Until now.
I watched Balen. He worked with efficiency, his expression preoccupied. He paused suddenly, scowled and then shook his head. Was it me who put that scowl there?
A shrill familiar cry echoed through the grove. I tipped my head to see the War Raven in raven form circle above us in a wide arch. So beautiful and magical. So deadly and rare.
The whole of Innis Fail was the same. Not that I’d know firsthand, but I knew some. The rest of what I knew came from books and scrolls. Balen was one of those rarities, a great champion with the gift of fire. I knew that firsthand now and it made me think of all the things I might learn. What else could I see? But that would never be possible unless the Lia Fail returned to our world.
I bit down on my bottom lip, watching Balen from over the back of my horse as he tied his bedroll to his saddle.
I could go with him.
Try to do this thing he thought I could do, and in the process perhaps find out if my father made it back home. Balen picked up the scabbard that contained his broad sword. He fastened it over his back, the strap diagonal across his chest.
Guilt tightened around me. He wanted to save his world, was ready to give his life for it, and I was . . . unsure. I was not like him, not even close.
Travel across the Deadlands, through the Void, and finding the Lia Fail in Éire—all, on their own, were near-impossible tasks. Time was different in the human world, my mother had once told me. It ran faster than here in Innis Fail. There would be no one left alive from the time when the Lia Fail was taken. Many generations would have passed. The known location of the Light might be lost forever.
And, as for my father, had he stayed here with me he’d be a man of fifty years now. But in the human realm, he’d be much, much older. Frail. Possibly gone. Probably gone…
“Deira.”
I blinked. Balen was mounted up and eyeing me as though he’d said my name more than once. I gathered the reins, pulling myself onto the horse. Settled into the saddle, I ignored the somber thoughts and urged my horse into a canter, passing Balen. I didn’t look back. Didn’t slow down.
We rode until the light faded to a heavy, overcast gray. It would remain that way until nightfall.
Balen slowed his horse to a walk.
I’d drifted back, lost in my thoughts. Using light heels, I urged my mount into a trot to catch up. Once we were side by side, I gave my horse free rein to stretch his neck and noticed that the raven had kept pace with us. It perched on the limb of a tall tree, watching us, its dark feathers folded against its back.
“The creature,” I gestured toward the tree. “The War Raven. What is it truly?”
Balen frowned as though surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”
“Is it your companion?”
He hesitated and then answered carefully, “In a manner, aye.”
“It speaks to you?”
“When it chooses.”
“I read once that one must claim the heart of a War Raven to gain its powers. Is that true?” He shot me an incredulous look. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Well, is it?”
“You think I can claim a War Raven?” His grin deepened as he stared straight ahead, his body rocking easily with the motion of the horse. “That I have the strength and power?”
My eyes narrowed. “That is what I’ve read,” I answered, holding back my smile. “I’m not sure if ‘claiming a heart’ is to be taken literally. Perhaps it means something else. Is that what you’ve done, claimed the creature?”
He tossed a glance at me and laughed, a warm, rich sound that carried on the air. His grin went deep, revealing straight white teeth, and dimples in the dark scruff of his cheeks. It was startling to see how laughter changed him completely.
“I’m going to take that as a no,” I said. He feigned a hurtful look. “How about breathing fire? Can you do that?”
“You want to know all this now? All my strengths?” A dark eyebrow arched suggestively. “I have many strengths. It might take some time to list them all, but if you’re willing…”
A laugh slipped out and I shook my head as he guided his mount between two mossy rocks. I went around the outside and joined up with him once again. For a long stretch of time, we were quiet. I enjoyed the sway of the horse’s gait, the soft clop of their hooves on the packed earthen trail we rode. For once, I felt comfortable in my own skin and comfortable with someone other than Lidi.
“Perhaps one day I’ll show you, Deira,” he said with quiet amusement, “how well I can breathe fire.”
My breath caught, my eyes going wide as he directed his horse down a slopping bank.
I never knew words could be so . . . potent.
I slowed my mount to follow single file as we went down the narrow track, concentrating hard on the trail. At times, I found myself looking at Balen’s wide chainmail-clad shoulders and the place where his short black hair met the back of his neck. Why such a small place captured my attention, I didn’t know… Though I recognized the feelings it stirred in me.
I hadn’t grown up so closeted that I wasn’t familiar with attraction. I’d had my own obsessions with a few males from the palace. One was a messenger who’d often take his meals in the kitchen. Every time he’d enter, my heart would beat faster and my fingers would go clumsy. He only spared me glances when I’d dropped something or otherwise made a fool of myself. The other was a scribe in the Hall of Records. Smart, beautiful, so talented. Sometimes we’d work together in the quiet of the hall. Sometimes, we’d even talk. And sometimes at night, I’d dream of love, of what it would be like to touch and be touched.
And I’d read. I’d read all those manuscripts and scrolls that a girl my age was forbidden to read. But no one ever cared what I read; they only cared if my veil was on and if I stayed away from the nobility of Murias. By fifteen, I was well-versed in love and sex. When it came to practice, however, I was severely lacking. Even at twenty-one.
Perhaps it was time to change that.
CHAPTER 7
We made camp at the edge of the Woodlands shortly after nightfall. Dense forest stretched out before us; thick, ancient, dark, and impossibly tall. The Woodlands were vast, said to contain lost cities, caves and lakes of legend, and creatures of lore. There were entire tribes who lived in isolation from the rest of Innis Fail, animals rarely ever seen, flowers of untold beauty and magical properties.
This was where I’d been raised, on the outskirts of one of the largest Woodland communities and the center of worship for the descendants of Dagda.
I’d finally come home.
I un-tacked my horse, placing the heavy saddle on the ground next to Balen’s, then spreading the sweat-dampened saddle pad out to dry. With a clump of long dry weeds, I rubbed the brown beast down, removing as much sweat from his coat as I could and enjoying the work while Balen dumped a small pile of wood inside a ring of stones he’d been gathering.
Once I was done, I removed the bridle from my horse’s mouth and set the animal free to eat whatever grass it could find just as Balen had instructed. Apparently, Sydhr mounts were trained to stay with the herd; the herd being us.
I made for the wood pile and dropped down in front of it to remove my shoes and rub my stiff ankles. “Do you think we’ve been followed? We might have been seen leaving.”
Balen crouched down on the other side of the pile, arms draped over his knees. “Nox would never expect me to run from a fight, from an attack on my people. If anyone did see us, we were of no consequence I’m sure.”
I grabbed my braid and shook it at him. “What if they saw this and know of the foretelling?”
“The foretelling is known only to my people.” He waved his hand over the wood and a small flame sprouted from the center.
Fascinated, I reached over the edge of the wood and caught his hand, turning it palm up. “How did you do that?” When I raised my head, it was to find him eye level with me, on his knees, one hand balancing himself on the ground. In my haste, I’d tugged him down, toward me.
It reminded me of that first time in the Great Hall. I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone dry. The silence was deafening. The small flame in the wood began to grow, but not enough yet to make me back away.
I cleared my throat, feeling the need to say something. “It doesn’t feel hot, your hand.”
“Fire will not burn me because it’s part of me. We exist together just as water exists in your people, the people of Anu.”
In my people, I thought, releasing Balen’s hand and sitting back down. Not, however, in me.
“Here.” He sat next to me and opened his hand. “I’ll show you.”
I didn’t want to face him again, so I concentrated on his hand. Strong and big like the rest of him. I noticed every callous and scar, all the lines on his palm. His other hand found mine and brought it to his open palm, making me hold his hand like I’d done when I reached across the fire. My first instinct was to pull away.
“Watch.” He directed my attention downward. “You simply call it forth, like calling forth a thought or action.”
It was so small, at first. But it grew until it danced as high as a candle flame.
“Brave enough to put your hand in the flame?” he challenged with a smile.
“Brave enough, aye, but smart enough not to injure myself to prove a point.”
That brought out a low chuckle. “The flame won’t injure you, Deira.”
My brow rose at that. He gestured toward the flame with a nod, urging me to see for myself. Tempted, I bit my lip, drew in a deep breath, and waved my hand over the flame. “It’s hot.”
“Of course it is.”
I did it again, closer, slower, testing the flame and waiting to feel the first sign of a burn. Odd. “It’s hot, but my skin doesn’t burn. How is that possible?”
He closed his hand into a fist, extinguishing the flame, and I let go. “I don’t know how it’s possible, only that it is. It’s driven by intention. And thank Sydhr for the ability to control it or many a child would’ve burned down everything around them.”
