As they settled in for the night inside a cluster of large rocks, Nollaig curled over a few gathered vines, failing to spark a fire. Reyna sat next to him, the side of her body pressed tight against his. The warmth of her soothed his worry away. Wingallock had taken off to hunt for food, but Lorcan had a feeling Reyna had sent the owl away to keep him from harm.
“How are we going to lure them out of hiding if we can’t start a fire?” she asked. “They won’t know where we are.”
“Oh, they know where we are,” Nollaig called out over her shoulder. “I’ve kept my eyes on them all day. They’ve grown emboldened as our pace has slowed. They are not far behind us now.”
Lorcan frowned. He was not thrilled by the plan to trap their stalkers. There was another trap he’d once set, and he’d regretted it the rest of his life. But that trap had been different, he had to remind himself. The trap for Thane had been a lie, a way for Lorcan to slither his way inside the Air Court. He’d pretended to save him from a crew of brigands, and Thane had been so thankful that he’d invited Lorcan to become his personal guard.
All because Bolg Rothach had forced Lorcan to become a spy. Anger toward his father rose up inside him like a storm, and even now, he braced himself for the inevitable pain. He’d grown so accustomed to it. The torment had become a part of him. But his arm was silent and still now, and his thoughts were merely his own.
He could think what he liked, and there would be no punishment for it.
Nollaig sighed and sat back on her heels. “We will not have a fire this night. The winds are too harsh on this mountain pass. No matter. They know we’re here.”
The fire had been meant to not only signal their location but to show the hunters that they were sleeping soundly without a single soul on watch for the night. But no matter. They all settled in on the harsh and unyielding rocks, squeezing the ends of the thin blankets beneath them to keep them from getting snatched away by the wind. Lorcan lay quietly on his sheathed sword. It dug into his skin. He was sorely glad they did not plan to sleep.
To his right, he could hear Reyna’s steady breathing. He ached to turn and face her, to reach out and pull her close. Since their moments beneath the stars, they’d spent each night wrapped up in each other’s arms. Nollaig was always on watch when they stole away for solitude, and while he could not see her face, he could hear the knowing smile behind the hood. Lorcan didn’t care. He’d never felt so alive in his life.
Tonight, no one sat on watch, and there would be no stolen moment in the darkness. Tonight, they waited to spill blood.
As the moments stretched into hours, the exhaustion of the day began to creep into his eyes. Try as he might, he could not keep them open, and soon sleep was tugging him into a peaceful darkness.
The rushing of footsteps suddenly woke him. He threw back his blanket and was on his feet within an instant, sword unsheathed. He came face to face with a tall, muscular male with deep-set crimson eyes and hair the color of steel. He wore grey scale armor and carried a shadowsteel blade. His wooden shield was brazened with the sigil of the Shadow Court, the twisting antlers of a beast.
Frowning, Lorcan leapt back as the fae sliced his sword at his throat. Lorcan growled and rushed forward, slamming his shoulder into the attacker’s gut. The fae grunted and risked another blow at Lorcan’s head, but he blocked the blade with his own before steel met flesh.
Lorcan stepped back, sizing up the shadow fae once again. He had a familiar face. He’d seen him around the barracks. Unease slithered through his gut. This was one of his own damn warriors.
“Stand down,” Lorcan barked. “I’m your prince, and this is a command.”
“I don’t serve the prince,” the fae spat back. “I serve the High King of our realm.”
So it was as he had feared. This fae was here by the order of the High King, and he was here to kill.
The distant clang of steel caught his attention, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Reyna in deep combat with another. He fought the urge to run to her, to turn and join her side. But he would only end up with a sword in his back. And Reyna Darragh was strong.
“This is folly,” Lorcan said, turning his attention back onto his opponent. “My father has gone mad, and he doesn’t understand what he’s asked you to do. I am his son. He doesn’t wish to see me dead.”
Lies, of course. Lorcan knew his father had little love for him, if any at all. He was surprised it had taken him so long to order the assassination. When Bolg had named him heir, he’d hoped for a pawn, an eager servant. Instead, he’d gotten Lorcan, who had fought him at every turn. Lorcan had always done his father’s bidding in the end—he’d been forced to—but he had not made life easy for the king.
“Unfortunately for you, it does not matter if he’s the sanest fae in the realm or not,” the fae replied. “My king gave me a command.”
Frustration charged through Lorcan. “I’m giving you a way out of this. Leave now and find a place inside this realm where potatoes grow. I don’t want to kill you.”
“It is a good thing you won’t have to,” the fae countered with a sneer, “because I will be the one doing the killing this night.”
Lorcan leapt into action, swinging his blade toward the shadow fae’s head. But the warrior ducked back, dodging the sword easily. Lorcan rounded on him, testing his skills. A parry to the left got a block, and one to the right got another duck and then a rush forward.
Gritting his teeth, Lorcan made the charge. He threw a quick block to the right, and then followed it with a rushing blow straight down from above, his blade slicing through the shadow fae’s head. It cleaved it clean in two, blood and gore splashing onto the black rock that surrounded them.
Lorcan yanked his blade out of the dead warrior’s head and whirled toward the fight. Another attacker’s body lay at Reyna’s feet, handily dealt with by a slash across the throat. He found Nollaig guarding Tarrah in the corner. But that was it.
“Just two?” he asked.
“It seems your father thinks we’re easy to kill,” Nollaig said dryly.
Lorcan frowned and scanned the mountain pass around them. “And you’re certain no more warriors are lurking in wait?”
“I’ve looked. This is the extent of it. If he has more coming, they are too far behind us to catch up now.”
“Well, that’s offensive,” Reyna muttered, wiping the blood from her sword against her downed opponent’s gloved hand.
Nollaig chuckled.
“You sound like you wish he’d sent more of them,” Tarrah whispered, her cheeks drained of all color.
“Reyna enjoys stabbing things,” Lorcan said, turning back toward the fallen warriors. “This paints a terrible portrait indeed. My father wants us all dead.”
“Could they have been lying?” Reyna asked.
“I don’t think so. He never intended for us to make it to Inishfall.” Lorcan’s hands fisted as anger roiled through him. “He sent us to our deaths.”
“Either he’s so mad he doesn’t know his own name…or his trust in me has finally failed,” Nollaig said quietly.
“It is a combination of the two,” Tarrah replied. “He truly has gone mad. I am certain of it. A darkness has twisted his mind. But…lately, you’ve done little to hide your scorn for him, Nollaig. He may be mad, but he’s clever, too. He will not have missed it.”