He doesn’t respond, pulls me into him and tucks me against his chest. We hold each other until the sky outside turns the color of bruised plums.
The next morning, after I wake in my own bed with no memory of how I got there, I notice the door to the bathing chamber is open.
So is the one that leads into Lachlan’s room. Which is empty.
He’s gone.
All that’s left of him are the marks on my body and a note next to his drawing in my sketchbook.
You helped me, too, Charlotte. More than you know. With my deepest affection, Lachlan.
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
The journey to Tír na Dubh is quiet, uneventful. Aowen doesn’t say a single word during the ride to the luxbridge, as if some essential part of her has been carved away by her brother’s arrangement with Duke Cernunnos.
I feel as though I’m missing an essential part as well.
Lachlan was the first face I saw when I arrived in the Otherworld, and since then, I have barely spent a day outside his company. He left Tula for me, and while his kelpie is sweet and swift, she is a poor replacement.
Vesper flits from Aowen to me, nuzzling her small head into my neck. “Food. Brave food.”
Sweet of her to try to soothe me. And I would never be so rude as to say so out loud, but … She is also a poor replacement for Lachlan.
Aowen’s kelpie, Cuán, strolls into the luxbridge just before dawn breaks, and I close my eyes when Tula does the same. Vesper grips a few strands of my hair to hold herself in place.
When we come out the other side, all the color has been leached from the world. I blink a few times, fearing the luxbridge damaged my vision.
After several tries, I accept that it’s not me—it’s the land itself. The forest of skeletal trees is foggy and lifeless. Aowen waits by a grizzled black oak whose roots weave like tentacles through the loam, her scarlet cloak a fresh wound against the grey.
Cuán bobs his snout, pulling at the reins. Impatient to get moving again. I could not agree more.
Tír na Dubh has all the charm of a graveyard.
The atmosphere grows no livelier as the woods thin to reveal the outskirts of villages. Cottages, pubs, and factories belch out austere fae dressed in drab blues and browns. Wary glances and warier sneers slide our way, but mostly we inspire indifference. Unexpected, given the four celestial knights of House Macán riding at our backs. Led by Sir Dunne, they glisten in their white armour, so reminiscent of Lachlan that it is physically painful to look at them.
I wonder what he’s doing at this exact moment. Have he and Desmond made it back to Tír na Strelle by now? I try opening thediamrhánbut either he’s too far away or he’s purposefully keeping it closed. I should have asked more about the logistics of our connection while we were together. Can he not contact me? Or is he choosing not to? The uncertainty is nearly as torturous as this endless ride.
I flick Tula’s reins, trotting up beside Aowen and Cuán. “How much longer? This luxbridge seems much farther away from civilization than Tír na Lune’s.”
“Tír na Dubh has never been an easy place to access. I don’t think Sabre intends to change that any time soon.” Aowen’s hand trembles as she strokes Cuán’s neck.
“Have you been here before?”
“Never.” She surveys the spindly trees, the lack of greenery which I’m starting to suspect is not a seasonal issue.
“Is the entire territory like this?”
“Each territory feeds off the energy of its ruling family. Tír na Strelle is sparkling and abundant because that is how Desmond comports himself. Tír na Lune is cold and extravagant, like Torvil.”
Given this new piece of information, I’m not sure I want to meet Tír na Dubh’s duke. The man to whom either myself or Aowen will be married. Fear shivers down my spine.
“What will the territories be like once the monarchy has been restored?”
“They’ll maintain some of each House’s essence, but it will be tempered by whichever wins the crown.”
Wins me, she means.
