Call of the Huntress: Corthan Legacy, #2

By Stacy Bennett

A soul half-healed, a huntress caged, a soldier reborn. Three lives scarred by battle, scattered by death, and shadowed by spirits. But Fate's call will not be denied.

Captain Khoury has more lives than a cat. But when he wakes in Seal Bay to find Cara and Falin gone, his promises to them haunt him as surely as Sidonius's hands around his throat. Regardless of the vengeful spirit's threats, he knows where his destiny lies.

Cara's soul is not fully healed and her magic is damaged, leaving her even more vulnerable than before. Although finally free of Sidonius, she discovers that sharing a mind is like being a prisoner all over again and someone else holds the key.

Falin knew a sacrifice was needed, knew it should be her. But instead of dying, she finds herself trapped in a life she no longer owns. Her rebellious will cannot surrender and she pins all her hopes on a ghostly ancestor's shady deal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stacy Bennett
• Release date: May 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9798223866176

Stacy Bennett

Like many young daydreamers, Stacy Bennett grew up in a quiet New Jersey suburb, reading classic sci/fi and fantasy books and dreaming of owning a horse. She spun stories in her head about the adventures she would have - if she had a horse, if she could fly an X-wing, if she could sing like a bird. Most of those stories remained daydreams, but a writer's favorite question is "what if." Now she writes down those imaginings and calls them novels. 

Book preview

PROLOGUE

KHOURY

Barakani cur!

The insult pierced Mason Khoury’s dreams. Memories of choking hands and creeping shadows surrendered him slowly, reluctantly, to the call of those sharp words. Their feminine disdain roused his ire, drawing him once more to the world beyond his eyelids.

She is not for you, Dunhadrar, the woman’s voice mocked.

Who was she? And what did she know of the Dunhadrar? Or of him?

Anger surged, sharpening his senses until the world finally returned, waiting like a held breath for him to open his eyes and greet it. Cool air raised gooseflesh down his arms. Spicy wood smoke tickled his nose. The cot on which he lay was hard and smooth as an altar.

Khoury had no memory of where he was or how he had gotten there, but those questions were insignificant beside the condemnation hurled like a lance to wound him.

She is not for you.

The words echoed in his head, igniting longing, regret, and rebellion.

Bits of memory returned in the swirl of emotions: the race to the Keep; a battlefield swathed in the scents of dragon fire and blasted stone; and a woman standing in that dead yard—the epitome of feral bravado.

But she was gone now. He didn’t know how he knew that other than the feeling of dread in his bones.

Had she fallen to the dragon? Or had she survived the great beast only to fall prey to the sorcerer in the end?

He could not remember.

The only thing he was sure of was that he had failed her.

Pale hair and ice-blue eyes teased at his mind then, reminding him of another promise—the reason he’d gone to the Keep in the first place. But Cara, too, was lost. Regret was a knife in his chest. He had failed both of them.

Even so, he learned to hope. If the voice was real, if the crackling fire and smoky air were real, then he was not dead yet. And there was still time.

If Cara and Falin had survived, he would not rest until he found them. Found them and kept them safe—just as he had promised.

And nothing that voice said would convince him otherwise.

Khoury forced his eyes open and grabbed his accuser by the collar, growling his rebellion at her.

You can’t tell me what to do. His voice was a painful rasp.

To his surprise, the face that swam in his blurry vision was not what he’d expected. A startled, wide-eyed young warrior leaned close, the front of his shirt bunched Khoury’s fist.

Where was the woman?

Khoury blinked and, with effort, he could make out another face, transparent and shimmering, overlaid on the young man’s features: a female face, harsh with contempt.

The captain had never really believed in spirits before, but there was no doubting the ghost that floated between him and the man whose shirt he held.

A silver helm gleamed atop her brow bathing her in a ghostly glow. Her features tugged at Khoury’s memory as if he’d met her once before. Lines of pained knowing were carved about her mouth and eyes, and the angry twist of her lips was eerily familiar. She wore chainmail, links bright as starlight inlaid with gems of leafy green. Her emerald eyes held contempt for him, his heritage, his home. And the hatred in her gaze promised retribution, even from beyond the grave, if he dared defy her. But such arrogant hostility only fed his rebellion.

I will find her. I swear I will. He forced the words through dry lips, the graveled whisper reminding him once again of his defeat at the hands of the sorcerer.

The ghostly form frowned as she faded from sight, leaving only the shocked face of the young warrior. Khoury didn’t remember releasing the man’s clothes, or the heavy hands on his shoulders urging him to rest. A sleep as irresistible as death covered his mind, leaving only the green-eyed disdain of the woman and his need to find the women he’d vowed to protect.

CHAPTER 1

ARCHER

Archer Tarhill let the rocking amble of his horse lull him into quiet reverie as he crossed the plains between the Black Keep and the White Mountains far to the west. The starkness of the landscape echoed the soul-deep weariness he felt in the wake of that last battle. His clothes still reeked of ash and dragon fire, and his body ached from days in the saddle. But he felt neither sorrow, nor relief. It was as if his heart had stopped beating days ago. Time held its breath, waiting for someone or something to bring him back to life.

His chieftain, Bradan O’Mara, rode next to him on a sturdy roan whose speckled coat matched the older man’s gray-streaked auburn beard. The man’s square fingers worried at the leather reins, a subtle clue to the weight of the shaman’s thoughts. Archer could only guess what gnawed at the shaman as they rode through the stillness. His disquiet didn’t show in his face, only in the sag of his broad shoulders. The lines of Bradan’s face had deepened and his eyes had lost their luster. Even his beard braids seemed grubby, attesting to the toll of the last few weeks.

Archer wondered if he wore the same lifeless, hard-ridden look. They had won the battle, won the war. But he still felt vanquished somehow.

He’d never forget the darkness that had enveloped the sorcerer in the end. A hungry void so alien, Archer sometimes doubted what he’d seen. Pushing the disturbing memories away, he rolled his shoulders and sighed into the silence. Idle chatter had disappeared days ago, leaving behind only the comfortable cadence of their horses’ hooves.

He ached to be home, wanting nothing more than the warm relaxation he’d always found upon returning, but Bear Clan had been ravaged by giants. They couldn’t go back. Not yet.

Their path led to Seal Bay instead, a sister village to Bear Clan, perched above the cold waters of the Western Sea. There, they hoped to find the familiar faces of kin and the warm welcome of their sea-faring cousins. Archer yearned for raucous company, yeasty ale, a hot meal, and a clean-smelling cot. But above all, he yearned for Maura’s honey-gold eyes and how her soft curves felt pressed against him. He realized for the hundredth time since the battle what a fool he’d been not to marry her when he’d had the chance.

His gelding stumbled on the shifting shale slope, jarring him from his thoughts. He settled himself more firmly in the saddle and glanced over his shoulder at the barely conscious Southerner who perched on the rangy bay behind him. Archer had led that horse and its rider across miles of tundra. The man was Mason Khoury, Archer’s captain and friend, a man who had died in the Black Keep and, by means Archer could not fathom, returned to life.

While it was obvious the captain was alive, one might say he hadn’t yet truly returned to himself. Only Bradan’s quiet persistence about bringing the captain to Seal Bay gave Archer any hope that he might one day be the man Archer had fought beside for all those years.

Archer watched Khoury sway in time with his horse’s stride. Only half-aware, the captain still kept his seat well, a habit from his long years of cavalry. It didn’t mean his mind had returned. Khoury’s eyes rarely focused on anything for very long. At times, his hands batted at imagined foes. Or the captain would call out for Cara, sometimes even Falin, as if searching for the women. His skin had grown pale and his cheeks gaunt, and around his throat he still bore the remnants of purple bruises left by the sorcerer’s fingers. Whether Khoury would ever return to the man he’d been before the Keep, only Fate knew. All Archer could do right now was to bring him to the healer at Seal Bay and hope.

Over the past day or two, their path paralleled the Crown Peaks in the north, and both he and Bradan eyed the towering mountains with suspicion. Legend claimed they were the only barrier between clan lands and the Land of Giants. With the memories of the giant raid still haunting his dreams from time to time, those dark summits seemed to glare down at him. He half-expected warriors with axes and torches to descend upon them at any moment. This was the farthest north he’d ever traveled and he was more than ready to turn his footsteps away to the south. Unfortunately, the only path to Seal Bay lay through Eagle Pass, less than a day south of the Crown Peaks.

The lowlands had given way to the rise and fall of upland forest two days ago. The scents of pine resin and loam rose from beneath the heavy tread of the horses, a familiar smell that only increased Archer’s restlessness. His yearning was an almost physical pain. It wasn’t until Eagle Pass finally came into view that Archer truly felt the end was near.

As they crested the tallest rise yet, he could see beyond through the sparsely forested pass, westward toward Seal Bay and the Western Sea. Steep snowy peaks marched north and south of the green valley spread out before them. Looking northward, Archer could just make out the cloud-wreathed summits of Eagle Peak staring down at them with mute reserve.

Another time, they might have availed themselves of Eagle Clan’s hospitality. Warm hearths, good food, and soft beds would ease their aches and pains, but those spiraled peaks meant Seal Bay was close—no more than a day’s ride. Far too close to think about stopping now. Neither Archer nor the chieftain mentioned turning toward the Peak. They had only one goal in mind: the clan they’d left behind.

It seemed like years ago the giants had attacked Bear Clan. Archer, Bradan, and Khoury had covered a lot of ground since that raid. From the clan, all the way south to Iolair and back northeast to the Black Keep, all in hopes of helping the fugitive healer Cara put her past behind her. In the end, Captain Khoury’s company of Swords laid siege to that dark stronghold to stop the sorcerer Sidonius from sacrificing the woman for some magical promise of immortality.

They had lost more than half their men to the sorcerer’s dragon but the cost had been necessary. If the Far Islander’s spell had succeeded, he would have unwittingly birthed an evil creature into their world, one that would have certainly wreaked more havoc on the clans than giants had.

In the end, they had stopped him. Or rather, Cara had with the help of Falin, a Huntress of Foresthaven.

Archer would never forget the battle in that tower room. The magical whirlwind of dispossessed souls and that dark presence were things that still woke him in a cold sweat. Captain Khoury had died in that room trying to defend the women, his soul drained by the ritual that was intended for her. Archer had been bereft and even though Khoury was riding behind him now, the bruise of that grief still marred his heart.

Archer turned in his saddle again to watch the scarred, dark-haired warrior. Khoury’s hands gripped his gelding’s mane as the beast picked its way carefully over the slopes. The captain’s blue eyes were open, for now, but staring upward, unfocused and dreamy. Archer whispered another plea to the Old Ones to restore the mercenary captain to his former self.

Archer turned back to the valley ahead of them as he considered his future. For the last seven years, his place had been at Khoury’s side. But now, even if Khoury somehow recovered fully, Archer knew his own tenure as a mercenary was at an end. He was done with that life.

Maura was all that mattered. She was the fixed point around which all his thoughts revolved since they’d left the Keep. She had waited long enough. It was time, Archer decided, to settle into a hearth of his own with a wife by his side.

He glanced up at Bradan’s back as the sun began its downward arc. The grizzled chieftain hadn’t spoken much since leaving the Keep. His silence cast an uncomfortable shadow on Archer’s plans although, at the Keep, the chieftain had given Archer his blessing.

Archer could easily lay the man’s reticence on the toll of battle. So many had been lost and the chieftain’s decision to leave the two women awkwardly sewn into one person had been hard. It was a decision the spirits had urged on Bradan, but Archer knew the chieftain felt the consequences of his actions keenly.

But Bradan’s wariness had really started the night the ghostly spirit admonished the captain.

When the scout sent to find Cara had returned with a message for the captain, an angry spirit possessed the man to deliver it. The hair on Archer’s neck rose even now with a supernatural shudder just thinking of it. Using the man’s mouth, the ghost hurled damning accusations at the captain. She’d called Khoury Barakani and a dunhadrar, forbidding him from trying to find Falin and Cara.

Archer still barely believed he had seen and heard what he had. He suspected that visitation, more than anything else, was behind Bradan’s smoldering irritation. And one accusation in particular had Bradan worried.

Dunhadrar. It was the term reserved for the most elite and ruthless bloodlines of Barakani nobles, a term that struck fear in the hearts of their enemies. The dunhadrar considered themselves above the law and, like Sidonius, they valued power. Legend had it the dunhadrar could, with only a word, force their lessers to obey them up to and including falling on their own swords.

And if that was what Khoury was, it would be Bradan’s responsibility not to open their home and Clan to him.

He’s not a dunhadrar, Archer scoffed inwardly. Khoury had stayed with the clan many times before and nothing untoward had ever happened. He was well known and well-liked.

Archer had met Khoury during the Barakan War, a short-lived but fierce rebellion in which the captain had fought zealously for the rebels. Archer would never have believed the man was Barakani, much less a noble. Khoury’s hatred of that nation’s serpentine politics was as evident in his actions as in his drunken rants.

Still, men had been known to deny their own heritages. Khoury might indeed have been born in the Southern mountains.

But to be of noble blood? And to have such a power?

Archer couldn’t credit it.

Regardless of Archer’s affection, the idea festered, and he wondered against his own better judgment. It bothered him so much that he finally dared ask Bradan if he believed Captain Khoury possessed the dunhadrar’s talent.

Many years you’ve spent with your captain instead of your clan, the chieftain said with more than a little irritation. You should know far better than I what kind of man he is.

The reprimand in his words was not lost on Archer. He had neglected his clan duty but worse he had broken Maura’s heart.

As for the captain, apparently what Archer knew of the man might not be as much as he’d thought. The man he had followed into battle was an honorable warrior, even if he was a sword-for-hire. Khoury was stubborn and gruff. A loyal man. A man Archer readily called brother.

But doubt niggled in the back of Archer’s mind, built of stories and weary fear. Would you know it if you had been Commanded?

Archer had no idea.

He might have asked Khoury himself in those first days, but the captain couldn’t have answered. Now, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Not that an opportunity had presented itself anyway. The captain remained mute.

Wound tight with anxiety, Archer’s thoughts returned to Maura.

He hoped she’d be happy to see him. He hoped she’d let him explain. Reasons twirled in his head, although in hindsight, they were little more than excuses. That he’d followed Captain Khoury to preserve the life of a woman whose father had sent giants to raze their village sounded misguided; that he owed the captain a life-debt and had to see it through was weak; that somehow Cara’s plight was more deserving of his attention than Maura’s was disloyal. On the silent journey, Archer could only think on how cruel it had been of him to leave her when she would need him most. With the disappearance of her father, the deaths of her mother and aunt, and presumably, his own demise along with the loss of her home, Maura would have had to assume a mantle of leadership in the depths of great sorrow.

And he had left her to bear it alone.

He swallowed bitter derision. She had been steadfast for so long and he so cowardly. He didn’t deserve her but he needed her. He would make what amends she required, anything that would convince her to let him stay by her side. He wasn’t sure what kind of welcome awaited him at Seal Bay but he was not going to be dissuaded from her this time.

A few hours later, the breeze carried the first hints of saltwater. Although it would be dark before they arrived, Archer’s mind hummed with exhausted anticipation.

Bradan’s voice broke the silence. Time to rest the horses. He pulled up near a scrub tree and swung a tired leg over his horse’s neck.

Rest? But we’re nearly there, Archer argued.

One last delay, Bradan said, stroking the sweaty planes of his horse’s neck. Might as well get him down, too. He gestured to the captain.

Archer dismounted and helped Khoury slide off, sitting him on the hillside as Bradan loosened the girths to rest the horses’ backs. The weary animals snorted and shook their manes, dropping their heads to graze listlessly on thin mountain grass.

Bradan propped himself up against a tree, his eyes closed and his mouth a flat line. Archer stretched out on his back on the smoothest patch of slope he could find. He closed his eyes, too, letting the sun warm his bones.

By moonrise, we’ll be back among our kin, he heard Bradan say thickly.

A bittersweet homecoming, Archer said, thinking of the loss of Ealea and Ingrid and the others. Having left and returned so many times, he knew that even if no one had died, the reality of the return wouldn’t be exactly what their hearts remembered.

It never was.

Archer glanced over at Khoury, still sitting where he’d left him. The captain’s eyes stared down at his own hands clenched in his lap. When Khoury finally returned to his senses, there would be the awkward matter of trying to explain Cara and Falin’s fate to him, too. Trying to make sense of what had happened to the women and the spirit’s dire warning weren’t things Archer wanted to discuss.

He thought back to the last time he saw Cara and Falin. Or rather, this Rae person they were now. He could barely imagine Cara out there on her own, although for Falin, he had no worries. Surely, the huntress would continue to care for the sister she’d found in the white-haired woman.

Restlessness pricked at his skin like an itch. He wanted to be home. He sat up, intent on getting back on the road when Bradan’s voice chided him.

Not yet. Let the beasts rest a little longer.

Archer huffed like a disgruntled child. He plucked long stems of the yellow-green grass, twirling them around his calloused fingers. Had it really been more than twelve years since he’d last seen Seal Bay?  As far as he knew, Old Fynan was still alive but it was possible that his son Gilland had finally taken over as chieftain. Archer had liked Gilland well enough when they were young, gangly boys roaming the summer pines. They’d had their differences as young men, not parting on the best of terms. But, surely, Gilland would not harbor a grudge for so long.

Archer laughed at himself. He was so used to trouble finding him he was already anticipating more when all he should be thinking about was Maura’s smile, a hearty meal, and an ale.

After half an hour, Bradan declared the horses rested enough to resume their trek. The hills flattened as they neared the coast and Khoury became more alert, as if the scent of the sea touched him as well. Still mute, his blue eyes scanned the horizon with more awareness.

They arrived at the village as deepening shadows began to haunt the woods around Tidebluff— the settlement that was the heart and soul of Seal Clan. The sprawling fishing village perched atop chalky cliffs that dropped precipitously to a wide crescent of gleaming, sandy beach studded with wooden docks and sea craft of all sizes. As soon as he saw the first building materialize out of the dark, Archer’s heart sped up with nervous anticipation. The scent of brine and hearth fires greeted them as the sound of laughter and music lifted their spirits. Voices rang out announcing their approach.

Bradan! Chieftain Bradan is returned!  The news spread through the village. People emerged from cozy homes to greet them. By ones and twos at first, and then in larger groups, villagers from both clans gathered around them, asking for news. Archer scanned the dimly lit faces, both the familiar and the strange, but by the time they arrived at the largest hall, he still hadn’t found her.

A boy ran up to them, shell anklets and earrings jingling. O’Mara, may I take your pony? he asked Bradan, dipping his head with deep respect.

My thanks, lad, Bradan replied, sliding wearily to the ground as the boy snagged his horse’s reins. The boy swept up Archer’s reins and the ones for Khoury’s horse as well.

A bearish man rushed forward and gripped Bradan’s arms in greeting. Bradan, Old Ones bless ye! The hearth is lit. The large man threw muscular arms around Bradan and thumped the older man soundly on the back.

Thowald, Bradan said. Praise Borran, you made it, too.

Aye, but many did not. Thowald’s voice was tight with grief. We thought we’d lost you two as well. What kept you?

Ah, it’s a long tale, Bradan said with a sigh.

And not one to be told without ale, Archer cut in, helping Khoury from the saddle. Suddenly, the captain’s legs failed and only Archer’s hold of his arms kept him from slipping to the ground.

With a wave of Thowald’s hand, two men came and lifted Khoury between them.

He’s wounded, Bradan said, and needs attention. Is Freyna here?

Aye, O’Mara, said one of Fynan’s men.

Take him to her, and tell her I’ll be with her shortly. I must speak with Fynan first.

The men nodded and led the captain away.

A soft voice cut through the conversations behind them. Father?

Archer thought no voice had ever sounded sweeter as he watched Maura emerge from the crowd, her eyes on Bradan. Her face was thinner than he’d remembered and her single auburn braid was gone, replaced by the multiple smaller braids typical of a ranked woman, or a married one. Her eyes were bright with tears as she briefly gripped her father’s hands and then threw her arms around his neck. Father, where have you been?

Too far away, dear one. Bradan pulled her into his bear-like embrace. Can you forgive me?

Always, she said. She held him in desperate arms for a long, silent moment. Then, she said, But Mother is… Her words failed her as her fingers clutched his dust-covered cloak. She’s—

I know, Bradan said in a soft, pained whisper, tears rolling down his dusty cheeks. I already know.

Archer watched awkwardly as father and daughter wept together.

I’m sorry to have left you with this, Bradan said, stroking Maura’s hair. There was something I had to do.

Maura stepped back and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Her face was graced by the same placid smile her mother had often worn. You raised me to be ready, Father. I’ve done what a chieftain must. Our people prosper. But the clan is yours again, now that you’ve returned.

It was then she noticed Archer.

When his eyes met hers, whatever he had thought to say jumbled up in his throat.

Reid? she said. Her eyes were wide and wet.

Maura, I… He’d never been awkward with words before, but now they refused to come. He could only shake his head.

Her look turned stern. She strode up and slapped his cheek. How dare you disappear without a word like that, Reid Tarhill!

It was a token strike, but it jarred his tongue loose. Maura, I’m so sorry. Reid dropped to one knee, his head bowed. Forgive me, Maura. Please. I will make this right, I swear it.

By the Old Ones, I thought you were dead, Reid, she whispered hotly. Dead! As she took his face in her hands and made him look at her, fresh tears ran down her cheeks. Don’t you ever, ever do that to me again.

Never, he said, pulling her face to him so he could kiss the tears from her lips. I swear I won’t leave you again, Maura O’Mara. Ever.

Her arms curled around his neck and she kissed back with all the youthful passion they’d once shared. The crowd murmured uneasily.

While I have you here, he whispered, grinning against her lips. I have something to ask you.

She drew back and looked at him with surprise and a hint of fear.

I know I have nothing to give you, he continued. No gift to convince you to accept me again except my heart which is and has always been yours—

Bradan’s heavy hand landed on Archer’s shoulder. Reid, now is not the time, he rumbled.

Archer looked up to see the crowd part for two men. One looked as old as Bradan and the other was around Archer’s age. There was no mistaking the family resemblance in their wideset blue eyes, heavy brows, and slightly large ears. Both had thick russet hair to the shoulders, though the elder’s head boasted wide streaks of gray. Archer clambered to his feet, sliding a familiar arm around Maura’s waist as Chieftain Fynan and his son Gilland approached.

May the spirits smile on you, Fynan, Bradan said, holding his hand up in greeting. Thank you for your welcome.

Archer ducked his head respectfully but stayed quiet.

We thought you dead, O’Mara, Fynan said with little courtesy, his voice hoarse. The chieftain’s eyes noted Archer’s presence with a quick, sour look. When Gilland caught Maura’s eyes, she slid out of Archer’s reach. He let his hand drop to his side, wondering what had happened in his absence.

Not dead yet, Bradan said heartily, ignoring the discourtesy, but I’m home now.

Fynan peered at him. You’re not home yet either. But you and Tarhill’s whelp can join me for some food and drink.

Archer cringed at being called a whelp but he kept his mouth shut. Apparently, Seal Bay’s welcome wasn’t as warm as they had hoped.

Maura slipped her hand into his briefly and kissed him on the cheek. We’ll talk tonight, she whispered. He frowned. Anxiety gnawed his heart. Seeing the tension in his face, she winked before she followed Fynan. A large hide tent had been erected at the edge of the village with enough room for both clans to gather.

Archer ended up more grateful for the ale than the food. He felt unwelcome and tense. Even as hungry as he was, he had little appetite. Maura was happy to see him, of that he was sure. But there was a tension in her face that didn’t bode well.

And, unfortunately, Fynan made sure they had no time to discuss it alone. Tradition demanded a feast when travelers arrived, and the tent was packed. First food was provided, and then stories were shared. Archer hoped Bradan would tell theirs, but the shaman left it up to him. He didn’t even want to think about the things that had happened, much less spin a tale around them.

He started awkwardly with the day the giants attacked, feeling as if it had been years since that last night when they’d sung and danced. But when the clan children drew near with eager, shining faces and nestled in close around his knees, he hit his rhythm and played to them with more ease than he felt with the elder clansmen.

They were fascinated by the trees of Foresthaven, fascinated and frightened.

As well they should be, he thought.

He tried not to notice how many faces were missing, one in particular. Ruari had always been his favorite youngster. Had the boy perished at the hands of a giant? He couldn’t bear the thought. The dread weight of change clung to his heart like heavy cobwebs.

He had known this homecoming would be hard on Bradan, but he hadn’t counted on the grief he himself would face. He scanned the sea of faces around him trying not to falter in his telling of their departure from Iolair as he sought out Aedan and Gwenna who clung to each other as they sat by Bradan, their clothes clean but well-worn. Ewan he found lounging toward the back row of children, almost too old to be counted among their numbers. Nalia sat to the left, her hair braided as tightly as the skin that stretched over her cheekbones. Grief had transformed her. Her lips were thin and unsmiling, her eyes underscored with dark smudges. Leaving Bear Clan had been hard on all of them.

He left out much about how the huntress and Cara were transformed, still confused himself about what really happened. And when he was done, he felt drained. A long moment of shocked silence followed his telling and then all of Bear Clan began to talk at once. More ale was thrust into his hand and many hands patted him on the back or grabbed his hand. The storytelling passed to the next teller and he listened as others told their tales of the flight to Seal Bay. Then some of the Seal Clan folks told local legends of ships and the ocean until Fynan finally stood and waited for silence.

Welcome again, our brothers from the South. The Old Ones have smiled on you, returning a few who were yet missing. He held up his tankard and silently saluted Bradan. Though the attack on your village was a tragedy, I prefer to see it as a sign. An opportunity. It has brought our clans together, I believe, for a reason. And soon, I hope some of you, at least, will cease to be refugees and will call Seal Bay home. He nodded to where Gilland sat with Maura across the fire from Archer.

Maura’s cheeks turned scarlet and Gilland himself barely looked up, his expression unreadable. Archer didn’t hear what else Fynan had to say. How could he have been so stupid? Gilland hadn’t wasted any time.

Archer stood and excused himself, trying to catch Maura’s eye. He needed to talk with her. Alone. He pointed to the door when she looked at him. Her eyes were sad and she made no sign she understood, but he couldn’t sit there any longer. He strode out into the cool breeze coming off the water. It refreshed his skin but did nothing for his irritation. He walked to the edge of the cliffs where he could watch the waves roll in under the moonlight.

When he heard footsteps behind him, he tried to quell the anger that threatened to burst from him but as tired as he was, this last disappointment was almost too much to bear.

Reid, she said, putting a soft hand on his arm.

Don’t, Maura. I can see what a fool I’ve been, he spat, not looking at her. I came here to tell you I’m quitting Khoury and the Swords. But I guess I’m too late.

Reid, don’t—

By the Old Ones, I’m an idiot. Of course, you thought me dead and moved on. As well you should.

Reid, it’s not—

But how could you be done with me so quickly? A few months and already you’re betrothed. And to Gilland of all people! He turned with clenched fists, wanting to bellow with rage at himself, at Fate, at her.

Archer, stop it. Damn you! Her voice was sharp and the use of his mercenary name broke through his rant as if she’d struck him. I am not betrothed to Gilland, she said.

Oh really? Then what was that? He gestured to the tent.

That was nothing, she said softly, avoiding his eyes.

Fynan certainly seems to think you’re joining the family. Why is that?

Fynan … misinterpreted what I said, she said.

It’s hard to mistake a no for a yes, Archer said tightly, his eyes narrowed.

Well, I suppose I did sort of say yes, she confessed.

What do you mean, ‘sort of’? Archer countered hotly.

Maura bit her lip. I said … I said Gilland could court me.

You what? he shouted. Frustrated, he turned in a circle, his hands on his hips. "I am a fool."

Well, what did you expect me to do? Maura shouted back, her fire rising with indignation. I came here alone, expecting a welcome which turned out to have strings attached. Father wasn’t here. Mother was.... Her voice broke as tears ran down her cheeks again. And you’d left me, she shouted, her voice breaking. Again! I didn’t know if you were alive. What else could I do?

Archer stopped pacing, rightfully ashamed. He turned to her, noting the dampness on her moonlit face and the pain in her eyes. How could he make her cry after all the things he’d promised himself on the way here?

He reached for her then, pulling her softly against him, enveloping her in a warm hug. The lump in his throat made speech impossible.

Fynan made it seem like he’d turn us away if I refused, she murmured into Archer’s chest. We would have been lost then. The clan... I…

Shhh, Archer smoothed her braids. "You are right, my lady. I am the sorry one. You did what was best for the clan and for you. It’s my fault I wasn’t here. Even more my fault you weren’t married years ago."

He gently grabbed her shoulders and leaned back to look into her eyes. But you’re not chieftain anymore. Your father is here. He will put Fynan straight.

Maura sighed. I already agreed. Father or not, Fynan will hold me to it and besides if he makes it a condition, we still have nowhere to go.

Archer pressed his lips together thoughtfully and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Then he shrugged.

Let Gill court you. You never said he was the only one who could. Archer smiled then and added in a conspiratorial whisper, And I’m a much better kisser.

Maura snorted with dark humor.

Archer’s finger slid from her neck along her jaw to her chin. He tilted her head up slightly and pressed his lips to hers, gently at first, teasing. With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her lips in invitation. His tongue met hers in hungry reunion as his hands roved over the curves of her back and hips, pressing her against his tired body. He chuckled low in his chest as he nuzzled her neck, kissing under her hair and the tips of her ears.

I don’t think Fynan will like this plan. Maura smiled and traced a light finger down his rough cheek.

That’s the whole point, he smirked. Then he kissed her again.

CHAPTER 2

FALIN

You wanted to leave as much as I did, Falin bit out. The great white bear next to her flicked an anxious ear at her tone, but continued walking.

I know, but I was wrong. Cara replied. The voice inside Falin’s head was petulant. As usual.

Falin sighed and shook her head, letting her hand on the bear’s back guide her. She had given up watching where they were going. The tundra stretched out flat and endless and required little in the way of attention. So she gave it none.

No, you weren’t, Falin argued, trying to sound supportive and kind although it galled her.

How do you know?

Falin ground her teeth together. I just do.

But I miss them, Cara said.

We promised to do this, she said for what felt like the hundredth time. You were there.

We should have asked them to help, Cara said.

Falin refused to answer that, trying to let the conversation die from neglect. As far as she was concerned, it was too late for that. She wasn’t about to turn around and walk back to the Keep when she had no idea how far they had to go to find this damned sword. Bradan and the rest probably wouldn’t even be there. It had been more than four days since they’d left.

The conversations between them had been like this on and off since they left the Keep. Like longtime foes tied together at the wrist, it seemed she and Cara couldn’t help poking at each other. She growled under her breath, trying to control her temper. For now, Cara had given up trying to convince her to go back. Falin sighed with relief. She just needed to be left alone for a while.

She wished again for the solitude of her former life, remembering the thick forest of blackthorn trees with its deep shade and quiet rhythms. As she pictured the purple-black foliage cutting her off from the world, she relaxed until it seemed she almost dozed on her feet.

As she walked, her hand unconsciously scratched Gar’s neck and she felt him lean into the touch. His acceptance warmed her.

The sledge bear had come to the Black Keep out of loyalty, summoned by their mutual need. But Falin assumed the bear would see her as an intruder, having been Cara’s only family long before she met the men and Falin. She tried not to feel jealous of Cara for having had such a steadfast companion growing up.

But Gar had an animal’s ability to accept what is regardless of what had come before. And he accepted that his human was now this confusing, bickering mass of contradictions. When the argument inside them got heated, he would lean into their hip, offering warmth and support.

Falin looked over at Gar and he turned his face to her as if aware of her scrutiny. His bottomless black eyes gazed into hers, radiating a feeling of security and love. She considered him practical, for an animal, and kind. Falin sensed that he would never leave them nor betray them. The thick pelt felt lush between her fingers. His chuffed greeting that morning had been an offer of belonging she sorely needed and his battle-scarred ear marked him as a kindred spirit.

She smiled at him, realizing to her surprise that she loved the beast. Somehow, he had won over her thorny heart. She scratched behind his ear again.

We’re okay, she murmured, hoping it was the truth. She scanned the terrain and only then noticed they were headed into the setting sun. It seemed that while she was arguing with Cara, Gar had turned them west.

Why had he done that? Falin wondered, angry with herself for not noticing sooner.

She nearly commented on it, thinking to remind Cara that their path should lead south as the spirit had commanded. The spirit who claimed to be their grandmother. The spirit who made them a deal.

But if she insisted they turn south right now, they’d have to talk about the captain. And for all her strength, Falin’s heart was too heavy to go there again. For once, she was too tired to fight, the precarious peace in her head too precious. And so, she let them follow Gar west until nightfall.

In the morning, Gar again directed them west of his own accord and Falin wondered if he might have some knowledge of the road that he hadn’t shared with them. He seemed so sure, she relented. The Ironwood Sword had been missing for a long time; she didn’t think a few days’ delay would change anything. Their grandmother’s ghost would have to wait. So she simply followed. For now.

As they trekked west toward the tall, snow-covered mountains in the distance, Cara began to make it a habit to withdraw, leaving Falin’s head empty of company. Where the other woman went, Falin couldn’t guess. The huntress sometimes wondered if the quiet meant Cara’s psyche slept. Or perhaps the white-haired girl could escape into the bear’s mind. At any rate, Falin was left alone with her thoughts. Which was fine with her.

Her mind often turned to the battle, the dragon, and the Keep, which inevitably led her to think of Khoury. She shuddered at the memory of the emptiness in his body where his spirit should have been. She’d seen death before but this had felt different. She had been as disturbed by the void beneath their hands as Cara had been.

If only they could have healed him.

But the power Cara had