Mud cakes my face, my jacket is torn, I smell of púca piss, and my braided crown is half-dismantled. I’m sweaty and blotchy and dirt-splattered and bloodied. I have likely never looked worse.
Lachlan stares at me as if I am the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“How did you find me without thediamrhán?” I croak.
He gifts me a weary smile. “I don’t need magic to find the other half of my soul.”
Before I can respond—god, what would I evensayto that?—a piercing hawk’s cry arrows through the forest.
Andraste, Desmond’s gryffalcon, swoops down into the clearing with Vesper clinging to her neck feathers. The lavender pixie is waving and chirping, proud of her excellent deed.
Lachlan’s gaze shutters, the moment between us passed. “Come, Your Majesty,” he says as he guides me toward the majestic winged beast.
“Your king is waiting for you.”
Chapter
Fifty-Six
Viewed from the sky, the Eldergrove sprawls even farther than I imagined, stretching from the Brumalts at our backs out past the horizon ahead.
How a hunter could find anything within it is beyond me, though Andraste seems to know precisely where she’s going. She circles down to a milky turquoise lake ringed by ancestral pines, then lands gracefully, bending her neck to allow us to dismount.
Desmond rushes over, ignoring his knight and his sister as he sweeps me into crushing arms. “Praise Danu,” he says, cupping the back of my head. “I was getting worried they’d never find you.”
I want to ask why he wasn’t out searching, but I bite back the question. What does it matter now? He will claim me, he will become king, Lachlan will be free, and the Otherworld will know peace once more.
“Where’s Sabre?” Aowen barks, interrupting our reunion.
Desmond nods over his shoulder. “Scouting the perimeter with his knight. Ensuring we don’t gain any unwanted company.”
Aowen nods, already staring between the pines. As if she could send him strength and luck with the sheer force of her attention. But on the shore of these placid waters, protected by this brave group of beasts and warriors, it’s hard to imagine we’re not safe.
Desmond leaves my side to confer with Lachlan, and Aowen takes his place.
“Thank you.” She offers a wan smile. She knows the choice I’m making—duty over love. She leans her head on my shoulder. “Sister.”
I am too overcome for conversation. I press my cheek against the crown of her head and wait.
I catch snippets of Desmond’s discussion with Lachlan at the edge of the water. Desmond asking Lachlan if he’s sure he wants to leave the knighthood? If there’s anything Desmond can do to change his mind? Lachlan only shakes his head and extends a hand toward his duke, who clasps it, then pulls him into a hug. Will Desmond miss him, I wonder?
Does he have any idea why Lachlan refuses to stay?
Desmond saunters over and holds out a hand to me.
My heart batters my ribs as he guides me away from the shore. Vesper flits down to Aowen’s shoulder, her black eyes crawling over my dirt-stained jacket and torn pants. Like it’s a personal insult that I am so poorly attired on what is ostensibly my wedding day. But then her tiny face transforms. There’s affection. A little sadness, too. I think Vesper’s able to read us all more deeply than we give her credit for.
Desmond leads us to a small alcove created by the drooping, tangled branches of two pines leaning against each other. A private, makeshift altar.
He’s gripping my hand so tightly, I fear my fingers might break. Is he nervous, too?
Despite my soul screamingwrong wrong wrong, I know Desmond is a good man. That he will be a good king. Why should my insignificant heart matter when ignoring it will fix so many things for so many people?
Desmond turns away to remove his cloak, and I use his inattention to search the shore one final time as an unmarried woman.
To findhim.
Lachlan’s gazing out over the water, his back toward me. He’s a sculpture in the wind, his auburn hair whipping around the seven-pointed star crowning his sword. The brave knight at final respite, his campaign at a close.
