Estrid is disarmingly cheerful, smirking as she watches the way Senach and I dance around each other. No, I should be honest with myself if I can’t be honest with him—Estrid grows amused watching me dance around Senach. I don’t know what to say to him after he saw me kissing Aurora, and I don’t know how to ask if he abandoned me at Westhollow’s party after. I don’t know how to ask if he hates me for running from his side after we had sex. I don’t know how to ask how he doesn’t hate me after I ran from him. He looks at me with so much patience, hiding everything else from me. He helps me pack and scramble up onto Aedín’s back when we leave, then helps me off when we camp at night.
It’s almost two days of traveling like that before I ruin it. “I’m not some damsel,” I snap at him when he tries to help me off Aedín’s back. He raises his eyebrows, stepping back. I stumble when I hit the ground, falling against Aedín’s wing, and I refuse to look at him as I storm off.
“Thank you,” Estrid says behind me.
“It’s my pleasure,” Senach replies.
I roll my eyes and drop my pack onto the ground. Aedín’s landed in a clearing in a forest, and she lays on her side immediately, basking in what late afternoon sunlight reaches her. Estrid joins me in searching for sticks to build a fire, sidling up to my side when we’ve left Senach behind.
“So, what happened?” she asks.
“Why do you think something happened?” I ask in return.
She snorts. So does Brighthollow’s spirit. “Are you saying you don’t like it when he treats you like a breakable princess?” she asks.
“You adore it,” Brighthollow says.
“He doesn’t treat me like a breakable princess,” I say irritably, though I’m not sure who the irritation is for—Estrid, Brighthollow, or myself.
“Did you have sex?” she asks.
Her bluntness makes me drop every stick I’ve collected. Brighthollow cackles. “What?”
She shrugs, not looking at me as she continues collecting. “In the past two days, you haven’t stared at each other like you used to.”
“What?”
“And you were always touching each other. Adorable how you couldn’t go a single minute without touching him.”
“What?” I repeat, snatching up the sticks I dropped.
She turns to me, head cocked to the side. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” I snap, marching away from her and back to the meager camp Senach’s set up. He sits next to a small fire pit, trying to coax a fire into existence. I throw my sticks down next to him, ignoring the way he sits up and raises his eyebrows at me. “Everything is fine,” I say to Estrid as I spread my bedroll out.
“Oh, that’s very clear,” she says dryly, laying her collection down next to Senach. Then she’s silent for long enough that I think the topic might be dropped, but— “My room is next to Senach’s, and the walls are thin.”
My face heats with a blush. “What—whatever you think you heard—it didn’t—”
Senach feeds kindling into his fire. “Let’s just focus on finding Westhollow’s book,” he says, ignoring my stammering.
Estrid sighs, looking between us and shaking her head, but she doesn’t try pushing us. We don’t talk again about something happening between me and Senach that night, nor does she try again the next night. I sleep across the fire from Senach during the nights—and I don’t really sleep, staring at the stars above us until the night is almost gone. Senach sleeps against Aedín’s side, sword next to him should Aedín alert him to anyone or anything approaching us, and there are stretches of time when I roll onto my side to stare at him instead of the stars.
It’s a week of traveling like that.
Westhollow’s map is a thorough one, but there’s no manor against a mountain where he said one should be. Only trees and overgrown weeds, stones half swallowed by nature. Aedín circles the area twice before choosing a relatively flat location to land, snorting as we slide off her back. Brighthollow’s spirit appears again as Estrid takes out the map, and he stands next to her as she examines it. I ignore him, crossing my arms and looking around us as Senach joins her.
The trees form a thick forest some distance away from us, the ending of it so abrupt that Westhollow’s map must not be too inaccurate. I see the same thought in Senach’s expression as he looks between the trees and the map, and turn my attention to what else surrounds us. Grass, weeds, flowers, lichen on stones. No trees decorate the land where we stand and I walk over to a lichen-covered stone to sit on it and wait.
“They came here for you,” Brighthollow says as he joins me.
I close my eyes. I almost wish I was alone to argue with him.
Brighthollow doesn’t need me to argue with him, though. “Tell me,” he says, soft and sweet. “What will you do when this fails? When the Book of Stars does nothing for you? Will you tell them about me? Or will you keep me secret and let them all think you’ve gone mad? What will you do when they abandon you after that?”
I open my eyes, staring up at him. He smiles. His face is pale, bloodless; his eyes are lifeless, but he can see me as well as he could when he was alive. I meet his dead gaze steadily, then shake my head and look back at Senach and Estrid.
“What will you do when they die because of you?” Brighthollow whispers in my ear.
Senach looks up, seeking me out. I shove myself to my feet, repressing a shudder as Brighthollow’s hand moves through my shoulder. “Have you figured out where we’re supposed to go yet?” I ask.
Senach gestures to the area around us. “Here.”
“Then Westhollow’s wrong,” I say. “There’s nothing here.”
“You want to tell Westhollow that, or shall I?”
I shrug as I walk towards him. “I’ll tell him. And I’ll make him tell us everything he knows about death curses.”
Estrid frowns as she examines the map, glancing at the forest. “You sound like you think he’s hiding something.”
“He’s Fair Folk,” I reply. “They’re always hiding something.”
“Then Blackthorn and Onóra are hiding something from you too,” Brighthollow says behind me.
I spin around before I can stop myself. “Leave,” I hiss in a low voice.
“What?” Estrid asks.
Brighthollow grins at me, a malicious quirk to it. I stare at the sky, then close my eyes and take a deep breath before I turn around. “Nothing,” I say, kicking at the ground. “Muttering to myself about how there’s nothing here and Westhollow is sending on us on a silly little chase.”
Senach frowns, glancing at the ground. “He can’t lie, remember?”
“Not directly.”
He walks forward, looking at the ground again. “Estrid, what did Westhollow tell you about the manor?”
“It’s old,” she answers, rolling the map up. “I think we should look around. Whether he was hiding something or not, there’s something here.”
I throw my arms out as I look around. “An old manor? When was the last time he visited?”
“Bridei,” Senach says softly.
I frown at him, but his voice is soft enough that Estrid doesn’t hear him. “I don’t think he’s ever been here,” she says as she examines a tall, lichen-covered stone. “Everything he knew was collected from letters and journals.”
“Oh, so he’s like Taran and his endless stories,” I say, looking at her again. She snorts. “Could be this, could be that, could be nothing.”
“Bridei,” Senach repeats, approaching me slowly, glancing between me and the ground.
“What?” I ask him with another frown.
“Have you been sleeping well?” he asks. So conversationally, at odds with the careful way he walks.
I stare at him. “What?”
“You’d have picked a fight with the knights by now if we were still on Dál Macha,” he says.
“Is that what he does?” Estrid asks with a grin tossed our way. “Pick fights when he’s not feeling his cheery self?”
“Sometimes,” Senach says, pausing as he studies the ground. “He pushed a knight from a tower top once.”
“Him,” I say loudly, before he can say more. “I pushed him from a tower top, and I pushed him because Aedín was below us and ready to catch him.”
“Sure, you knew she was there, but what did he say for you to push him?” Estrid asks as she walks around that tall stone.
I stare at Senach, trying to remember that day, but nothing comes. He glances up, smiling softly. “I think his troop of knights were getting into a petty argument,” I say eventually. “Pushing Senach off made them all shut up.”
Brighthollow snorts. “Yes, thinking someone might have died would do that.”
I frown, not wanting to turn around. Senach frowns back at me, head cocking to the side as he looks me over. I shake my head and turn away from him, waving a hand at him to move on as I walk across the clearing. The mountain is large enough to house a dragon’s warren, looking old enough that I recall the lectures from my youth about Dál Macha’s own mountains. I spent a summer with the dragon knights and priests climbing our mountains, exploring abandoned dragon tunnels. The group Senach and I had been in had to be rescued from a landslide by the dragons, and then our teachers had spent days teaching us about them.
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I recognize the settling of rocks now. The sparse uprooted trees, the smoothed ground instead of various shrubs and other plants.
“Did you get the idea to push him from your own desires to jump?” Brighthollow asks, stepping in front of me.
I ignore him, stepping back to look over his head at the mountain. Something cracks under my foot and I take another step back, my gaze still on the mountain as I trace the landslide’s path from beginning to end.
“Bridei.”
I freeze, Senach’s harsh tone making my breath catch. “Under us,” I whisper.
“I know,” he replies. “I heard it. Come to me. Slowly. Do you remember when the lake froze when we were younger?”
The lake froze a lot in the winter and young dragons—whether wild or from the knights’ brood—loved to fling themselves across the ice and slide, and pages and squires could always be found by the lake to watch over them. I joined them as often as I could, but there’s only one time when the lake froze that Senach would talk about at a time like this. A baby had slid onto thin ice and all of us—dragon knights to young dragons—were trying to get close enough to rescue it. The ice I’d stepped onto ended up as thin as the dragon’s and of course Senach had followed me. I glance over my shoulder at him now, seeing that same worried but determined expression on his face.
“Aedín wasn’t on the ice with us then,” I tell him.
He’d slipped into his bond to guide her into rescuing us, and she’d been able to save all three of us before the ice gave under our feet. The young dragons had whined for days at the edge of the lake as they waited for the ice to grow thick enough once more, and that baby had no less than three young dragons following it at any given time after that day.
Senach glances at where she watches us, but I can’t bring myself to turn around and see how far away she lays. “I know,” he says. “Might still work.”
“Estrid?” I call out. “It’s under us.”
“I know,” she replies. “I’ve been staring at a chimney.”
“This much growth . . .” I glance at the ground around me, all the green. “How long has it been buried?”
“Too long,” Senach says. “You need to come here.”
I can’t. I need to. I need to turn around and step towards him. He wasn’t all that far from me when I’d turned away from him. Instead, I stare at Brighthollow. The spirit looks so delighted, dead eyes almost alive again at the promise of harm to me.
“How far down do you think it goes?” Brighthollow asks. “Are you so lucky that you’ll land on the first floor? Maybe we’re on the ceiling and the floors below will collapse from rot as you hit them. Maybe there are no floors bellow us, just a grand hall.” I can imagine it all too easily and I close my eyes. Brighthollow laughs as he continues. “How long will you fall before something breaks? Until you can’t feel any pain anymore? Until you die?”
I reach for Senach blindly, taking a slow step in his direction. Not today. Not now. Death can come for me another time. I want to feel the arms of my dragon knight around me. Opening my eyes, I turn to him as the ground holds under my feet and I risk another step. Senach’s eyes are focused on me, pupils thin. I could jump to him easily enough.
“Are you ready for Death, Bridei? Is the Last Prince of the Uí Ímair ready to die?” Brighthollow asks.
I hesitate, then step towards Senach.
The ground gives way beneath me.
Senach curses and lunges forward, and I try to jump to him, but it’s all too late. I fall amongst dirt and rocks and glass, landing with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. The floor doesn’t collapse beneath me and I shield my face as debris tumbles down around me. When everything settles, I lay on my back and wheeze as I try to assess damage—I’m able to roll onto my side without difficulty, then get onto my knees. I’m able to breathe normally after another moment, and I don’t feel like anything’s been broken as I stagger to my feet. The world tilts for a moment and then rights itself, and I hold my arms out until I’m sure of my ability to stay upright. I look up.
Senach is held above the hole I fell through by Aedín, his armor and tunic carefully pinned between her teeth. He stares at me as she moves backwards slowly, allowing him to step back onto firmer ground. I close my eyes, waiting for the crash of more caving in, but nothing comes and I open my eyes again to look around the room I’ve found myself in. A solarium once upon a time, and the likely source of the green that greeted us above. Half the room is caved in from the original landslide, small rocks disturbed from my fall and tumbling down to scatter at my feet. Three doors are set into the walls, one of them half blocked by fallen rubble.
More rocks and glass fall as the end of a rope lands next to me. “Am I coming up or are you coming down?” I ask as I look up again.
There’s not long before Senach is carefully lowering himself over the edge. “We’re coming down.”
I step back. “I’m surprised Aedín’s weight didn’t collapse everything.”
“She probably landed on rocks,” he says as he drops the last few feet to land next to me. He immediately pulls me close, hands roaming over my body as he looks for injuries. He holds my face when he finishes. That same damn reverent touch. I stare at him, swallowing thickly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I murmur.
“And what a shame that is,” Brighthollow says.
I glance at him over Senach’s shoulder, then return my gaze to Senach. Senach’s eyes narrow, head almost turning, but he keeps staring at me. I shake my head the smallest amount. His expression softens as he closes the distance between us—my heart flips and stutters, but he only rests his brow against mine.
“Hello,” I whisper inanely.
He smiles. “Hello,” he replies.
Estrid clears her throat loudly.
Senach doesn’t move away immediately. I struggle to breathe until he does, his arms dropping to his sides as he looks around the room, and then I struggle to breathe again with the loss of him. Brighthollow smirks, stepping closer. I turn away from the spirit and find myself looking up into Estrid’s face. She raises her eyebrows at me and I scowl as I step around her. The three of us pick our way around the buried solarium carefully, and Senach moves to the center of the room, pointing at the doors until he’s facing the caved in side of the room.
“West,” he says. He points to the three doors in turn. “North, East, South.” Again, back to the rubble. “West.”
“Another door?” I ask. He nods. “Wonderful. How much of the manor do you think is behind all of that?”
Estrid pulls the map out again, bringing it over to the light falling in through the hole. I stay where I am in the shadows as Senach approaches her. Their attention elsewhere gives me freedom to look to my side where Brighthollow stands close, his head tilted to the side as he looks me over. Even in death he’s a handsome bastard, but he has a cruelty in the lines of his face that I’ve only ever seen in children of nobility. His eyes are still lifeless, still unerring in how they find me and look through me. The way he studies me now makes my skin crawl, and I step back when he steps forward. He grins and continues to advance on me.
I make my way to one of the unobstructed doors and attempt to open it. It creaks open after some effort, but whatever lay beyond it is now covered in rocks and dirt. Brighthollow laughs behind me. I flinch and walk away, ignoring the way Senach lifts his head to watch me. I pause, looking between the other unobstructed door and the one blocked by debris. Brighthollow walks past me, towards the unobstructed door, and smiles. I give him a sideways look, then turn away and approach the blocked door. At least moving rocks means I won’t have to look at him.
For a time, I’m left alone. Brighthollow starts mocking me first, then Senach approaches and stands there with his hands on his hips. I ignore Brighthollow and smile at Senach, brushing dirt off my hands. “Do you have some plan?”
“These two doors led outside,” he said, pointing to the door behind me and the one presumably buried. I sigh and kick a rock before stepping away from the door. Estrid already stands at the other one and Brighthollow’s quick to join her, watching as she begins tugging on the door. I start to walk across the room, but Senach stops me with a hand on my chest. “If I ask if you’re all right, are you going to lie?” he asks softly.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. He stares at me, looking like he can’t decide whether to believe me or not. I glance past him, at Estrid and Brighthollow, then step closer to keep our words private. “You were right, thinking I haven’t been sleeping well. That’s all.”
He hesitates, then touches my hand. “You used to come to me when that happened.”
I look down at our hands. “Would be I welcome if I did that again?”
“You would,” he answers. He places his fingers under my chin and tilts my head up until I’m looking at him again. “You’ll always be welcome with me.”
“I don’t think that’s a wise promise to make,” I say, staring at his mouth. I could kiss him. I could kiss him and we could forget that I ran from him. His hand moves to cup my cheek, thumb gliding over my skin. I close my eyes and lean into his touch.
The door opens with a groan and Estrid laughs triumphantly. I open my eyes. Senach and I stare at each other, our peace interrupted and broken. I look down and step away from him, jumping when a clump of earth and glass drops to the ground. More falls, the hole I fell through widening, and a loud crack sounds in the buried room. I spin around, staring at Senach with wide eyes.
“Here,” Estrid says. “The hallway is still intact.”
“Or we’ll just bury ourselves,” I say. Senach scowls at me and gestures for me to go. I shrug at him, then look at the glass walls as they crack around us and the earth groans.
It starts at the hole in the ceiling, more of it collapsing. Senach shoves me forward and we run as it continues, Estrid already running down the hallway ahead of us. I let Senach slip in front of me, trusting his senses better than mine in the darkness of the buried manor. We end up running into a large, open chamber where Estrid summons a globe of water that begins to glow and illuminate the room around us. It looks like a grand foyer, the ceiling high above us. A few pebbles fall and clatter around us, but the room stays steady and no other danger comes.
“Now what?” I ask.
“You die buried under a mountain,” Brighthollow says. “I find my peace.”
It’s hard not to glare at him. I focus my attention on Senach instead, falling against his side dramatically. He adjusts the way he stands to support my sudden weight. “Tell me you have a plan,” I say.
He shrugs as he looks around. “Aedín says everything where we landed collapsed. She could try digging us out, but there’s no telling how long that’d take. Faster to find another exit.”
I rest my hands on his shoulder, placing my chin atop them as I look at the edges of our light. “Maybe we’ll find Westhollow’s book.”
“Oh, so you do want it?” he asks, hand falling to my waist.
I shrug. “Might as well try to find it. What say you, Estrid?”
She holds her hand up, lifting her glowing water higher as she looks around. “Downstairs or upstairs?”
I poke Senach’s cheek. “Downstairs or upstairs?”
He bites at my finger. “Upstairs. Aedín might be able to find an exit for us.”
“Upstairs we go,” I say. He nods, that hand on my waist gently pushing me towards the stairs.
Estrid takes the lead with her glowing ball of water, frowning once when I try to poke it. Senach falls in behind me, snorting as she holds the water out of my reach. The stairs are still surprisingly solid under our feet, the bannister giving way in some places and edges of stairs missing, but nothing happens as we make our way to the second floor. Estrid and Senach discuss between themselves which direction we walk in, but I lean against the bannister to look at the floor below us—only to have Senach grab my arm and pull me back just as the bannister creaks, cracks apart, loudly falls. He never stops his conversation with Estrid, just pulls me back against his chest before pushing me in the direction they’ve chosen. I smile at him, lightly flicking the scale earring he wears.
“Do you rescue him like that often?” Estrid asks as she walks ahead of us.
“Often enough. He doesn’t listen,” he says teasingly, grabbing my hand before I can flick his ear.
“Oh, I’m sorry I don’t have a dragon’s hearing and so can’t hear what happens before something collapses,” I say, tugging my hand free. “Estrid, your water is glowing.”
“It’s good to know you can be observant,” she replies dryly, but she has a smile for me when I walk alongside her.
“Where did you learn that?”
“My temple. We were dedicated to a sea god.”
“Tell me about your god.”
She bounces the light, placing it in her other god. “He controls the seas and storms, and many worshipped him in the city I grew up in.”
“Port city?” Senach asks.
She nods. “In the north. Vargholm. I was given to my god young.”
“Did you ever see your family after?” I ask.
“No,” she answers. “I was my god’s and no one else’s.”
I grimace and look away, remembering similar words said to me once a long time ago. Senach steps up to my side, hand brushing against mine. I try to smile at him. The cult had told me I belonged to a god, some sign they’d been waiting for.
“What was Vargholm like?” Senach asks.
“I miss it, but it costs too much to visit,” Estrid says.
“Money or something else?”
She smiles, but she doesn’t look at him. Just stares straight ahead as we walk down a hallway. “Money,” she says. “Outsiders don’t like sailing those reefs, and Vargholmares don’t come this way often. Mór said she’d visit with me. She won’t live there, but she’ll visit.”
He asks her another question, but I don’t hear it as I stop and stare at a closed door. The glow of Estrid’s water fades as she and Senach keep walking, but it stays long enough I can see the symbol on the door clearly: a dragon twisting around a sword and breathing fire, the red paint still bright against the dark wood.
The cult was here. This was one of their homes.