Page 44 of The Crown of Moonlight
“Less like what?A Siorai?A giant’s spinster aunt?”Chyr asks, sounding almost amused.
“Just less,” I say with a sigh.“The village is one of ours.They’re loyal, but it’s best not to raise any questions.”
I reach for his hand to help him down.He hasn’t mastered the kilt yet, and it rides high on his thighs, revealing lean muscles as he steps down beside me.
“What were those shadows at the grave?”I ask.“Do Siorai have ghosts?”
Chyr sends me a startled glance.“You truly don’t know?”
“The list of what I don’t know could fill the keep.You’ll need to be specific.”
“The shadows were Hallow Keepers.A type of—”
My hands close on the reins, and Eira pulls the bit in protest.
“Hallow Keepers?”I ask.“But all the magical creatures left before the High King of Tirnaeve sealed the doorways.”
Chyr raises his eyebrows and shakes his head.“They follow you around, and you haven’t seen them?”
He unclips Bramble’s lead to take her reins while my brain spins in useless circles.
“Shadelings are part of the native magic of Alba Scoria,” he says.“They wouldn’t have survived in Tirnaeve, so Queen Nicnevin—”
“The Cailleach Queen who negotiated the Compact with the High King?”
“Yes.She took responsibility for them, but given the mistrust of magic that came from what Vheara and other Siorai had done, they prefer to remain unseen.”
“The Hallow Keepers knew I saw them.”
“They may have wanted you to, but it’s also possible that your magic is strong enough to see through their concealments the same way Siorai can.”
“And you’ve seen them around me before?”
Chyr’s breath is shallow as he moves to stand at Bramble’s saddle, though he doesn’t try to mount.“Not Hallow Keepers specifically—various Shadelings at different times.Shade-hounds guarded you in the Woods after I…attacked you, and Twilight Weavers tend your fires.That doesn’t mean they are following you—they may be more constricted in where they live now that Vheara has made it too dangerous for them to use their shortcuts through the Gloaming.”
The idea that Shadelings have never left Alba Scoria is oddly less shocking than the idea of magical creatures helping me without my knowledge.
I’d like to deny it, but I can’t—I have seen them in the past.Hints and flickers, at least.The shape of a three-fingered hand in the firelight, a shadow that moves when nothing should.Whispers like intuition.Like my grandmother’s voice.The stories say Whisperwraiths can do such things.Even the idea to turn my dagger into a sword to defend myself from my brothers came to me in a whisper.How else would I have known to try?
Chyr leans against the saddle, pinning me with that steady intensity that makes it so hard to look away from him.“They may also be drawn to your magic.”
“Why mine?Why not my grandmother, or a hundred others in my family?”
“Can you be sure they weren’t?Your magic was outlawed.And you did say your grandmothers could heal.”
“One of them.Though now that you mention it, they would both leave offerings of herbs or flowers for the dark folk.Even Morag leaves out saucers of milk and bits of food in the kitchen.That sort of belief has never died.”
“You see?”Chyr grips the saddle, one foot in the stirrup, and his muscles bracing to push off the ground.But he hesitates.
I duck around Eira to help.“I knew you weren’t well enough to leave yet.”
“I’m perfectly capable.”
“If you were, then you’d be in the saddle instead of arguing.”
He huffs as he swings himself up.“I was distracted.I’m crafting a mask to make myself less handsome.Drastic changes take more magic.”
“Try making yourself a little more humble while you’re at it.”
