“Mother, there!”
The soft thump of someone dropping lightly from a horse. Footsteps. I strain to lift my head, but a moment later, a cool hand presses against my shoulder and a pair of hazel eyes fill my vision. “He’s alive,” the boy calls to the woman in black.
She tugs the reins of her horse, exasperation twisting the line of her mouth. “Lugh, darling, leave the human alone.”
The boy—Lugh—tilts his head and inspects me, fingers skimming the edge of my wound. I hiss against my will. I don’t want him to see my weakness. I’m nearly double his size, old enough I was supposed to go on my first raid this coming summer. He’s a child in comparison, and I doubt he’s faced any hardships in life. His hair reminds me of burnished copper. His leggings are soft deerskin, his shirt a delicate white fabric that billows over his arms, covered in a leather jerkin even our jarl couldn’t have afforded. He’s delicate, a wisp of a boy. Beautiful. Life will crush him under its foot and never even notice.
“You’re kind, aren’t you?” he asks. “My brothers pick on me sometimes. Well, Sláine does. Roark usually ignores me unless he’s bored. It’d be nice to have someone kind around. You don’t think you’d get sick of me, do you?”
My throat’s too dry to croak out any words.
“I don’t think you will either.” His hand darts to my forehead and he frowns a little. “You have a fever. We have very good healers in the sídhe. They’ll help you. Just don’t let them give you any of their elderflower wine. I was sick for a week afterward, even if it did break my fever. I wish they’d let me burn up instead.” My fingers twitch on the handle of my axe and he glances down at it. “Oh, don’t worry. We can bring it with us. You just have to promise to not touch anyone with it. Do you need me to get anything else for you?”
Somehow, I shake my head. His smile is broad and infectious and despite the chill settling into my bones as I bleed out, the corners of my mouth turn up in response.
He pats my shoulder. “Let me handle this.”
I have no idea what he means.
He stands and turns back to the party. “Mother, I like him. May I keep him?”
The woman shakes her head. “Lugh, he’s dying. Put him out of his misery.”
The boy stands his ground. “He’s not dead yet. He said he wants to come home with us. He promised to be my friend too. Please, Mother?”
His mother heaves a deep sigh and hands her reins to the creature at her side. She slides from the horse in an effortless movement that makes her dress flutter like a flock of ravens and her plate rattle like bones. She joins her son and appraises me with cool eyes. No matter her appearance, she is not human but the realization doesn’t frighten me. She doesn’t smile when she asks, “Do you wish to come away with us, human child?”
Lugh vibrates anxiously at her side, silently urging me to say something. If she were alive, the seeress would warn me against making deals with these folk, the cousins of the monsters who destroyed my world. If my father were alive, he would remind me that a man should not make a promise lightly. If my brother were alive, he would urge me to be kind to this strange boy. But they’re all dead. I’m the only one left and I don’t want to die alone. Perhaps there’s a reason the gods want me to live. And perhaps I’ll find it if I go with Lugh.
“I do.” I force the words out. The effort leaves black spots in the edges of my vision.
She bends down and her son mimics her. Side by side, the few similarities between them sharpen. The same cheekbones. Eyebrows.
“Who did this?” she asks quietly.
“Ljósálfar,” I whisper.
“Light elves... The Seelie did this?” Lugh asks her, surprised.
She frowns, but I don’t think it’s meant for me. She rises again, dusting her dress off even though she didn’t dirty it. “He’s your responsibility,” she warns Lugh. “You have to find a way to get him home. I would suggest speed, darling, since he doesn’t look like he has much blood left in him.”
I nearly collapse when Lugh helps me to my feet. We struggle for balance, this short boy whose head only comes up to my stomach steadying me. His face is screwed up in an expression of fierce concentration. No one steps in to help us. This is a test of some kind.
He helps me onto his horse’s back and leaves me to slump against its neck. The pain of my wounds barely registers over the continuous ache swallowing my entire body. He wraps my father’s axe in another blanket and straps it in place before vaulting up behind me.
“I’ll ride fast,” he promises. “Can you hold on long enough?”
I thread my fingers into the horse’s mane and give a weak nod. He clucks and the horse spins away from the rest of the procession.
“Straight home, Lugh,” his mother calls as we ride away. Lugh doesn’t glance back when she continues, “Cybel, follow them.”
The world darkens with every hit of hooves against the ground, every jostle of movement. Lugh whispers behind me, but I don’t understand what he’s saying. The forest weaves and shifts before us, as if the trees themselves jump out of our way. Then the earth opens up and swallows us and there’s nothing but darkness and cold, and I wonder what stories will be told about this night—
* * *
“Keiran, wake up.”
I follow Lugh’s voice out of the memory eagerly. I knew he’d find me. I knew he’d help me. The stench of death lingers when I crack my eyes open at last, though it fades with every slow breath I take. What’s worse than the phantom stench is the gaping wound left by the loss of my family. No matter how many times I relive those final moments, I can never stop what’s to come. It’s grown harder to remember the little details, like the color of my mother’s hair or the length of my father’s beard. They become impressions instead, and I wonder if they’ll fade completely someday.