The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

All the fight leaves him. “Night,” Lugh whispers, and I know he’ll let himself sleep now. Content, I give in to my own exhaustion at last.

Lugh

There’s no comfort in the cold light of the stars overhead when I wake. Keiran’s stretched out beside me, an imposing mass beneath the furs, breathing easily. He turned onto his back again in his sleep, but his hand still lies between us, loosely g

ripping the bedroll. I want to reach for it, reach for him, but am afraid if I do and I wake him up, he’ll deny what happened between us, deny that his cradling me to his chest might indicate something more than simple friendship. I’m not ready to give up this memory and the fleeting hope it holds quite yet.

The fire’s little more than glowing embers and fading heat. It wouldn’t hurt to throw some more wood on. I sit up and grimace at the swing in temperature as the night air slips underneath the bedding. Keiran grumbles and shifts, rolling back toward me. He needs rest. He’d never admit it aloud, but all week he’s been flagging, too stubborn about staying up with me to realize how much he’s hurting himself. I slide out from under the furs and settle them back over him. It takes a moment, but he gives in to the pull of the blankets and doesn’t stir again.

It’s an ungodly hour. No sign of dawn on the horizon, no movements from the horses, and no more stored warmth seeping up from the ground. At least there’s a task to keep me occupied. I add wood to the fire and shiver while I wait for it to catch. A few hours of sleep makes the world less horrific. We’re out of the woods and the field sings a lullaby all its own, echoing Keiran’s and the horses’ breathing back to me while the breeze teases through the grass. Farther away, the woods stand like silent guardians. I must have been seeing things earlier. I could have sworn I saw the flitting movement of shades dancing amidst the trees, but now, there’s nothing. Probably sleep deprivation finally taking its toll.

A small branch rolls out of the flames, so I use another stick to nudge it back into place. The fire spits and pops, too loud at this hour, a living creature unwilling to die with a whimper.

He lay me down on a bed of harebell and kissed me till I sighed. And then he sliced into my heart and bled me till I died.

Terror grips me and steals the air from my lungs when the singing reaches me from the burial mounds. No. She couldn’t have found me here, not after so many days of riding. Except, the shade isn’t alone. Shadows move across the field, drifting over the grass toward me. The stick drops to the ground when I press my hands over my ears and close my eyes. But her singing continues, so I give up protecting my ears and dig the heels of my palms into my eyes instead. The pressure sends up bright starbursts of pain flickering against my closed eyelids.

Pain is good. Pain helps me focus. I have to keep them out of my head. I have to keep them at bay. Every Samhain, when the veil between worlds is the thinnest, the oldest shades come begging closure, not realizing it’s an impossible task. There are no bodies left to lay to rest. No way of completing their last wishes. When I fail, they have no choice but to stay with me, trapped in my head.

And there are so many coming toward me now. I can’t fall asleep. Focus. Build up the fire. Heat water. Make a drink. Find constellations. Anything. Anything to stay awake. It’s the best plan I have.

Slowly, I drop my hands and listen. Out in the darkness, the singing has faded. Maybe she and the others have wandered off in another direction.

Except, when I open my eyes, a filmy gaze holds mine with the same dark command of a basilisk’s stare. A bony hand skates down my cheek. Where it touches, a deep chill bites in and spreads, sending pins and needles into my jaw, my throat, my temples... I hunch against the pain and try to cradle my head in my hands, but it’s too late. Shadows swirl around me, keeping out of the fire’s light as they wait their turns, whispering all the memories they need to give me. The shade who found me first slides into my mind like an oily shadow and begins rooting around the empty spaces.

I crane my head over my shoulder and grunt, “Keiran.” He’ll wake up and tell me stories, distract me from their insistent attention.

A strange coldness runs through me, as if my blood is freezing me from the inside out. The shade’s still there in my head, but it’s reaching out for more. Demanding more, and I don’t know what it wants—

My muscles lock up when the shade dresses itself in my flesh, wriggling until it fits under my skin.

“Keiran!” I try again, but it’s strangled, cut off by the shade’s grip on my voice. It flexes its control over me, forces my muscles to move, forces my body to rise and stagger toward the burial mounds.

“Keir,” I beg one last time, losing my battle to stay here beside him. His name, combined with my desperate need, opens a seam, a vulnerability, in the walls I try to erect against the attack. The shade digs in at that weakest point and pries and—

Chapter Nine

Keiran

I open my eyes only to wake in my burning village. A crushing weight tethers me to the earth. There’s nothing overhead but the endless stretch of stars. Beside me, a fire burns out. The dimming light makes strange shadows rise and fall, reminding me of the hazy shapes of marauding ljósálfar finishing off my people while I watched, helpless to stop them. The flare of panic helps drag me from the memory. I’m not there. I survived that.

I command my muscles to move, with no response. The cold settles deep into my bones. It takes a lifetime to crack my jaw open enough to speak. “Lugh,” I croak.

No response from my side.

“Lugh,” I try again, “please—”

Lugh seems as sensitive to the arrival of my rare nightmares as he is to his own. He never fails to rouse when I call for him, no matter how exhausted he is. We’re partners in this, dedicated to chasing away the other’s worst fears. To be greeted by silence, with no grunt of acknowledgment and no shift of blankets, is unnatural.

Concern overrides the dream’s lingering effects. I sit up and ignore the way the world spins with the sudden movement because the bedroll beside me is empty.

Lugh’s gone.

A breeze brushes against my back and I shiver, even as my doubts weigh heavy in my gut.

“Lugh,” I call again, louder this time. Maybe he slipped off to relieve himself.

Liath and Dubh call back to me. There’s no reason for them to be awake, not when it’s this dark, not when we’ve ridden hard for so many days in a row. They stand close to each other, tails flicking nervously, ears pricked forward, both looking toward the burial mounds in the distance. The smooth handle of the axe steadies me as I abandon my bed and move outside the scant glow cast by the dying fire.