Page 39 of The Crown of Moonlight
“You think I burned some of it away?”
“At least some of your magic must come from the Cailleach Queens, from the land and the Great Mother herself.I can’t fathom how that works, but if it’s anything like Siorai magic, it’s not something anyone can teach you.Magic is as individual as we are, and there’s no right or wrong to how we feel our way through learning.”
“If I wanted to experiment, I’d begin with a broken bird’s wing, not—”
“Not what?”He reaches up as I bend over him and cups the curve of my cheek with his palm.The heat of his touch pools beneath my skin, trying to draw out an answer I’m unwilling to give myself, much less to this man who sees and understands too much.
I don’t want to believe in the rebel king.I don’t want to support him, but after what I saw today, after what the Greys did, I don’t have a choice because the Raven Queen must die.
As much as I want to stay to protect Dunhaelic and my own people myself, I can’t stand back when there’s much more at stake.The women and children in the hills will be no safer if I am here, and Faolan can see to the building of an escape out of the keep in case Vheara’s army comes in force.We would lose Dunhaelic, but as long as Vheara is defeated, we can rebuild.If she remains in power, then all is lost.
I’ll heal Chyr.I’ll trade my pain to give Chyr strength.My pain to save him and let him get to Muilean so he can save what he can of my world.But I can’t let him go alone, because he won’t make it there without me.
The room feels like it’s shrinking around us, and I pull away.
“I’ll cut out as much of the blackness as possible again,” I tell him.“Then I’ll try to draw the rest out with magic.But I have a condition.”
“Anything,” he says in that voice that curls through me like peat smoke.“I’ll give you whatever is in my power to give you.Believe me, I’m aware that I’m asking far more from you than I should.”
“Swear it.Promise you’ll give me what I ask.”
“If it’s in my power to grant it, I swear on my oaths and the Father of Light to give it to you.What do I have to do?”His eyes search mine.
My jaw set, I refuse to look away.“Take me with you to Muilean.Whatever the outcome when I try to heal you, you’ll need me to make sure you get there.”
“No.”His tone brooks no argument.
“You swore, and you need me.I know the Highlands and the clans.Mainly, I’ll be there to help if something goes wrong with your wound.If it isn’t healing.”
“Apart from the other dangers, we could all be walking into a trap if Vheara knows about the doorway.”
“Today proved that staying here won’t change anything.I can’t save my people on my own.Vheara will send more Greys and more soldiers, and you won’t be here to stop them.”
Chyr’s jaw tightens.“I’m sorry, Flora.”
“Sorry doesn’t change anything.No one I love will be safe until Vheara is dead, so I want to help.I can’t fight her, but I can make sure you get to Muilean.”
“No—”
“Yes.I’ve made the trip through Ehrugael many times with my father.I know the routes and the people know me.If you hope to make it in a week, you can’t afford to turn away my help.”
Chyr’s eyes burn into mine, and he brushes his knuckles lightly against my jaw.That sends a spark of heat along my nerves, feather-soft and devastating, a warning that a journey with Chyr will be dangerous in many ways.
“I hate that you use my own arguments against me.There should be a rule against that,” Chyr says with a twitch of his lips as though he’s trying not to smile.“But if you insist, then yes, I will accept your terms.We leave tonight.”
Chapter 17
Dark-edged Hunger
Chyr
F
lora’s footsteps echo across the stone floor of the Great Hall beyond the door.It’s strange how I’ve come to recognise their pattern as a measure of her mood.Her steps are slow now, heavy with grief, exhaustion, and what she perceives as failure.
I push myself to a sitting position on the long bench where I’ve been resting.The wound in my chest screams, but I’d rather get the worst of my display of weakness out of the way before she’s here to see it.
The door opens without a sound, letting in the thick, greasy smoke and the stench of burning corpses that the burning juniper boughs haven’t fully hidden.A glance at Flora’s face is enough to reveal the damage I have done.She clutches a pile of clothing in unsteady hands, and the dark pain hasn’t yet left those big, grey eyes.
