Page 158 of Where Darkness Falls

“When you become a whole lot prettier, perhaps he’ll snuggle you too,” Riordan mocks.

Emyr growls as he swings off of Danté’s back before gently grabbing me and setting me on the ground. He removes two black fur-lined cloaksand gloves—as well as woolen socks to wear with our thick boots—from one of the rucksacks. “There’s a fur-lined hood attached to the cloak to help prevent your face from getting too blistered in the wind and snow,” Emyr says sweetly as he buckles the cloak around my shoulders.

Once he’s satisfied, he bends down and slowly helps me shimmy my feet out of the heavy boots. Even with the dastardly things on, my extremities are red and cold to the touch. Emyr wastes no time helping to slide each of the snug socks on, quickly followed by the boots. I take care of placing the gloves on myself. I sigh at the tingling addition of warmth along my appendages, which only makes him smile. He stands quickly, planting a kiss on my icy cheek before quickly pulling the hood over my head.

“Better?” he asks.

“Quite,” I reply.

“Splendid! I’d hate for even a sliver of you to be lost to the cold,” he winks.

Then, he’s slipping on his own cloak, socks, and gloves, as do the rest of our small company. Riordan audibly sighs as he secures his cloak’s buckle. “You don’t like the cold either, Riordan?” I tease.

“Psht, absolutely not!” Riordan exclaims. “I’d rather stay in Malvoria than have to endure another never-ending existence in the bloody, snow-laden wasteland.”

“You realize that you’re speaking of our home, right?” Laisren replies. “Have you already forgotten that we grew up there, mate?”

Riordan ruffles the Second Commander’s perfectly combed platinum hair. “No, but we’ve all thought it, Laisy,” Riordan replies. Laisren growls as he fussily fixes his now tousled hair. Riordan slowly backs away, throwing his hands in the air. “Whoa, down boy!” Riordan says. “I apologize for messing up your hair.”

“The next time you do, I swear you’ll lose a finger,” Laisren growls.

“He takes his vanity very seriously,” Riordan whispers, not too discreetly, which earns him a shove in the shoulder from an aggravated Laisren.

“Will you two idiots stop your bickering already, so we can get back on the road?” Virgil snaps from atop his horse.

Emyr lifts me onto Danté’s back. “Virgil’s right,” Emyr interjects. “We need to keep going, so we can make it through the boundary and get past the graveyard before nightfall.”

The others nod solemnly, mounting their horses as well.

I furrow my brows. “What’s so concerning about the graveyard?” I ask Emyr once we’re moving again.

“It isn’t the graveyard that I’m necessarily apprehensive about,” Emyr replies. “It’s the burial ground of Galrosan soldiers and nobility that have long since passed. It used to be a tranquil place before the Drakhul’s curse affected it. One could come and visit their loved ones, while pixies and faeries sing minstrels about those who lost their lives in noble wars or give warnings to not repeat the mistakes of the past. It’s an oasis for grieving kin. However, once the Drakhul descended, those that were buried were cursed to roam the planes of the graveyard in a glowing corporeal form, frightening anyone that dared enter their domain at night.”

I swallow thickly. “Well, that sounds terrifying,” I say.

“I wish I could say that’s the worst of the rumors,” Emyr continues. “There’s a story of one soul they call the Blue Lady—a highborn noblewoman cursed there by her husband as a banshee to be a herald of death. If rumors are to be believed, most that see and speak with her end up dying shortly after hearing of their fate.”

The color leaches from my face. “So she brings death to those that speak with her?” I ask.

“No,” Emyr replies firmly. “She can only speak to what will happen, sort of like an oracle. The difference being she can only see their downfall.”

Well, that’s not the least bit terrifying.

You should be terrified, my dear,Saoirse yawns.The banshee should’ve never been created, but it was her husband’s desperate attempt to revive her. However, cursing her to this fate is worse than death. It’s unfair to tellsomeone of their fate too soon as such practices lead to unparalleled stress for the one that will die.

My heart aches for the poor woman that was not only robbed of going into Eternity, but also for the desperate husband that truly believed such a fate would be better for her.

Do you know if her husband regrets cursing her?I ask.

Saoirse is quiet for a moment.He didn’t… until the first death she foretold was his own,she says sadly.It was many years ago, but from what I know, he hasn’t visited her since, leaving her to be a ruler of sorts over the lost spirits. With each year that passed, and he didn’t come to see her, her wrath only grew. She succumbed to the monstrosity he’d created her to be.

Well, at least we’re going to miss the interaction with her if we’re able to make it through the graveyard before nightfall,I say.

For all of your sakes, I hope so,Saoirse whispers.

She sounds more distant tonight than usual. The more I think about it, she’s been silent for weeks, only occasionally making remarks.

Are you alright, Saoirse?I ask.

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