The Iron Crown (The Darkest Court)

Hedda, who pledged her sword, gestures back toward our room. “You need rest. We’ll keep a watch for Dykstra’s men, but I doubt they’ll return so soon. When you wake, the horses will be ready. We’ll make sure you have other supplies as well.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. Keiran murmurs his thanks as well, which she’s quick to wave off.

“You are our thegn,” she declares. “You stood unflinching before a serpent who cheated to steal the crown. You fought beside our huscarl and the warriors who went with her to honor Aage. You honor their sacrifice by pledging your life to us. This is the least we can do.”

He nods and lets me guide him from the hall back to our room. I close the door behind us and lean against it. He walks to the center of the room and stares blankly at the small fire in the hearth. He doesn’t reach for his belt, the only piece of clothing he refused to part with, which is one less problem to deal with. His utter lack of movement is concerning though.

I try to keep my voice light when I call, “Keir?”

His hand flexes against his leg, but there’s no other sign he heard me.

I’m not sure where he’s lost inside his head, but I won’t leave him to face those thoughts alone. I cross the room to him and press myself against his back, slipping my arms around his waist and burying my face against his spine. He’s too stiff, rigid like he is before a battle. All I can do is squeeze him gently in a show of support.

“I’m so proud of you,” I whisper against his skin.

A full-body shudder wracks him, deeply enough I have to readjust my grip, but he still doesn’t speak.

“So proud,” I repeat. “You were honest and kind and even though we couldn’t be bearers of good news, you still managed to give them hope.”

“They pledged themselves to me, Lugh. They’re willing to die for me.” It’s a fearful, broken statement, one so shrouded in horrified wonder, I don’t know what to say.

He won’t budge. He plants himself in this spot like a sun-stricken troll, a statue of the heaviest stone. Rather than fight him, I go around so we’re facing each other. My heart aches. Tears spill over his lashes and snake their way down his cheeks into his beard. He held himself together in the hall, but now he’s breaking apart.

“Oh, Keir,” I murmur.

He only cries harder, so I reach up and clasp his face in my hands, using my thumbs to wipe away what I can. He turns to press his face into my palm and I let him sob against my skin. He cries until my arm’s gone numb from how long I’ve kept it raised in this one position. He cries until my back aches and a chill creeps in because the fire’s started to die down. He cries until there’s nothing left, and then he stays, just breathing through the pain. After a long, long time, he sucks a ragged inhalation. His red-rimmed gaze finds mine and holds.

“Lugh,” he rasps, “they’re going to die for me.”

The reality of war looms before us like a yawning grave.

“Yes,” I whisper back, stepping in so close our chests bump together, “they will.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?” he asks.

My smile’s a hideous thing, stretching painfully at my mouth. “Of course it does. But what bothers me more is you thinking you’re not worth such devotion. You deserve the world, Keir. You always have.”

He closes his eyes and a few last tears leak free. I only catch his mumbled, “Can we go to bed?” because I’m standing so close.

He relaxes from my chaste, fleeting kiss. “Yes. I want to hold you. Nothing else, I promise. I need to fall asleep with you in my arms.”

That’s all the coaxing he needs. He lets me undress him, draw back the blankets, and cover him up before I strip off my clothes and crawl into my side of the bed. He hums when I curl against his back. I drape an arm over his waist and snuggle into the warm expanse of skin only broken by the occasional shift of his shoulder blades.

“Is this okay?” I ask him.

He gives a drowsy nod. “It’s everything I need,” he whispers before we both fall into deep sleep.

* * *

We leave the village before dawn. I deliver the shade’s message to his sister and Keiran garners Hedda’s promise to have her people follow soon after us. Then, we ride.

Each town we stop in leads to a pledging ceremony. Keiran’s train of supporters grows, and by the time we arrive in Voll’s lands, a small army follows at our backs, less than a day’s ride behind us.

We find the large encampment of the Northern army waiting on the shores of the sea to make the final crossing into Mother’s lands. The crowds there send up rousing cheers when we arrive, greeting Keiran with reverence and pride. The survivors of the Assembly have spread his message across the Wylds and the fighters who joined their cause are devoted to securing Keiran’s rule and the continuation of the traditions that have defined their culture for so long. Goodfellow was a fool to think all the Sluagh would accept his rule when he broke their long-established rules to seize it.

The Hunt and pair of Sluagh decoys arrive a day after we do, tired, but safe. They led Goodfellow’s forces through the most dangerous regions of the Wylds before their pursuers gave up, allowing them to travel North freely. Keiran and I are both grateful to be back with our family, and our own horses, as we try to navigate our changed circumstances.

Each day, more and more troops arrive, as well as refugee villagers who chose to flee with their warriors rather than face Goodfellow’s oncoming army alone. There are daily meetings to discuss the war preparations and to meet with displaced people. Keiran requests the guidance and counsel of the huscarls, which earns him even more support, especially when they tell and retell the story of his fight with Goodfellow at the assembly.