She sings the words to me again, gentler this time, as if she could coax me into looking at her through the invitation of her sweet voice alone. The foggy edges of her memory brush against my glamour, urge me to pause and inspect the moment she gave me while I was sleeping.
No. Don’t engage.
I glare at the map, finger tracing our circuitous route. I’ve overheard Keiran and the others wondering why we haven’t headed straight for Aage’s hall. The Sluagh thegn doesn’t stand on ceremony and we all have an open invitation to visit whenever we’d like. My riders trust my methods, but the constant delays and our unpredictable movements back and forth over the land are unusual, even for me. The sheer number of shades we keep running into rewrites my course over and over, though I haven’t figured out a way to explain that to them.
A change of tone in the murmurs from the pond makes me look up, despite the risk of the shade. Keiran’s emerged from the woods, arms full of firewood, and is chatting with the others. The dappled sunlight falls over the dark blue tunic stretched over his back and shoulders. He shifts from side to side where he stands and the movement makes his calves flex. He’s the perfect torture: the man I want most is the same man I can never have.
A single night nearly cost me our friendship. Mother had finally granted me permission to join the Unseelie cavalry for military training, a battle I’d been waging against her with little success. High on my triumph before the Court and with only one night left in the sídhe before I left, I snuck into Keiran’s chambers, undressed, and waited for him to return from an unexpected audience with Mother. I was young and impetuous and slightly tipsy and thought I was irresistible. The door swung open, Keiran stepped inside, and he paused for a moment to look at me. Finally, after so long chasing after him, tugging on his cloak and begging for his attention, it was surely my moment. The hope was dashed when he sighed, closed the door, and came to the side of the bed only long enough to cover me with a blanket.
“No, Lugh,” he said, voice rough, and went to stand by the fire. Embarrassed, I dragged on my clothes. When I pressed him to explain why we couldn’t, his entire body went still. Even through my inebriation, I saw that and realized in an awful flash how far I’d leapt over the line of our friendship. I’d forgotten our positions—despite my dissatisfaction at living in the sídhe, it was home and my place there was secure. Keiran couldn’t say the same. I’d been so caught up in my own hopeful chase I didn’t stop to think whether Keiran shared my feelings.
I stepped back, hands raised. “I’m an ass.”
“You’re not—”
“Yes, I am.”
We stood there, watching each other until the fire was nearly burned out. Only then, after the shadows helped hide the burning of my cheeks did I gather the courage to mumble, “You’re my only friend. I never want to hurt you or make you doubt your place here.” He opened his mouth to protest, but I shook my head. “Never.”
For once, it was enough. I was enough, and he didn’t question my sincerity again. I intend to keep it that way.
So I file this image away where all my other longing memories of him stay, and return my focus to the task at hand. I need to find a good place for us to resupply, and I hate the idea of backtracking yet again. I’ve narrowed the options down when a shadow falls over the map. Keiran, divested of firewood, leans over my shoulder to inspect my progress, and hums low in his throat. Somewhere in the shadow of the trees, the shade croons her song to me again.
“Lugh? Are you feeling okay? You’re flushed.”
Damn. I clench a hand at my side and dig my fingernails into my palm to ground myself. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? I didn’t know you wanted to stop in a town.”
I don’t. The farther we’ve gone into the Mainland, the more proof we’ve seen of Voll’s rumors. The land offers little for us to scavenge or gather and the hunting is scarce. Strangers are viewed with increasing suspicion and I doubt we’ll find much welcome wherever we stop. “Only for a few hours,” I say. He frowns, so I add, “To resupply and prepare for the next leg. You don’t think it’s a good idea?”
“It may not be comfortable, but I was going to suggest we spend the night. Next leg of the journey will take us through some rough areas and we’d do well to go into them well rested.” He drags a finger over the markings on the waxed parchment and taps at a small village. “So for tonight, how about here? Fair prices and decent food, if memory serves.” He must expect me to argue, because he says, “We’ll share a room. It’d be safer.”
He says it like sharing a room isn’t our normal routine already.
“Fine. But if you snore, I’m kicking you out to the hall.” I eye the distance between us and the village. “If we hurry, we could get there by nightfall.”
“I’ll rally our fishermen.”
“They’re terrible at it,” I call to his back. He laughs and waves a hand in agreement. Meanwhile, the men heard my comment and all give me rude gestures. The fishing tackle is already packed by the time Keiran reaches them. I focus on rolling up the map and putting it safely away.
The shade hovers behind me. Keiran and the others seem distracted so I take the risk, hoping it will appease her.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry this happened to you. But there’s nothing I can do.”
She groans out her song, sorrow echoing in every word, but she doesn’t reach for me again. None of the other shades do. We depart, five men and their horses, with nothing chasing after us for the first time in days.
We reach the village outskirts as the sun begins to creep behind the horizon. It casts long shadows over the patchwork of carefully tilled fields. Most are being readied for the first snows. Those closer to town are still being used, though the plants remaining are withered and sickly. Their fences aren’t repaired, and we catch sight of a few Sluagh working the soil with little success. One of them rises and moves to the fence as we approach. She keeps a hand in her basket and her wary gaze never leaves us, even after she sees my glamoured helm.
“You’re still around, are you, seidhr?” she asks as we draw to halt. “I thought the wars were over.”
Not the warm welcome I’d hoped for. Granted, the suspicious glances from the other Sluagh don’t fill me with confidence that anyone else would have greeted us more kindly.
“Good evening,” I reply, drawing Liath to a halt. “What may we call you?”
“Atla.” She shifts the basket a bit. This close, I can see the glint of a blade underneath the layer of herbs in her basket.
I raise a hand. “We mean no harm.”