CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

RAFE

Rafe paced down the corridor, walking past Roisin’s new chambers. He heard laughter echoing from within and ground his teeth as he turned a corner.

Morcant is a puffed-up fool, taken in by a woman’s smile and charms. Don’t think Rhin’ll be too pleased.

He grinned viciously at that thought.

Days had passed since Rafe and Morcant had returned, in which Rafe had discovered that Rhin and Uthas had drunk from the starstone cup and as yet had not awakened. Rafe had used the free time to reacquaint himself with the fortress. He looked around Evnis’ tower, the kennels he used to tend, and wandered the halls of Dun Carreg, reliving memories, with Scratcher a constant shadow at his side. Today had left him in a black mood, though, because all memories led to that hateful night when he’d fought Corban in the court of swords, and lost. The night when Corban and his wolven had slain Rafe’s da. Now he was heading for Rhin, hoping that she’d awoken.

I want to get on with this war. Rhin said we’re going to Drassil, and that’s where Corban is supposed to be. Maybe I’ll get to challenge him to another court of swords. Now that is something I’d look forward to.

He spent some time imagining how that would turn out—each version ending with Corban defeated and begging for his life. Rafe was smiling by the time he reached Rhin’s chambers.

Rhin’s guards greeted him with a curt nod, one of them opening a door for him. He walked in, shivering as he remembered the last time he had been in here, when Rhin contacted Conall through her frame of wood and flayed skin.

The table was empty of all of that now, just one thing sat on it: an old casket, a black velvet cushion within it, and upon that a necklace of silver and jet.

Not jet—the stone is carved from a fallen star. The starstone necklace.

The necklace was of twisted silver, thin wire knotted around a black stone, like silver veins threading through a black heart. As Rafe stared, it seemed to pulse, and for a moment he thought he heard whispered voices, a host of them swirling around him.

He shook his head, staggered a little, as if dizzy.

“You all right?” Salach asked him, one eyebrow raised. He was standing with Eisa by the open window, the sound of the sea and the smell of salt spray drifting in from the darkness. Eisa looked much better now than when Rafe had found her staggering out from the Baglun.

“Aye,” Rafe grunted. “Rhin?”

“No change,” Salach said, nodding to a closed door. “With Uthas. The cup does its work upon them.”

Rafe knew what that was like, remembered the ecstasy and the agony. And the waking up, too, a tidal wave of new sensations crashing upon his senses.

“How long before you woke?” Eisa asked him.

Rafe shrugged. “Morcant said it was a ten-night.”

“It’s been sixteen nights, now,” Salach grunted.

Rafe pulled up a chair and sat before the necklace, staring at it.

“I had strange dreams last night,” Eisa said to Salach. “In them I saw Nemain.” The giant was staring at Salach, watching him intently. “She spoke to me. She called me a traitor.”

“Traitor, hero, all depends on your perspective,” Salach muttered.

“How did she die?” Eisa asked.

“I have told you. She attacked our allies at the gates of Murias. Uthas challenged her and they argued, struggled. She slipped and fell from her tower window, a tragic accident.”

“I remember now,” Eisa said, nodding to herself. Rafe saw her eyes flicker briefly to the twin blades of Salach’s axe, curving over his back like iron wings.

The door suddenly creaked open. Rhin was standing there, silver hair dishevelled, yet she looked radiant, younger, a glow to her skin, a sparkle and vitality in her eyes. She threw her head back and laughed, the sound warm and resonant. Behind her Uthas stirred on a bed, sitting, rubbing his head.

“Food and drink,” Rhin clapped as she strode into the room, swaying a little, her legs unsteady, like a newborn colt taking its first steps around the paddock. She grabbed Rafe’s hand, staring disconcertingly into his eyes, and licked her lips.

“I seem to have quite an appetite.”

Uthas filled the doorframe behind Rhin, staggering like a drunkard, but nevertheless appearing more youthful, his skin having lost its grey pallor.

Then Salach and Eisa were talking at once, Uthas laughing a deep, booming laugh, Rhin still holding Rafe’s hand and staring into his eyes, far too intently for Rafe’s liking.

A blast of cold air and a flapping sound filtered through the noise. Rafe turned to see something black come hurtling through the window. A bird, flapping and landing on the table, skidding to a halt and grasping the chain of the starstone necklace in an oil-black beak. For one moment it stood on the table, beady eyes darting about, locking with Rafe’s, silence settling upon the room as men, giants and a queen all stared in dumbfounded shock at the crow. Then it was airborne, flapping away, back out of the window.