Wayfinder

measures that must mend the past,’ but then she said ‘breaker who restores the land, keeps the world gates well in hand.’ I don’t know what it means. I don’t like prophecies, Oisín.”

“Nor fairy tales,” he agreed, and Lara ducked her head to mutter the already-familiar refrain: “And yet here I am, in one.” More clearly, she said, “This was always going to happen, wasn’t it? You sent Dafydd to Earth looking for a truthseeker who would break the world. If he found me, or any truthseeker, I was always going to be a catalyst for change here. Oisín, my power is strengthening, but I just don’t know if it’s going to mature fast enough for me to do what’s necessary.”

Oisín, serenely confident, said, “It will. Begin by locating the key for the door, Wayfinder. I’m far too old to be digging in the dirt, and these two, as you surmised, are far too elfin.”

Vague insult crossed Dafydd’s face, though not Ioan’s. Lara laughed as she closed her eyes again, this time trusting her power over the garden’s lullaby. “Truthseeker, wayfinder, worldbreaker. I don’t think I like titles very much either, but since I don’t even know if we can get in there without the right key, I think this is the only way. Maybe it just takes a little more delicacy than laying down a true path.”

A memory of the lights she’d followed in the Drowned Lands came back to her, fireflies rather than beacons. They were more inquisitive than the truthseeking paths, which bolted hither and yon with great integrity but no subtlety. In some cases that was perfect, but in the green-growing gardens, more gentle means seem called for. Dozens of tiny bells rang with delighted tones as firefly lights scattered behind her eyelids, flitting from one spot to another around the gardens.

More than once, urgency came into their chimes, then faded, as if they found things of interest but not exactly what they sought. The garden seemed littered with those things, and Lara’s heart hopped with interest, wondering what treasures might lie forgotten in a place so old as this one. If all went well, she would have time to discover them later.

And if all didn’t, the Barrow-lands themselves might be lost to eternity. Lara shivered at the thought and her seeking magic redoubled its efforts, sparks of light clearly agitated at the idea of such loss. Reflecting Lara’s own emotions, she realized, which could become dangerous if not controlled. Bad enough a truthseeker could make a thing true by commanding it, but if her magic rolled over into making things true because she felt them, she could wreak havoc without ever meaning to.

The staff, largely quiet over the past few days, thumped with appreciation for the idea. Lara bared her teeth and it went silent again as glints of truthseeking magic discovered and hovered over Aerin a little while, considering her as the answer to their search. Ultimately they slipped away again, but with more purpose, as if something about the sleeping woman triggered recognition. Within a few more minutes, the dancing lights swarmed into another segment of the garden, and music fell into place in Lara’s mind, creating a symphony.

The remembrance garden was laid out in a mirror-image to itself, with the entrance at the center. Lara saw it from above, as if the sparks of her magic flew upward to show it to her. She stood with Dafydd and the others inside the whorl of one elegant pattern, and across the garden, in its opposite place, stood a small stone cairn, no more than a dozen rocks piled neatly atop one another. Lara squeaked, “Ioan!” and thrust a finger after her magic, sending him into a run led by firefly lights. Lara spun to watch the grass where her truthseeking path had ended, but even expecting it, she let go a yelp of surprise when, after a few minutes, it crumbled to reveal an earthen pathway.

Propelled by her own yell, she leapt down the path, leaving impressions in dirt as she ran into a chamber darker, earthier, and emptier than the sanctuary within the Drowned Lands.

Emptier, but not empty.

Hafgan stood over Emyr, an uplifted blade in his hand.

Thirty-two

Later she realized that her truthseeker’s voice, the one that could command things to be true, would have been the safest and most effective way to prevent regicide. But she was already in motion, rushing down the pathway like a child at play, and in the moment, it didn’t occur to her to stop.

Lara flung herself at Hafgan’s midriff, momentum carrying an impact that her slight weight otherwise could not. She hit hard enough to earn a grunt from both of them, and caught a glimpse of metal as Hafgan’s blade fell away. They crashed into the wall, soft earth indenting with the impact. Lara staggered back, astonished at herself, and spun with the brunt of a blow she never saw coming.

Breath was knocked from her lungs as she hit the earth. The left side of her face bloomed with pain, new bursts building on the last. She couldn’t see, tears spilling from wide-open eyes to dampen the earth beneath her face. She’d thought migraines had accustomed her to head pain, but the tight bands and bright lights of those headaches were nothing like the deep throbbing ache in her cheekbone. Still blind with tears, she worked her fingers toward her face, searching for evidence that the bone was shattered. Nothing gave way, not in a manner that suggested ruined bone, though the flesh was already swelling.

Hafgan, wheezing with outrage, grabbed her hair and hauled her head back, dagger flashing in her vision as he brought it to her throat. Lara gurgled and vicious pleasure twisted the Unseelie king’s voice as he spat, “Truthseekers. Blights on the land, meant to be eradicated.”

The dagger jerked, and bewilderingly, Hafgan was abruptly no longer above her. New pain ripped over Lara’s scalp. She howled and curled herself in a ball, fingers exploring her head and coming away bloody.

Dafydd crashed to his knees and lifted her against his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so terribly sorry, you’re all right now, you’re safe. You’re safe, Lara. I have you now. It’s all right.”

Astonishingly, impossibly, every word sang with truth, their music quiet but determined, like the opening strains to a marching song. Nothing would stand in their way, as if Dafydd were determined to make them true if they weren’t already. As if he commanded her power, which he had named a curse as much as a gift. “Your poor hair. I’m so sorry, Lara. I’m so sorry.”

The apology made sense of her bloody fingers, of her skull’s thick raging pain. A handful of hair had been pulled out, leaving a messy oozing patch of skin and broken roots. Lara blinked again, trying to clear tears away, and raised her head to see Hafgan slumped against Emyr’s bier, a shining sword jammed through his shoulder.

Lara’s sword, the one she’d been given to ride into battle with, and had inadvertently brought to her own world weeks ago. She gaped at it, comprehension beyond her, and finally transferred the stare to Dafydd, who smiled fragily. “It was at Kelly’s apartment. I took it when we left the bedroom. It needed only a very light glamour to hide it, when no one expected me to have it at all, and I thought we might be well-off with a hidden weapon. I’m so sorry I wasn’t quicker, Lara. I’m so very sorry.”

“You were quick enough.” Her voice sounded like someone else’s, strained with pain and tears. “I don’t like this, Dafydd. I hate this. I’m a tailor. I’m not supposed to get beaten up and almost killed and …” Lara strangled the protest before it turned to convulsive sobs, but Dafydd gathered her close, mouth careful against her hair, and pain-laden fear drove her to tears after all.

“I wouldn’t have asked you to join me if I’d known it would come to this.” Weary regret, but no lies, were in the confession. “Before we went to war, before Ioan asked you to find the truth of a long-dead land, yes, I would have still asked, but not this, Lara. This is more than I would ever have asked, even if it meant my eternal exile in your world.”

Lara gulped air, trying to steady herself. “Somehow that makes me feel better. And makes me more determined to see this all through.”

The words were stronger than she was: Lara remained curled against Dafydd’s side. Most of her head throbbed, the stickiness in her hair increasing with each pulse, and her cheek felt like it had doubled in size while she wept. There were other biers scattered around the small earthen room, and for a few long moments she considered simply climbing onto one of them and sleeping until she was well again. That was nominally the chamber’s purpose, though Hafgan had been uninjured when he entered the similar room in the Drowned Lands. It seemed they could simply be used for rest and stasis as well.

“Is he dead?” Ioan’s voice interrupted her musings before she mustered the energy to approach the biers.