I keep close to the treeline, skirting the edges of the estate grounds, then slip around the back of the church and in through a side door. Once inside, I throw back my hood, and Lachlan retakes his natural form.
The ring is blazing, so hot it feels like my skin might be melting beneath it. Far hotter than the last time we were here. It must sense I have the clue. That I know exactly what question to ask the skull.
Lachlan and I make our way down the stone stairs. It’s darker than the last time we visited; so dark, I can barely see. Lachlan didn’t pull down any celestial light; any hint of a glow through the windows could snag unwanted attention.
My foot has barely touched the floor when the skull chatters to life. I haven’t even asked a question yet.
“Ask me a question, ring-bearer,” it says over and over, each utterance more excited than the one before. It’s unnerving.
I suppress my fear as I say with a cheeky smile, “How are you, tonight? Reaper.”
Its delivery speeds, its teeth clattering so fast I’m worried they might shatter. “Ask me a question, ask me a question, ask me a question.”
It knows I have it. That the moment to fulfill its destiny has arrived, at long last.
Lachlan grabs my hand, and I’m grateful for the reassurance of his big, calloused palm enveloping my smaller, softer one.
I take a single deep breath, then ask, “What is the true name of this vale?”
Peals of laughter bounce off the stone walls, shrieking and hysterical. And loud. God,soloud. I hope the knights cannot hear it above their own racket.
The laughter fades as the skull’s jaw creaks open.
“Áinesgleann.”
“So,House Áine did rule this vale at one time?” I ask, running my hand over the crescent moons carved atop the wooden box we found behind the reaper’s door. Inside is nestled the second piece of the Bannrhorn, the thin gold section that must fall between the mouthpiece and the bell.
Lachlan and I are back up in the nave, sitting in the first pew before the barren altar.
“They built the first large settlement here,” he says, “but the vale has had hundreds of names over the centuries. Just because Torvil’s ancestor forced his family's upon it does not mean they have any more right to the region than those who live here and have nurtured the land. Once the territories united under the monarchy, the region was renamed for its most prominent feature to highlight its neutrality. The fertile farmland here was never meant to serve a single master. Its resources belong to all peoples of the celestial kingdom.”
Lachlan slams his fist against the wooden pew, and I jump. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry, save the night he butchered that anti-monarchist who attacked me in the crypt.
“It’s just like fucking Torvil to engineer his clue into a slap in the face for the vale’s people. Once again, trying to prove ownership of something that doesn’t belong to him.”
I don’t think he’s talking solely of Otherworld geopolitics any longer.
“He’s going to propose tomorrow.” I turn away from Lachlan’s intense gaze, though I’m not sure why. He understands the limitations of our arrangement even better than I do. “At the Harvest Ball.”
“I suspected as much. Especially now that you’ve found his piece of the horn.”
“But even when he does propose?—”
“When instead of if,” Lachlan murmurs. “Confidence. Good girl.”
Goosebumps pebble my arms at his praise before I continue, “—there’s still Duke Cernunnos to consider. You got another letter from Desmond this week, right? I assume any good news would have been shared with me already.”
“He claims he’s closer than ever to securing an agreement. I’m half curious and half terrified to find out what he might have offered.”
I glance down at my ring, at the faintly glowing seven-pointed star. In a few days, if my confidence bears out, the crescent moon will glow as well.
It’s everything I thought I wanted—the reassurance of a proposal. The certainty that someone wanted me enough to spend a lifetime at my side. The pride of being chosen. And I’m about to be chosen a second time.
So why do I feel so empty inside?
Lachlan pulls a linen-wrapped parcel from his pocket. “Cherry scone for your thoughts?”
I laugh as I place the wooden box beside me and unwrap the napkin. He brought me a snack. God, this man. “How did you know I always require pastry while hunting down ancient relics?”
