The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

“Was?”

“I assume,” he tacks on. He won’t hold my gaze. “We should return to the village.”

No matter how much I want to ask him how he found this body, this place, I know no answer will come. Past experiences have taught pushing him will only leave him testy for the next few days, so instead of saying anything else, I lift up the bundled remains and carry them back to our horses. Once we’ve returned to the dirt path, Lugh shrugs into his glamour. He normally stretches the enchantment so we can see past the illusion, but today he doesn’t. The shadows hiding his face in its hood seem darker as a result, and the antlers crowning his head stretch wider than normal, fanning out in an overexaggerated reminder of his title, an aesthetic choice he only uses when he fears the response to his news will be less than joyful. He, in this intimidating guise, leads us back to the village, where a crowd has gathered outside the hall. Cybel waits in the front beside the group of elders from the night before. He reaches up to take the blanket from me while I dismount and doesn’t protest when I take it back.

Lugh remains on Liath’s back. He surveys the crowd, a faceless, hooded figure seated like a god for judgment, and calls out, “My man has prepared you for this news.”

Murmurs of acknowledgment from the crowd. Lugh waits for them to trail off before he continues. “I am sorry. We have brought home one of your own to bury. There was no sign of

the other missing.”

“Who is it?” one of the older women calls out.

“We don’t know,” he tells her. “He was tall, as tall as Keiran here. He was strong, broad-shouldered, worked with his hands. He was a farmer, someone who cared deeply for his family and who died trying to find your missing.”

How could he have discovered that from the meager remains in the forest? Did I miss part of a conversation last night when they were discussing the missing villagers? Or is Lugh reading the crowd as he speaks, guessing at what they’ll want to hear? It’s so like him to try to ease the pain of the moment for whoever will have to step forward and claim their loved one.

A woman steps forward. Her shoulders are bowed and she clutches the hand of a young girl with a face too serious for her age. The woman clears her throat and tries to speak, but no words come. The girl looks up at her, squeezes her hand, and then says, “My brother Odhrán went missing a year ago. He’d gone into the woods to find my other brother and his friends. They haven’t come back.”

Lugh slips down from his seat and takes a knee in front of the pair. The woman can’t look at him. She trembles and sways, as though she’ll collapse at any moment, and Cybel moves closer. The little girl stares at Lugh, unafraid, and waits. Lugh tilts his head. The antlers sweep along that angle, the whitened bits glowing in the sunlight. The little girl mirrors his movement, tilting her head so he’s forced to meet her gaze, despite her inability to see his eyes.

“Igna,” Lugh says softly and my stomach drops. He knows her name? “Will you come with me and Keiran for a moment?”

She nods and lets go of her mother’s hand. Cybel steps in to help the poor woman, who crumples to the ground as a deep sob wrenches its way out. Lugh takes Igna’s hand and his hood turns to me. I follow him away from the crowd. We’re still within sight of the villagers, but even this short distance away, it seems more private.

“Hold out your arms, Keiran,” Lugh orders me. I obey and stretch out my arms, offering the bundle toward them.

Lugh stands behind Igna and rests his hands on her shoulders. She stares at the blanket. Her lower lip begins to tremble.

“Reach out,” Lugh tells her. “And remember, I’m here with you.”

“As am I,” I add. For Igna’s benefit or for Lugh’s, I couldn’t say.

Igna shuts her eyes tightly, but lifts her hands and reaches for the bundle. The air around us tightens, coalesces like a thunderstorm about to break. She’s barely made contact with the fabric when she makes a wounded sound. Her fingers dig into the blanket and a shudder wracks her, even as she tries to breathe through whatever she’s experiencing. Lugh appears a statue, unmoving, unflinching, his hands secure on Igna’s shoulders.

“Do you need more time, Igna?” Lugh asks.

“N-no,” she says. Tears spill down her cheeks, but she shakes her head once, twice, and takes a deep breath. “No. This is enough.”

“When you’re ready, let go.” Lugh doesn’t drop his hands until Igna’s released her hold on the bundle, and the moment he does, all the energy vanishes. His shoulders hunch, though he straightens a moment later and glances at me. “When we leave, we’ll stop by their farm and bury him.”

“Thank you, seidhr,” Igna whispers. “I... I should see to Mother. She needs to know.”

Lugh nods. “Tell her what you can. We’ll be by in a few hours.”

I don’t waste my time watching her return to the crowd. I’ve seen the moment time and again after Lugh completes an impossible task. There’ll be weeping, there’ll be wonder, there’ll be another story woven into Lugh’s legend. I don’t watch the crowd because the man standing in front of me is far more important.

“Lugh,” I say.

“Hmm?”

“How did you know?” I ask. Distantly, I hear a dozen different voices rising as questions and comments begin. He doesn’t answer, so I press harder. “Did something happen to you to give you this vision? Was it the nightmare?” Gods, no wonder he fought so much against its hold. I should have woken him sooner. “Next time, I won’t let it get so bad, I promise—”

“Keir... Keir, listen to me!” He waits for me to stop talking before saying slowly, “Someday I’ll tell you. But not now. I don’t think I could. Can you wait for me that long?”

There’s a note of fear in the question. I wish I could destroy his doubt. I wish I could see his face. I wish I could figure out what he’s hiding from me and give him whatever it is he needs, show him the same care he shows for the Sluagh villagers we meet in our travels.

“Until the end, Lugh,” I promise. I cradle the blanket and reach out with my free hand. He shivers when I brush the backs of my fingers down his arm, then leans into the touch. A zing of warmth, unexpected and completely different than anything I’ve felt before, shoots through me. I jerk my hand back, but the warmth remains, subtle and sweet. My thoughts scatter, distracted by the set of Lugh’s shoulders, the sound of his breathing, and the way he turns toward me, his glamour slipping aside for just a moment, long enough for me to see his exhausted smile under the hood.