“Will you dream on them tonight?” she asks me. “Will you ask the gods for guidance?” She ignores the other villagers’ grumbles that the gods aren’t listening and continues, “We can ask no more than that.”
No wonder everyone was so suspicious of our arrival. A third of their population goes missing and, shortly after, a portent of doom rides into their village. The missing fae can’t be dead. If they were, shades would have descended on this hall while I sat and ate. So what could have happened?
“Seidhr.” Keiran’s soft call reminds me to answer.
I stand, filled with the sudden urge to pace, to go chase this strange lead, to do something to try to help these people. It’s a foolish desire, one we can ill-afford with winter’s approach and our need to reach Eyjar. Keiran would urge me to remember our true purpose and to not allow myself to be distracted so easily. But Keiran would also have the sense to keep an ear open for any news as we continued our journey.
“Tonight,” I say, searching for the right words, “I will pray to the gods for wisdom.” I lift a hand to the man who asked for our help. “Tomorrow, can you lead me to the path they took out of the village?”
“Of course, seidhr,” he promises. “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll go there.”
“Thank you. I’ll take my leave of you now and go about my work.”
The villagers murmur their thanks. Keiran comes to my side, moving so close my shoulder presses against his chest. He leans in and whispers, “You aren’t planning on sneaking out, are you?”
“No,” I whisper back, probably a little hotter than I should. “I was going to try to sleep. Think you can keep the crowd entertained without waking me?”
He makes a face. “As long as they don’t ask for the nøkk’s tale again.”
“Goddess, no.”
He brushes a hand against my arm. “Atla’s waiting for you. I’ll find you after I’m done.”
Atla leads me out of the main hall and into a small antechamber. She pushes open the next door and gestures me to precede her into the room. It’s small, with a decently sized bed tucked into a corner. Furs and woven blankets cover its surface and the exhaustion of the last few days hits me all at once. Herne and the hunters, all I want to do is burrow into that pile and sleep until dawn.
“There’s water for washing on the table,” Atla says. “The tallow in the lamp’s fresh, so it should last you a long while if you need it. I’ll tell your poet that he can start the fire if the room is too cold later tonight.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, already moving in a daze toward the table. Just a quick splash of water to the face, enough to make me feel vaguely clean after the day of riding.
“Did you mean it?” Atla asks suddenly.
“Mean what?”
“I don’t mean to disrespect you, but... Did you mean that you’d try to help us find them?”
“Of course. The Hunt and I will do all we can.”
She fiddles with the brooch on her apron for a moment. I wonder if I should try to convince her further, but she gives a decisive nod and sweeps from the room. “Sleep well, seidhr,” she calls to me as she closes the door.
Alone at last. I shed my glamour, sighing when the magick dissipates and lifts its pressure from my neck and shoulders. I untie my cloak and let it fall to the ground, where I’ll pick it up in the morning. I toe off my boots as I splash around in the water, then drag off my shirt and toss it over the edge of the table. There. Evening ablutions complete.
The bed is comfortable. I sigh and snuggle deeper into the mattress before dragging half the pile of furs over me. Keiran won’t mind. He tends to run warm and when we share a bed, he usually sleeps on the outside of the blankets. The anteroom catches most of the noise from the main hall; only bits and snatches of Keiran’s voice reach me as I begin to drift off. On the table, the lantern burns steady. When I force my eyes open again, there’s no sound of storytelling. My head’s fuzzy, and my body too heavy to look up when the lantern’s light begins to gutter from a gust of cool air. Keiran must have slipped into the room. With him here, there’s no chance of nightmares visiting tonight.
Chapter Seven
Lugh
The spring sun has transferred its heat into the fields at last. As I follow behind Bos with the plow, the warmth of the churned earth soaks into my boots, and I smile at the faint touch of natural magick waking under me, stronger today than it’s been for a long time. The time’s good for planting. We may even have a surplus crop this year, if we can stay in tune with this magickal flow. Finally, we might be rewarded for our devotion to the land.
“Odhrán,” my mother calls from the house. Her voice is tight and worried and she wipes her hands on her apron while watching the edge of the forest.
“Yes, Mother?”
“He left again,” she says. “He took a satchel this time.”
I pull on the ropes for Bos’s yoke, bringing him to a stop. Of course Ingjaldi would sneak off now, when my back is turned. After his last attempt to get away and the beating I gave him for it after I dragged him home, it makes sense that my little brother would rely on stealth this time. “I’ll take care of it,” I call to her, hoping it puts her mind at ease. It must, since she disappears back inside a moment later.
Damn it, I have to put away Bos before I can follow Ingjaldi to the woods and he’ll probably be long gone by then.