Page 4 of The Crown of Moonlight
The answer doesn’t help me much.It says little about the woman’s loyalty, but then I’m not sure what I’m hoping to achieve.The size of the bounty Vheara has placed on our heads would tempt a priest to turn his mother over.
Thinking is getting harder.The wind sweeps down from the crest of the hill, and I clench my teeth to stop them chattering.Without my magic, I’m cold to my marrow, and the early sun brings scant warmth to the moss-strewn earth.
The Pit take me, I’m not used to being weak.I’ve scoffed at the other Riders for paying the High King’s runesmiths to carve more damned magic into their skin without knowing what was actually being embedded in it.Still, I’d give a great deal to have some extra power now.One small ember of my fire magic could heat my blood and stop the shivering.A curl of my air magic would raise the temperature around me and dry the cold sweat from my skin.My body is diverting every bit of power I can draw through my Veilstone ring into keeping me alive, and I can’t summon even the simplest mind trick or illusion.
I pull my hand from the hilt of my sword and show the woman my open palms to prove it.“Listen, there’s no need for us to threaten each other.Can we call a truce?”
The woman’s eyes narrow as she frowns at my hands, which I realise belatedly are slick with blood.That’s probably not the soothing gesture I had hoped it would be.
Whether she chooses to believe I don’t mean to hurt her, or she simply can’t hold the illusion any longer, she finally lets the magic go.The sword shrinks and reshapes itself until only a narrow, ordinary dagger remains.
Black dots dance across my vision.I step towards her, treading with care to keep the wound in my chest from bleeding faster.
“Do you have a house nearby?”I ask.“I need a shovel and a horse that isn’t spent.If you’ll let me borrow those and pretend you never saw me, I’ll ensure you’re paid twice the reward that Vheara’s offering for information.”
“Is that your alternative to killing me and stealing my stallion?”Her chin lifts, and she draws herself up, her shoulders stiff with stubborn pride.“How do I know you won’t do that anyway the moment I let down my guard?”
“Forget the horse, then.I’ll be thankful for the shovel and your promise.”
“I don’t want your money.Not everyone’s for sale.”
I don’t have the strength to argue with her, and I let out a long exhale.“Please.I’m asking for your help.My magic and the mare are both exhausted, and Oran and Tuirse are—were—my friends.My brothers.I can’t leave them like this.Everyone deserves dignity in death.Don’t they?”
“The same dignity your kind gives us?”she asks with her voice shaking.“Leaving our dead to rot on your battlefields until their own families can scarcely find any familiar features?Slaughtering us in violation of the Compact?The fact that you’re here is another violation.The laws forbid any Siorai from setting foot in Alba Scoria.”
Oran or Tuirse would have her on her knees at swordpoint for her disrespect if they were alive.Daire and Lorcan would already be laying bets on who would bed her first.Neither Rider can resist a challenge, much less a lovely face.
But she isn’t wrong.
I step closer, searching for something to say—an apology, a reassurance.
She backs away again, stumbling over the dress she wears kilted through her belt.The shawl pinned around her shoulders billows in the wind.It’s one of those endless Highland plaids, a broad tartan pattern in deep green and blue, shot through with narrow bands of yellow.Her hair whips around her face, the long strands darker near her scalp and streaked everywhere else in shades from moon-pale blonde to red the colour of flame.Her eyes, in stunning contrast, are the sort of cool, deep grey I could sink myself into.They stare back at me, unflinching.
A fresh wave of pain kicks me in the chest.I reach for a stunted birch nearby, clutching the lichen-softened bark to keep from falling.
The woman sighs and turns away.
I expect her to walk uphill to where she left her black beast tied, but she crosses back to Tuirse’s dappled mare instead, running practised hands along her legs and withers.Murmuring soothing nonsense, she checks for injuries and pinches the skin on the mare’s neck to see how fast it bounces back.
She knows horses, that much is clear.Despite being dehydrated and exhausted, the mare does her best to get up when the woman coaxes her, though Tuirse’s weight over the saddle is still too much.Seeing that, the woman rolls Tuirse over, grasps him beneath the arms, and drags him to lie beside Oran on the ground.A feat, given Tuirse’s weight.
The woman’s chest heaves by the time she’s finished.She stands looking down at Tuirse, hesitates, then stoops to cross his hands over his chest in the sign of peace.That’s a kindness I don’t expect, and somehow it unmans me.
My chest throbs, and I press my hand against the wound.It’s bleeding again.The rough wool of the unfamiliar coat squelches under my fingers, and a wave of dizziness makes the trees spin.The Pit take me, but I’d prefer a blade through the heart over this festering weakness.
It’s too much to hope the woman doesn’t notice.Of course, she does.
“Sit down before you fall, you bloody idiot,” she says.“I’ll have enough work burying two bodies without you adding another to the count.Let me get the mare to her feet so she doesn’t hurt herself, then I’ll see what I can do for you.”
It takes a moment to process the words, and I don’t dare let go of the birch to lower myself to the ground.
“Thank you,” I say, the words coming out in a humiliating rasp.
The mare has shifted her weight to get her knees beneath her, but she can’t manage the final push to her feet.The woman takes the reins to keep them from tangling and causing the mare to panic.Then a puff of magic surrounds them both—a shimmer and stir of air so faint that if I weren’t gifted with magic-sense, I would never notice it.The mare’s breath slowly lengthens as she calms.
I didn’t see the woman touch an amulet or any rune, and this gentle energy feels nothing like Vheara’s corrupted sorcery.The woman is human, I have no doubt, but the magic in Alba Scoria has been eradicated—the Sun King saw to that—so it’s difficult to reconcile what I sense from her with what I know.I’d almost say the woman was using Siorai magic, and that’s definitely not possible.The sealed doorways have blocked nearly all of Tirnaeve’s power from leaking through.Even the Veilstone rings the runesmiths created to supply us with magic give us far less than we need.
Another cramp of pain squeezes my chest.A crow lands on a nearby branch as if to taunt me, and when the cramp eases, I look up and find the woman staring at me.
