaped like a crescent moon. A gift from Riona after their trip to the coast—when a sudden knock broke her thoughts. Opening the door, Riona, Eirin, and Emry greeted Sorcha.
For a moment, they all froze, taking in her appearance. “By Lugh’s light,” Riona said first, a sly grin spreading across her face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been holding out on us, Sorcha. You look radiant.”
Eirin’s gaze lingered a moment too long before he cleared his throat. “Riona’s right. You’ll have everyone at the festival tripping over themselves.”
Emry stood silently at first, his blue eyes softening as he observed her. Then, with his characteristic warmth, he added, “It’s perfect. You look like you stepped out of one of the stories we used to read about.”
Sorcha flushed, though she quickly masked it with a laugh. “Oh, please. You three look incredible. You’re going to outshine me entirely.”
Riona stepped forward, giving Sorcha’s gown a quick adjustment. “Not a chance. But I’ll admit, this suits you.”
“It does,” Eirin said quietly, his voice carrying an unusual gentleness. Eirin was dressed in a honey-brown tunic, fitted to his body perfectly. Decorated with gold embroidery along the edges, with leaves and blossoms adorning it. A new pair of dark-brown leather pants to top off his ensemble. Handsome and practical, what you’d expect from the weapons expert. Then Sorcha’s gaze shifted to Emry and Riona. Standing side by side, the connection between them was impossible to miss, even in the details of their clothing. Riona’s silver gown shimmered with frost-like designs and deep blue embroidery. While Emry’s navy-blue tunic bore silver embroidery in swirling, constellation like patterns. The contrast of their outfits complemented each other perfectly,like two halves of the same design. Sorcha’s lips curved into a faint smile. They didn’t even have to say it; the bond between them was as obvious as the stars in the night sky.
“Speaking of perfection, Riona,” Emry murmured, his gaze drifting to her with unguarded admiration, “you’re breathtaking.”
She rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched into a smile. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Emry.”
“It’s not flattery,” he said, his voice earnest. “It’s the truth.”
