Page 112 of The Crown of Moonlight
“I don’t know how to make air cooler.”
“If you can add heat, you can take it away,” Chyr says.
I nod as if that doesn’t sound overwhelming.Maybe that’s the biggest difference between my magic and Tirnaeve’s.The land and the gods have already given us all the gifts we need.They’re already there, waiting for me to understand how they connect—and what they give and what they cost.
Creating a storm is too much at once, but I manage to form a cloud bank out of nothing, and I drag it along the water.
The clouds are thick enough to conceal us from any more of Vheara’s patrols and cover our run up the long, narrow sea loch that takes us as far inland as the western shore of Muilean allows.
We all breathe a sigh as we clear the thin sliver of channel and approach the end of the loch.We slide past the small island that sits dead in the centre of the natural harbour.
Then we see six longboats pulled up onto the beach.
Chapter 42
Race Across Muilean
Chyr
W
e slide silently through the narrow channel that opens up to the last section of the long sea loch that juts deep in the westernmost portion of Muilean, not knowing what awaits us.Flora has laid down thick clouds at our backs, and the wind pulls swirls of mist around us.
A cormorant cries and takes wing off the jagged rocks at the easternmost end, and for a moment, I’m relieved, thinking that the bird signals a deserted shore.Then I see the empty longboats pulled up above the high-tide mark.
Alarm whispers mouth to mouth back across the birlinn as the others see them too.Daire taps his power rune to pull silence around us, and Flora draws the cloud in closer to keep us from being seen.On the rowing benches, the men raise their oars, water sluicing down the blades as they await an order.
“Flora?”I turn to her.“You’ve sensed people before.Can you feel anyone now?Or is it too far?”
She stills.Sensing may not be the right word for what she does, but it’s a closer fit thanlisteningor seeing.Her beautiful face loses all expression, and what remains is pure Flora: strength, power, and the fierce goodness that shines from her as brightly as the flames dancing across her brow.
Beyond the boats and the wet, rushy meadows of the low ground, there’s a slight rise where the dark-thatched roofs of a small village float above lime-washed walls that blend into the cloudbank.There’s no smoke.No movement.
It feels like a baited trap, and the hilt of my sword provides little comfort as I rest my hand against it.
Flora steps up beside the boatman.“You said it was a Leithe village, but loyal to the king?”
The boatman is short and square, with greying russet hair and a deep chest that’s starting to sink towards his gut.He stands in the gunwale, peering through the cloud.
“Aye, so it is,” he says.“Cymbeul swine seized the land long since, so anything those traitors want, the Leithes will choose the opposite.But loyal or not, no man on Muilean can keep the militia out, you ken.Nor the bitch-queen’s army.But I can go to the village and have a look who’s there.”
“No.There’s a Grey with them.It could be a routine patrol, or they could be hunting for the king.Either way it’s not safe for you.”Flora gestures to a stretch of shore immediately to our right.“Set us down there, and we can skirt the village without a confrontation.”
The oarsmen beach the birlinn and the two cattleboats up on a thin stretch of sand and pebbles with a hiss of wood and stone.
I look around at the others.“Carefully,” I order.“Take nothing for granted.”
Flora’s adopted Shadehounds leap to the shore and bound towards each other.Shadow licks Shade, and he rubs himself against her.Then they both run to Flora through the surf, their enthusiasm nearly knocking her over sideways.She laughs, and I should caution her to silence, but it’s a sound I’ve heard so rarely that it goes to my heart like a lance.I miss its absence when it’s gone.
The Pit take me, but I want—I need—this woman to have a chance to laugh.
I need her to live.
“Shade, Shadow—show yourselves, both of you,” Flora says, noting how the boatman and the others are watching her.“You’re making these poor Domhnall men think I’m seeing things.”
I hold my breath, waiting to see if the Shadehounds obey her—whether they understand her.We know so little about these magical creatures that were abandoned in Alba Scoria when the Compact sealed the doorways.
I’ve been able to see them from the first, so I see no difference, but the boatman and the others blink, and several swallow visibly.Flora notices and pets both hounds on the head.They turn to follow her as she helps unload the horses.
