Page 42 of The Crown of Moonlight
Dunhaelic Keep has been destroyed.The buildings behind the outer curtain wall stand in jagged teeth of fire-blackened beams and piles of rubble, and where yellow torchlight glowed at the gate and the Guard Tower and the Lord’s Tower when we rode out, now there is only dark and moonlight.Crenellations atop the battlements have fallen, and the stone is scorched and ruined by smoke.
“That isn’t real,” I breathe.“I know it can’t be real.”
Chyr tightens his arms around me.“It isn’t.Lord, Flora.I didn’t mean for you to see it like that.”
I shake my head.“What did you do?”
“It’s an illusion.A mask to keep the queen’s hunters from paying attention if they come looking for the Greys and the soldiers I killed.”Chyr’s voice is a low rumble in my good ear.
My heart unclenches slowly, and for a wild second, I want to throw Chyr off the horse.“Why didn’t you warn me?Great Mother, do you have any idea what I felt seeing that?”
“I can imagine, and I’m sorry.I tried to keep the magic from settling in place until there was no risk of you looking back.But it takes a lot to hold an illusion that size in my head, and I couldn’t contain it any longer.”
Catriona said you would argue with me.”
My heart speeds up again.“Why would I?”
Chyr remains silent long enough that I think he won’t answer at all, and then he says, “I left one of the Veilstones to anchor the illusion.”
“Are you insane?”I twist in the saddle, trying to see his face in the moonlight.“Why would you do that?You need the ring for healing, and we may need you to use that magic if we run into problems.”
“If you’re coming along to keep me alive,” he says in a voice that brooks no argument, “then I want to make sure the people you love survive until you come home again.This way, if any more of Vheara’s forces come by, they’ll see that the keep has already been destroyed, and they’ll feel a suggestion that they don’t need to look any closer.That’s the least I can do for you.”
For you.
Two words.They shouldn’t mean anything.
But every wisp of magic Chyr has spent protecting what I love is strength he won’t have available to heal himself.He will pay for giving up the Veilstone, and the price will be measured in pain.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Mist curls low along the ridge path, stirring with every hoofbeat.My chest still aches with loss, and my body sags from fatigue, but Chyr’s presence is warm and solid behind me.I’m aware of his arms around my waist, the muscles of his thighs against mine, the rise and fall of his chest against my back.
The clothes he wears belonged to my older brother, the kind one.The buff coat still smells of Rory, of nettle soap and heather that brings back a memory of him left over from the summer I turned eleven, when we’d hide side by side in the purple blooms, stalking red deer stags.It was Rory, soft, portly, and infinitely patient, who taught me how to hunt.
Chyr has none of Rory’s softness.The coat and the shirt beneath it strain across his muscled chest and shoulders, and he’s covered himself in weapons.Bracers fitted with knives encase his wrists, throwing dirks rest in his boots, and a dagger hangs beside the empty scabbard from the belt at his hip.He also wears the two swords he collected from the Greys across his back.
We reach the willow tree by the stream and turn onto the deer trail that leads upward to the ridge.The bodies of the two Riders rest beneath the place I left them, and I rein Eira in and swing my leg over her neck to jump down first so I can steady Chyr as he dismounts.We end up standing too close, and it feels as though he means to say something.But his eyes are focused on my lips.
That look is a promise—and a threat.It portends a kiss, if not now then soon, and the thought makes me forget to breathe.
I need to guard my heart.
As much as Chyr makes my defences crumble, I have to remember that Evers are dangerous—and that he has a plan that involves him leaving in seven days.One that he hasn’t fully shared with me.I’m certain there are still many things he hasn’t told me.
We are reluctant allies for the moment.We share a goal, and that is all.
Still, I can almost feel that kiss between us.
Chyr clears his throat and turns to examine the ground, searching for the grave.
“It’s here.”I point out the uneven row of river-tumbled stones Morag left as a marker after she buried the bodies.The churned earth is covered over with leaves, and if not for the stones, the grave would have been invisible.
Chyr sinks into a crouch, his spine bowed as he touches two fingertips to the ground.He closes his eyes, and I realise how much I’ve come to rely on th small changes within them, to tell me what he’s feeling.His face itself gives so little away.
I move behind him and lay my hand on his shoulder, saying nothing.A touch can be more honest than words.
For a heartbeat or two, he doesn’t move, but then he lifts his own hand and places it on top of mine.
