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PROLOGUE

CALLAN SINCLAIR

Present Day

Friday, 28 June 1823

County Meath, Ireland

Former Province of Mide: Seat of the High Kings

The fire had been burning for hours, yet the chill still clung to everything—the air, the weathered flagstone floor, and the carved-out hollows in our chests that no heat could reach.

We’d found the abandoned cabin before nightfall, tucked deep in the woods, half-buried in moss and silence. It wasn’t much—four walls, a roof that leaked in places, and a hearth that groaned whenever the wind worried at the chimney—but it was enough for now.

My younger sister, Triona, had insisted we stop, and I hadn’t argued. After all that had happened on the Hill, the world had become too heavy to carry on tired legs.

The headaches she was experiencing came in waves now, leaving her glassy-eyed and rubbing at her temples, as if each new fragment of that old life scraped against her skull. She was worn in mind and body, thinned in ways no sleep could touch.

She was sitting close to the hearth, legs folded, eyes fixed on the flames. I watched her for a long time before I realised I was doing it again—keeping count of her breaths, the way I had when we were children, when fever had taken over her tiny frame, and I’d thought she wouldn’t make it through the night.

Old habits die harder than any oath.

The rough wood pressed through my coat where I sat against the wall. My body ached from the road, from the endless running, from the constant fear that if I blinked, she’d vanish.

The truth was, I knew the road we were on. What I didn’t know was what it would demand before it was finished with us. We’d already seen what it cost to chase ancient things—and I didn’t know if we were ready to name that cost out loud.

Somewhere beyond that, if the stories were true, more of the same still awaited us.

That’s all I had: a goal, a direction, and a road I knew would only grow harsher. I’d never been more useless in my life, with no plan and no way, in this mortal body, to shield her from what was coming. And yet, even emptied like that, I was still glad to be there. To say that, through and through, I was keeping a promise I made to our parents all those years ago.

Triona’s gaze never left the fire. The flicker painted her face in light and shadow, her expression unreadable. I couldn’t help but wonder what she saw in those flames.

When she finally spoke, her voice was frayed. “Do you have a lot of memories from before I was born?”

She didn’t look at me when she said it. Just kept staring into the fire, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles white. Maybe she asked because it was easier to reminisce than to think about what lay ahead. Craving a piece of the world before all this.

Floorboards creaked beneath me as I settled further into position. “A few,” I said. “Though few worth rememberin’.”

She still didn’t look away from the fire. “Then what’s your earliest? The clearest one?”

“The day I met ye,” I said. “You were only weeks old. Ma had ye in her arms, and Da was standin’ at the foot of the bed, lookin’ at me wi’ that soldier’s stare of his… sharp enough to cut a lad in two. He said, ‘This is yer charge, Callan Sinclair. From this day ‘til yer last breath, ye’ll be her protector. Ye’ll stand at her side, whatever comes.’”

I could still see it, as if it was burned into the back of my mind—the light slanting through the curtains, the scent of primrose wrapping around us, and our mother spilling over with breathless, disbelieving tears of joy.

Triona turned to look at me, brow furrowed. “And you’ve carried that with you?”

“Aye, I have.” I gave a hollow laugh. “I didnae ken what that meant back then, bein’ the wee bairn I was. You were this tiny thing, blinkin’ up at me, but I remember thinkin’, Alright then. If that’s what’s asked of me, that’s what I’ll do.”

She looked back at the fire. Her face softened, but her voice trembled when she asked, “You truly believe that?”

I knew what she meant. She still carried blame for things that were never hers to bear, and she still couldn’t grasp that nothing would ever make me turn from her.

“I do,” I said with all the seriousness I could muster. “It was true then, and it’s true now.”

I huffed out a quiet laugh. “Though if we’re bein’ honest, it’s a bit daft these days. One day it’ll be you protectin’ me, no’ the other way round. Da must have got something wrong.”

Something flickered across her face at that, as if she’d received a compliment she didn’t quite know how to hold. For the briefest of moments, she looked like a version of herself I knew before this journey.