Page 85 of The Crown of Moonlight
They respect him.He’s the Master, and they don’t doubt he’ll do his duty.
I can’t doubt it either.Even if that duty means my death.
Bramble swings her muzzle to me, and I unclench my fists to scratch her on the nose.“At least I have you back.That’s one good thing—and having Shade and Shadow with me is another.We will be all right.”
The mare nudges my shoulder, her big brown eyes half lowered as if she doesn’t believe me.Which is fair enough.I don’t believe me either.
I’ve dredged my brain for every scrap of knowledge, every snippet of story I’ve ever heard about the Maidens and the crowning of the Cailleach Queens.If there’s a way to stop this nightmare, I haven’t remembered it yet.
I know the Maiden can refuse the Hunt.She can fail the test, and the land will release her and choose another Maiden.That’s all in the ancient stories.But I didn’t realise I’d been chosen, that I was being Hunted.I didn’t know anything until I already wore the Crown of Vines—and by then, I had no options.
Cold rain blows into the cavern.A gust of wind shears along the walls.That’s not why I shiver.
Finding a solution isn’t optional.Iwillfind one.
I wear two crowns, and unless I choose a Rider and make my sacrifice at the Altar of the Moon, I’ll be dead by Beltane morning.
Even that might not save me.
Chyr’s father was the last Rider chosen to be the consort—and he killed the queen who chose him.
I won’t let myself be dragged to Muilean like a lamb to slaughter.If I have to go at all, then somehow I will turn the time to my advantage.
It would help to find an ally among the Riders.Someone who’ll defend me when Chyr cannot.Of the three Riders, Ronan seems most likely for that.
As if he feels my eyes on him, he turns and smiles.“I thought we could take a moment to say goodbye to Tuirse and Oran,” he says.“Flora, do you want to join us?”
He stoops to pick up the sprigs he dropped beside the fire earlier.They’re entering the sweet phase of rowan, when they smell of marzipan.
The mood in the cavern changes.Daire stops trying to look intimidating and drops his arms to accept the two sprigs Ronan holds out to him, then Lorcan takes his.I expect Chyr to step up, but he stares hard at Ronan first.
Ronan holds out the next two twigs to me.
“You didn’t know Tuirse or Oran, but you buried them,” he says.“That matters.”
I open my mouth to protest that I didn’t, but when I think it through, Chyr didn’tlie.Not by Ever standards.
Those who did the burying are my people, loyal to me, employed by me.I approved the burial, and in that sense, I did bury them.I also dragged their bodies up the hill myself, my face inches from theirs.Then I helped Chyr say goodbye.In those ways, they will always be a part of me.
The realisation pushes my feet towards the fire.And maybe this is also a chance to show the Riders that I’m more than a prisoner.Something other than the Maiden.
Wiping my cheeks again, I peel my shoulders from the wall and walk to the fire.I keep my head high, as if I’ve earned the crowns I wear.
Shade and Shadow trot behind me, sticking close to my heels.
“Thank you.”I accept the rowan, and I gift Ronan with a smile.The one I rarely use.
He blinks, but he’s as wary as the others.I think my tears have scared them more than swords or magic.
Lorcan shifts closer to Daire, and Chyr is coiled so tight that emotion quivers in the air around him.
We circle around the fire, and the Riders turn to Chyr expectantly.Firelight plays over his cheekbones and the sharp angles of his jaw.His eyes swallow the flames.
“Oran was the quiet mountain of the Anvar’thaine,” he says, his voice quiet and solemn like the Chyr I had started to believe I knew.“We all leaned on him, and he died the way he lived, gently laughing at a bad joke one of us used to disguise their pain.Without Oran, we wouldn’t have become a team.”
Chyr throws a sprig of the rowan into the fire, and the rest of us do the same.
“May Oran be long remembered,” the Riders say in unison.
