C. E. Murphy - Wayfinder

He said, “I will,” with unexpected grace, leaving Lara feeling as though she’d participated in a ritual without realizing it. Beside her, Dafydd relaxed incrementally, and she resisted the impulse to see if Aerin had done the same.

A moment later, as Lara fell into step behind Hafgan, it was obvious the Seelie woman had not . She waited for both royals and Lara to pass and took up the rear, despite the destruction of her sword and armor. Her shoulders were high and tension-ridden, and the look she gave Lara was full of warning. Discomfited, Lara nodded without being certain of what she was agreeing to. Caution, at the very least, though there’d been no lie in Hafgan’s voice.

Moreover, the city’s black glow had faded when they exited the healing chambers. It was once again as Llyr had granted Lara the ability to see it: in ruins, but no longer buried in sand, no longer worn by tide and saltwater. Brilliant color ran through the garden’s coral-covered walls, and the ceaseless sound of wind and sea rushed through the crevasses, gentle and relaxing.

Creating, perhaps, a false sense of security. Even without Aerin’s obvious stress, Hafgan’s blunt words hung in Lara’s mind: There’s the reason we killed them all . Emyr, Aerin, and others who had spoken of it had said the truthseeking talent, always rare, had died out. Assassination was certainly a way of dying out, though not usually what was implied by the phrase. For a moment Lara felt like the last dodo, only with the cognitive capability of understanding what had happened to her brethren. It made her want to run, to draw a protective shell around herself, but there was nowhere to run, not in the heart of the drowned city. Not when she was, for all intents and purposes, entirely at Hafgan’s mercy. Llyr had come to her twice. She didn’t expect him a third time.

The thought lost its tunefulness, unexpected sour notes crawling in. Glad for a mental occupation beyond worrying about assassination, Lara chased the falsehood down, breaking the idea into component parts. Llyr had come to her twice: truth. She didn’t expect him a third time: wavering truth. She didn’t expect him to rescue her a third time: truth. Curious, she pushed the concepts forward, looking for the boundaries of her truth-knowing ability. She expected to see him again: true. When this was over? True , the music of it startling with its strength. She slowed, trying to refine it further. When she was successful? Indifferent song, not well-played, not passionate in either direction, true or false. When she failed? The same unopinionated music, unable to offer assurance either way.

A low worried laugh broke loose. At least she would survive what was coming, if she could expect to see Llyr when it was over.

The ill-made music came again, promising nothing.

Leaving the sea wrenched water from Lara’s lungs the same way entering it had. Aerin, too, collapsed to hands and knees, choking and spitting up saltwater, until they lay curled next to one another, trembling with exhaustion. Water dripped over Lara’s face when she moved, her clothes and hair laden with it, and Aerin had fared no better. Dafydd, though, was dry and comfortable as he crouched over them, hands spread wide in useless distress. Hafgan, as unscathed by the ocean as Dafydd, stalked up the beach, ignoring them in favor of looking over the sheltered cove.

The sun had long since set, judging from the beach’s coldness and the dark of the horizon. Stars and a crescent moon’s light glimmered overhead, just enough to cast faint shadows of dark on dark. Hafgan became a sculpted piece of night when he stopped at the beach’s edge, the wind barely enough to stir his hair.

He could hear them; could almost certainly hear them, but Lara fumbled for Dafydd anyway, weariness making her clumsy. “ ‘Why we killed them all’?”

He caught her hand, his grip strong and certain. Faint moonlight was far kinder to him than to Hafgan: he still looked vivacious, gold threads in his hair glinting silver under the night sky. “I don’t even know who ‘we’ are, Lara, much less if it’s—” He broke off, dismay creasing his eyes. “Much less if it’s true. But it is.” At her nod, his shoulders dropped. “I know nothing of it. Maybe it was an Unseelie vendetta, for the arbiters of justice allowing their lands to drown.”

“You believe that’s what happened?”

Dafydd shrugged. “All I know is the seas rose, Lara. A displaced people might find anyone to release their anger on.”

That was true enough in her own world, too. Lara released Dafydd’s hand, coiling up on herself again. Her chest ached, heavy with water, and a deep breath produced rattling coughs that took her breath. When she could move again, she sat on her heels and wheezed, “Can you work a scrying spell? We need to talk to your father.”

He turned his palms up, lightning dancing in them and casting sharp shadows against his face. “My element isn’t one for scrying with. I might call down a bolt from the clear night sky to distract him with, if I concentrated.”

Aerin chuckled, a low rough sound as she rolled onto her back. She coughed more delicately than Lara had, then pushed up on her elbows. Even with her hair a burned ruin and wearing nothing but the wet padded tunic and breeches that fit beneath her armor, in the moonlight she was beautiful. It liked her even better than it did Dafydd, her singed locks turning muted blue and her green eyes touched with yellow. “You would have to strike him with it to keep him from riding on the Unseelie, Dafydd, and then his guard would call it an attack, and ride in his name.”

“Your wisdom tempers my impulse, as always.” Dafydd dropped his head heavily between his shoulders, pale hair falling around his cheeks. “I suppose we ride hard for the battlegrounds, then.”

“It would be faster to find Ioan.” Lara twisted her hair over her shoulder, squeezing water out. Aerin and Dafydd both blinked at her, Aerin’s mouth slowly curving in a foolish smile.

“I suppose it would be. But now we’re four, and only one among us Unseelie.”

“But that one is their king. Not just the heir apparent playing the role to keep peace, but Hafgan himself. Will they know him?”

Dafydd raised a hand, begging patience with the gesture. “My brother is here?”

Lara exchanged looks with Aerin before speaking. “We had some trouble coming into the valley. Ioan was hurt and they took him to the village to be seen to by healers.”

“You had some trouble coming in,” Dafydd echoed. “Truthseeker, are you lying to me?”

“No!” Despite the vehemence of her protest, Lara dipped her head guiltily. “I’m not! But that … might be the edited version.”

“I didn’t know you could offer such a thing.” Dafydd’s smile was teasing.

Lara hunched her shoulders, grinning sheepishly at the sand. “I never used to. It’s just so much has happened.”

“Even the most honest among us might be tempted to edit,” Dafydd agreed.

Lara looked up again to find him still smiling, and to find Aerin’s gaze gone hard on her. Her impulse to return the banter retreated into discomfort. “What?”

“Does your shoulder no longer pain you?”

Lara clapped her hand against it, sodden padding releasing a wash of water down her chest from the impact. The flesh below, though, protested not at all. Astonished, Lara tugged at the wrappings, then thrust her arm out in a silent, childlike plea for help. Aerin leaned in to unwrap the bindings she’d put in place. Lara caught her breath with every pull, waiting for pain, but it never came. In moments, bare flesh was exposed, no hint of injury visible.

“The healing waters,” Aerin said slowly. “I would not have dreamed they would welcome me, much less a mortal, and yet …”