Page 11 of The Crown of Moonlight
Shadehounds, for Pit’s sake.
I’ve only seen a few glimpses of the magical creatures since we arrived from Tirnaeve.
Like all the various Shadelings who occupy the shadows in Alba Scoria, Shadehounds are careful not to draw attention, yet these responded to the woman’s fear, ready to leap at me for hurting her.Their snarls exposed their fangs, and the silver-moonlight rings around their eyes turned cold with threat.She paid them no attention, as if they weren’t even there.
And that tremor of earth she summoned to throw me off her?Even in Tirnaeve, where the air is thick with magic, only a handful of the strongest Siorai can bend the earth to do their bidding.
Who—what—is this woman?Where does such magic come from?
With no strength left, I gamble the last dregs of my magical reserves to shadow-walk.Choosing a patch of darkness ahead of her, I fling myself into it across the distance.It’s like treading through a bog, my feet mired where I stand, thehereof my location clutching, sucking, squeezing at me as I try to move my bodythereonly to get stuck in between.
Shadow-walking, like illusion work, is innate to all Siorai.My affinity for air magic makes my ability to walk the shadows even stronger, but now even this smallest pulse of magic threatens to rip me in two pieces.
I tighten my fist around the Veilstone rings and pull hard at the power flowing through them.With the added seals the Raven witch placed on the doorways through the Veil, there’s barely a trickle available, and as depleted as I am, I’ve too little magic left in my blood to attract it to me.
The effort heats the stones, but they never grow hot the way they should.I can only pray the magic they give me will be enough.
I keep pulling, and finally, the tension rooting me to the ground near the ridge releases with a pop.Landing in the shadows thirty yards above the road, I stagger out into the path of the woman’s stallion.
The beast rears and lashes out with his forelegs.The Shadehounds leap forward, their low growls felt as much as heard—vibrations in the air.
I evade the stallion’s hooves and turn to stare the Shadehounds down.Their magic is different from mine, but they can sense what I am.Even so, their lips curl back, noses wrinkling as they expose their fangs.Then they back away two steps and sink to their haunches.The coarse grey fur tipped with shadows makes them seem less present, and those uncanny moonlit eyes watch my every motion.
The woman fights to control her horse.“Get out of my way,” she says.“And I thought you said you were out of magic.Or was that another lie?”
“Please,” I say.“I owe you an apology—many apologies—if you’ll spare me a moment.”
“I was trying to help you,” she says, her voice clipped with anger.“If anyone else had found those things on you, you would never have gotten them back.”
“I’m not trying to excuse myself, but when I woke and you were gone—when I discovered what you’d taken—it felt as though you’d stripped me of the only pieces of myself I had left.But I jumped to conclusions and attacked you without giving you a chance to defend yourself.”
“I don’t need you to give me anything.I make my own chances.”
She wants to be angry, but there’s something more vulnerable than accusatory in the self-protective set of her shoulders.
Whenever I think I can’t feel more shame, there’s always a deeper level.
“I’m sorry.”There’s nothing more that I can say.
What I’ve done to her is only the latest proof of how I’ve failed.I’ve given her reason to fear me as much as she fears the Greys.
“Did you read the letter?”I ask because I have no choice.If Vheara learns what General Mora wrote, any chance of getting help from Tirnaeve could vanish.
The woman stiffens in the saddle, and the stallion shifts beneath her.The Shadehounds bristle.“I won’t apologise for reading,” she says.“I have people to protect.”
“Of course, but you said this was Domhnall land.If so, we’re on the same side, and you can understand how important—”
“I am not onanyside that includes an Ever.This isDunhaelicland.My father was High Chief of all the Domhnall, and he supported the queen until your side slaughtered him on the battlefield.The smaller Domhnall branches, including two of my own brothers, broke with him to support your king.Now most of their warriors are dead as well.We’ve lost too much to your war already, so do not dare to ask for more.”
The Shadehounds rise at her anger, growling low.Breathing hard, the woman glares down at me from the stallion’s back.Her slender body looks too small to hold such courage and defiance.
I remember her father and her brothers.They fought in two different battles, on two different sides, but their characters were much the same.All three had an excess of pride and too little strength and common sense.I recall the old chief riding onto the field beside his men, the scarlet flag of the Domhnall Clan flapping in the wind, and the gold script around the crest bearing the ancient title of the Cailleach Queens who were chosen from among Clan Domhnall’s strongest women:
Reuhldar un Tisooill
Sovereign of the World
That’s one more piece of the puzzle falling into place.
