She woke beside her mother’s grave, shaking from the horrors she’d seen. Her heart was as heavy as the stones used to make her mother’s cairn.
“I couldn’t save you. How can I save anyone? How can I stop this thing from coming here?”
To leave all she’d ever known, all she’d ever loved. Easy for gods to speak of destiny, she thought as she forced herself to her feet. She looked over the graves to the quiet green hills, the blue ribbon of the river. The sun was high and bright, sparkling over her world. She heard the song of a lark, and the distant lowing of cattle.
The gods had smiled on this land for hundreds of years. Now there was a price to be paid, of war and death and blood. And her duty to pay it.
“I’ll miss you, every day,” she said aloud, then looked over to her father’s grave. “But now you’re together. I’ll do what needs to be done, to protect Geall. Because I’m all that’s left of you. I swear it here, on this holy ground before those who made me. I’ll go to strangers in a strange world, and give my life if my life is asked. It’s all I can give you now.”
She picked up the flowers she’d brought with her, and laid some on each grave. “Help me do this thing,” she pleaded, then walked away.
He was waiting for her on the stone wall. He had his own grief, she knew, but had given her the time she’d needed alone. He was the one she trusted most. The son of her mother’s brother—the uncle she’d seen cut down in the vision.
He jumped lightly to his feet when she approached, and simply held open his arms. Going into them, she rested her head on his chest. “Larkin.”
“We’ll hunt them. We’ll find them and kill them. Whatever they are.”
“I know what they are, and we will find them, kill them. But not here. Not now.” She drew back. “Morrigan came to me, and told me what must be done.”
“Morrigan?”
At the suspicion on his face she was able to smile a little. “I’ll never understand how someone with your skills doubts the gods.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. “But will you trust me?”
He framed her face, kissed her forehead. “You know I will.”
As she told him what she’d been told, his face changed again. He sat on the ground, shoving a hand through his mane of tawny hair. She’d envied his hair as long as she’d lived, mourning the fact that she’d been given ordinary brown. His eyes were tawny as well, gilded she’d always thought, while hers were gray as rain.
He’d been gifted with more height, as well as other things she envied.
When she was finished, she drew a long breath. “Will you go with me?”
“I’d hardly let you go alone.” His hand closed over hers, firm and steady. “Moira, how can you be sure this vision wasn’t simply your heartbreak?”
“I know. I can only tell you that I know what I saw was real. But if it’s nothing more than grief, we’ll only have wasted the time it takes to go to the Dance. Larkin, I need to try.”
“Then we’ll try.”
“We tell no one.”
“Moira—”
“Listen to me.” Urgently, she gripped his wrists. “Your father would do his best to stop us. Or to come with us if he believed me. This isn’t the way, it isn’t my charge. One, the goddess told me. I was to take only one, the one I trusted most. It can only be you. We’ll write it down for him. While we’re gone, he’ll rule Geall, and protect it.”
“You’ll take the sword—” Larkin began.
“No. The sword isn’t to leave here. That was a sacred oath, and I won’t be the one to break it. The sword remains until I return. I don’t take my place until I lift it, I don’t lift it until I’ve earned my place. There are other swords. Arm yourself, she said, so see that you do. Meet me in an hour. Tell no one.”
She squeezed his hands now. “Swear to me on the blood we share. On the loss we share.”
How could he deny her when tears were still on her cheeks? “I swear it to you. I’ll tell no one.” He gave her arms a quick rub in comfort. “We’ll be back by supper, I wager, in any case.”
She hurried home, across the field and up the hill to the castle where her blood had reigned over the land since it was created. Those she passed bowed their heads to her to show their sympathy, and she saw tears glimmer.
And she knew when they dried, many would look to her for guidance, for answers. Many would wonder how she would rule.
So did she.
She crossed the great hall. There was no laughter here now, no music. Gathering the burdensome skirts of her gown, she climbed the steps to her chamber.