He laughed, not hiding the trickery and manipulation in his tone. His arrogance pushed me to anger. I focused on that mounting feeling, drawing it together, envisioning a blast of hot fire against Nox’s cold shadowy form. It might be in my mind, but it was a battle nonetheless.

A battle with only one outcome, for this was my territory, my mind.

I tapped into a pool of rage I didn’t know existed in me, and I used it. I let it flow and burst forth in an enormous shove of energy against the mental image I’d formed of Nox.

A white flash erupted behind my closed eyelids.

He was gone.

I leaned over, gasping for breath, amazed that I’d done it. But my victory was short-lived.

“No.” I dropped to my knees, stunned. “Oh, no.”

A small tree squirrel lay dead on the ground. Its body was still warm.

I’d called upon the power inside of me as Eburacon had instructed, but I must’ve drawn the life from this small animal as well.

My stomach turned and twisted. Bile rose in the back of my throat. I stumbled up and retched in the bushes.

A cold sweat pricked my forehead. I straightened, unsteady on my feet, swiped my sleeve over my mouth and then sucked the chilly air into my lungs.

In the soft soil beneath a nearby tree, I dug a small grave with my ink-stained hands, crying the entire time.

When I was finished, I placed the body inside and said a small prayer.

My heavy breath floated like fog in the cold air. My cheeks and nose were chilled, as were the tips of my ears. Mist billowed at my feet as I started down the well-worn path to the temple sanctuary.

How was I to fight Nox now?

I couldn’t resist him in my mind without hurting another. How would I resist him in the flesh?

Though I was stiff and weak, I forced myself to hurry. I ran until I came to Eburacon’s door within the main complex. I hoped he’d be there in the private chamber where we’d eaten, where he kept his books and ancient scrolls.

I knocked insistently. The door opened. He didn’t seem surprised to see me. In fact, he looked as if he was expecting me. “I’m sorry to bother you.” My words tumbled out. “I heard him again, and I tried to stop it, and I did, but I...”

It was then that I noticed the two others in the room.

Balen stood by the corner of the hearth.

The War Raven, Drem Cara, in Danaan form was seated by the fire. A broad smile stretched its lips, its yellow eyes glittering with interest. Its thin pale hands were folded in its lap, and it wore the same blue cloak as it had the first time I’d seen it in the Grasslands.

Eburacon closed the door and went to the table in the center of the room where he poured me a cup of water. It was the same table we’d dined at earlier, though now it held stacks of books and scrolls. I took the water, wondering how he knew I needed it, and drank the contents.

He held out a hand to an empty chair by the fire. “Please, sit. Warm yourself by the fire. Your face is dirty and red with cold, child. What happened to your hands?”

I looked down. In the light, they were much dirtier and ink-stained. “Nothing . . . I…” I stared at the three Danaans, all so different from each other. My mind floundered. They’d heard my words and now I’d have to find a way to explain them.

I set my satchel on a side table and walked woodenly to an empty chair by the fire—the chair farthest from the unnerving creature. Its eyes followed my movements. So did Balen’s, but I couldn’t bring myself to face him.

Eburacon joined me in the companion chair near mine, carefully arranging the folds of his green robe. I held my hands out to the flames and took my time warming myself; anything to put off explaining.

Balen pulled a chair away from the table and sat as well. He studied me hard before he asked the question I waited for. “Who do you speak of, Deira? And why were you at the Hall of Records?” His voice was calm and showed no hint of emotion.

“The Lord of Annwn speaks in her mind,” Eburacon answered for me.

I flinched at the truth and finally chanced a look at Balen. “How long?” he asked, his tone flat, his expression dark and deadly calm.

“Since we entered the forest. Since that first attack.” Quickly, I tried to explain. “I didn’t know how to tell you, or how you’d react. I should have said something…”

Drem laughed, the sound gleeful and, at the same time, cryptic. Then, it ceased suddenly and returned to its former expression. Balen shot it an annoyed glance.

I should’ve told him. I had waited too long.

“And what did the Lord of Annwn have to say on this cold night?” he asked rigidly.

“He claims to have the Lia Fail,” I answered. “He claims I will come to him for it.”

I didn’t share the rest, the more intimate details. Embarrassment colored my cheeks. I switched my attention to the fire, concentrating on the way the flames danced, and the pop and crack of splitting wood.

“She will go to him.” This from Drem, who seemed to take immense pleasure in saying so.

I ignored the creature. “Is it true? Does Nox have the Lia Fail?” No one spoke. I turned to Balen. “But it’s in the land of my father. That’s what you said.”

“Aye. The Light is there. And Nox travels freely between worlds.”

“But who rules the Deadlands if he’s gone? Who rules the House of Annwn?”

Eburacon leaned forward. “The question you should ask is who would want to rule the Deadlands.”

“Nox could have moved the House of Annwn to Éire,” Balen said.

“Bah. All this talk. Destroy the gate,” Drem said so petulantly that it was clear this was an old argument. “Leave him to rot in the land of man, and then I will pick the flesh from his bones when he dies.”

Balen ignored the comment. “Why were you in the Hall of Records?”

The letter I’d written seemed silly now. “I was reading my father’s books.” My face heated with the lie. “I seem to concentrate better in the Hall...” A miserable sigh welled inside me.

“It would seem Conlainn prepared you well for this journey,” Eburacon said.

“You think my father knew I’d journey to Éire one day?” I asked, surprised.

The priest chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, I don’t believe your father knew, Deira. But sometimes we are compelled to do things for reasons unknown to us at the time. Sometimes we are guided with a gentle nudge or thought, never understanding or aware that we are being led.”

I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, asking the question that had always haunted me. “How much time passes there? Would he still be alive?”

The priest’s brow rose with gentle concern. “Men do not live long like we do, but there is a small chance, for the glow of our immortality would’ve clung to him for some time after he left our land.”

“Unless he tripped on his sword,” Drem spoke up; its eyes alight with the possibilities. “He could have fallen off his horse,” it began listing, “or met with foul deeds, or been attacked by hounds, or even drowned in—”

“Enough!” Balen’s deep voice rang with warning.

Drem froze, its mouth still open. Hostile glares shot between the two. Sparks flared in Balen’s eyes. Drem’s mouth gradually closed. Its face became expressionless, but its eyes held hurt. It tipped its chin high and then turned to stare at the wall beyond Balen’s shoulder.

I glanced at Eburacon, releasing my breath, so sure that violence would erupt. He seemed unaffected by the outburst as though he understood the odd relationship existing between the Fire Breather and the War Raven.

Eburacon rose, causing Balen to rise out of respect and me as well. Drem remained in its seat, sulking. “We have much to prepare for,” he said. “Rest will do you all good.”

Seeing my escape, I snatched my satchel from the table and managed a fumbled goodnight before hurrying from the room.

I didn’t look back as I rushed down the hall to my bedchamber. Once inside, I locked the door and leaned against it with an enormous sigh of relief. Lifting my eyes to the tall ceiling, I said a quick prayer to Anu and Dagda to help get me through this.

After unpinning my hair and removing my clothes, I washed my face and hands, scrubbing as hard as I could. At the mirror, I studied my reflection and thought of the tiny life I’d taken tonight. Never again. I’d never do that again.

I slid underneath the green coverlet naked—there was no night gown to be had—finding a small measure of comfort in the cool, clean bed linens and the soft pillow that cushioned my head.

Eburacon was right. The rest would do me well. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

CHAPTER 14

Tomorrow in Innis Fail never came.

At least not for me.

Sometime during the night, I woke from my sleep and rolled onto my back. No dream or noise had caused my eyes to open, but I was wide awake and possessed with the urge to get up.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the vague shape of the ceiling’s timber beams came into view. Under the coverlet, it was warm—the last thing I should’ve wanted was to leave. But the urge wouldn’t go away; neither would the feeling that something was wrong.

I slid from beneath the coverlet, hugging myself for warmth, and padded barefoot to the tall, paned window. The chill in the room was far greater than I’d expected; the floor frigid under my feet. I pushed the curtain aside and peeked out, my breath fogging the windowpane.

I rubbed it away. Outside, the grove appeared dark and quiet. The large shapes of trees and buildings cast elongated shadows in the moonlight. I saw nothing out of the ordinary and was about to turn away when movement caught my eye.

But there was nothing.

The sound of a closing door and muffled voices echoed from far off down the hallway. My door was thrown open and light poured inside.

“Deira! Get up!”

I shielded my eyes from the light and gasped, instantly trying to cover myself.

Balen’s eyes widened. His mouth hung open on words he’d been meaning to speak. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I noticed he wore his battle gear, and a hand rested on the hilt of the short sword at his waist.