C. E. Murphy - Wayfinder

The woman, stricken, shook her head. “Healing another is one of the great gifts. Like truthseeking. You’re mortal. ”

“So’s Ioan going to prove to be if a healer doesn’t get here fast.” Lara bent her head over Ioan’s, holding her breath so she could hear his. She was a literal world away from her deity, but she whispered a prayer anyway, trying to infuse it with strength and song to help the Unseelie king survive.

Aerin sat up, wrapped a hand around the dagger, and yanked it free with a sick shout. Her chin fell to her chest while she gulped for air. Then she looked up with a mixture of guilt and fury. “They attacked me !”

“Of course they attacked you!” Lara looked up with tears of anger suddenly hot on her cheeks. “You’re a Seelie warrior, charging full speed into the single protected land they have left! You’re lucky you’re not dead, but I swear if you were I wouldn’t shed a tear! Thank you,” she added in a snarl to the farmer woman. “For not killing her.”

“Thank her armor, not us,” the scythe woman said flatly. “It was no decision of our own to spare her life. I am Braith,” she added with the air of someone making a reminder, not an introduction. “What is a truthseeker doing here with our king?”

“I came to learn the truth about how the lands here were drowned. If I can, I’ll try to raise them again.” Lara placed a hand behind her, reminded of the staff strapped across her back. It had tremendous power, though whether it could be used to heal a badly injured man, she didn’t know. Dafydd had drawn strength from it, but that had been magical weariness, not physical damage, and even then it had wrought a cost in the landscape. “But it’s not going to matter unless a healer gets here soon. How long will it take for one to arrive?”

Silence greeted her, and she looked up to find three sets of Unseelie eyes hungry on her. Belatedly, it struck her that speaking the raw truth—that she would try to raise the Drowned Lands—might not have been the wisest thing she could have done.

For the first time in her life, meeting those desperate gazes, Lara thought no pressure , and heard amusement, not censure, in the untruth’s music.

“You should come to the village,” Braith said very softly. “The healer will wish to bring Hafgan there, and your presence and explanations will be desired. Almost none of us have met a mortal, and none at all have seen a truthseeker in years beyond counting. We would like to speak with you.”

From the undercurrents in Braith’s speech, Lara thought they would like to swallow her whole, as if she were a vessel of hope that could be drained to sustain them. And when she was emptied, the staff would be theirs for the taking, a more cynical part of her psyche added. She glanced at Ioan’s barely breathing form, then exhaled softly. “I would be honored.” That was true, and gave her a moment to think before shaking her head. “But we only have three days from this morning to complete our … quest. There’ll be time to visit when we’re done, though.”

“Are you mad?” Aerin’s voice broke on the question. “The quest is over. We cannot go on without him!”

“Something you should have thought of before riding roughshod into hostile territory,” Lara snapped. “We have to go on without him. Just because no Seelie goes into the healing waters doesn’t mean it’s impossible. And I’m not one of you at all. Different rules might apply.”

“But if they do not.” Braith’s gaze fastened on Lara. “If you do not, we may forever lose our chance to regain a homeland. The Unseelie people are already weary, Truthseeker. We can’t afford such a blow.”

“Then don’t tell them all what I’m doing, and we’ll do our best to survive. Aerin, can you ride?”

“The wound heals,” Aerin replied shortly. “I can. ”

Anger expanded in Lara’s chest. “Let me rephrase that. Will you ride, or will I leave you here with—Hafgan—and these Unseelie while I go ahead?”

Aerin bared her teeth, but climbed to her feet. “I will manage.”

“Then we’re going.” Lara spoke decisively, though uncertainty made a pit of discomfort in her stomach. She didn’t like abandoning Ioan, and liked the prospect of riding through Unseelie lands unescorted even less. But reluctant or not, she saw no other option. It would take days in her own world for a wound like Ioan’s to heal. Even if magic accelerated the process, there was no telling how quickly he might recover. The delay could be more than they could afford.

Resolved, she waved Braith over, changing places with her. “Hold him, keep the dirt out of the wound if you can. Keep pressure on it, and keep it higher so it doesn’t bleed as much. I don’t know if it’ll help, but it won’t hurt. And if you have any way to send messages, please warn everyone that we’re riding to the coast and shouldn’t be bothered. I don’t want another incident.”

The last was directed more at Aerin than Braith, but Aerin ignored her, remounting awkwardly and maintaining stony indifference as Lara fetched her own horse and climbed up. Not until they were well on the path again, leaving a protesting Braith behind, did Aerin bark, “What manner of people are these, who attack a lone traveler in farmlands, and then all but slaughter their own king? No wonder the sea rose to drown them. It must have been Rhiannon’s way of keeping down numbers, the way one might drown rats.”

“Aerin,” Lara said half under her breath, “this would be a good time to shut up.”

It was hardly possible the Seelie woman heard her, but Aerin gave her a sharp look and went quiet. Her point, though, was a good one, and Lara thought about it as they cantered over low hills with only the triple beat of their horses’ hooves as their sound track. Braith had seen two fair-haired warriors, she’d said. That might have reflected Ioan as he’d once been, but no more, and not for a long time. It wasn’t impossible that the four Unseelie fighters had seen Lara in the distance, but she’d been far enough behind to not constitute a threat, and Ioan had been in the midst of the fight.

Lara drew up suddenly, sick certainty lodging in her gut. “Merrick is here.”

“What?” Aerin’s face was white with pain as she brought her horse around. “No. These fields and mountains are within the Barrow-lands. Emyr would have scried him, if he was here.”

Lara pointed toward the still-distant sea. “Not if he was taking refuge in the water. He’s Unseelie, right? So they should embrace him, at least in theory. And probably block Emyr’s scrying while they were at it. No, I’m right, Aerin. I mean, could you ever mistake Ioan for fair-haired?”

Reluctance shifted Aerin’s features and she shook her head. Lara nodded sharply in turn. “Someone made them see him as a Seelie warrior, not Unseelie. It could have been a glamour he cast himself, but why would he do that? It’d be asking for trouble. But Merrick casts illusions, and that shovel might have removed one more obstacle between himself and ruling Annwn.”

“The Barrow-lands,” Aerin muttered.

“They both sound true as names. Furthermore.” Lara pounded a fist into her palm. “Furthermore, if without Ioan we really can’t get to the Drowned Lands, then Merrick’s down three rivals for the throne and all that’s left is Emyr.”

That, finally, drew Aerin’s concern. “We should go back.”

“No. We have to go on. Emyr’s got an army surrounding him right now, but Merrick’s Unseelie. He might be able to enter the Drowned Lands himself and murder Dafydd and Hafgan, who are defenseless, both. Besides,” Lara added hopefully, “maybe the waters will heal your shoulder instantly.”