“My Lord is within,” he said, bowing before withdrawing down the hall.
Lain hesitated, hand hovering over the latch. She could hear the low murmur of voices beyond, a few words, the scrape of a chair.
She drew a slow breath and pushed the door open.
Morgan stood near a hearth alive with steady flame, speaking softly to one of his men. When he saw her he stopped at once. The other man bowed and moved past her, surprising her with a bow as well before he departed.
“Lain,” he said, and her name sounded startlingly comfortable in his mouth. “I’m glad you’ve come.”
He approached without hurry, his presence filling the space like calm water. The firelight found the silver in his eyes.
“You look revived,” he said, and for an instant she tensed, though she wasn’t sure why. His tone remained measured, thoughtful. “Warm. Rested. It suits you.”
She flushed, unsure how to answer. “Thank you. Your people have been very kind.”
He smiled. “I hope they’ve been careful. You’ve been through more than most souls could bear.” His gaze flicked briefly to her antlers, then back to her face. “You’re comfortable? The bath, the oils – Sena knows what she’s about?”
The mention of Sena softened her expression despite herself. “She was… gentle.”
Morgan inclined his head. “Good. I told her to treat you as kin, not guest.” He offered his arm in invitation. “Come. There are a few I’d like you to meet. Men and women who share our cause. But if you’d rather eat in peace, I’ll see that you’re left alone.”
The careful phrasing of choice made her hesitate. He was giving her power, or the illusion of it, and he knew exactly how much that mattered.
“I can join you,” she said softly. “I’d like to meet them.”
His smile deepened, pleased by not gloating. “Then it’s my honor.”
He placed a light hand at the small of her back as they left the room, guiding, his touch barely there. The gesture was courtly, almost protective. The Heat did not distinguish, pleasure unfurling up the length of her spine. The weight of it lingered long after he moved his hand away.
The corridor opened into a hall alive with voices and the scent of roasted grain and wine. The sound dimmed as they entered; every head turned toward them.
Morgan’s hand brushed her back once more, anchoring her, and he leaned close enough that his breath stirred the fur at her ear.
“Feel welcome,” he murmured. “You’re among friends.”
The hall opened like a hearth’s breath, a low timbered space where lamplight spilled across long tables. The smell of roasted grain and cardamom hung in the air. Conversation softened as Morgan guided her in.
“Friends,” he said, his tone easy. “This is Sister Lain.”
A ripple of warmth followed, and a quiet curiosity. Morgan led her toward a small table by the fire. Three others sat there: a worn but graceful man, a woman with clever eyes and weather-touched skin, and a broad-shouldered Kelthi whose antlers brushed the light as he stood.
“Please,” Morgan said, drawing out a chair for her. “The bread is good tonight, I promise.”
The older man smiled. “You always say that when you’re trying to make us behave.” His voice carried a dry humor that broke some of the tension.
Lain sat, unsure whether to speak first. The Elder – she recognized him from the way Morgan looked at him, with an old student’s respect – offered her a small nod.
“I’m David,” he said. “Once of the Dagorlind council, though I prefer ‘retired heretic’ these days.”
Lain blinked, startled into a small smile. “You left the council?”
He stirred his soup. “They left me, really. Compassion became a poor career move.” He looked up, his eyes pale as river glass. “You were taught to sing for peace, weren’t you? Not power.”
Across the table, the Kelthi man broke the silence by tearing a piece of bread and dipping it into his broth. “Don’t let him scare you, girl. He only sounds like that when he’s being sincere.”
David chuckled softly. “Rhalir here knows well enough.”
Rhalir passed her the platter. His hands were scarred, his voice even. “You eat. You look like someone who hasn’t had a proper meal in weeks.”
“Since the mountains,” Lain admitted.
“Ah.” His gaze lingered on her antlers, and she thought for the briefest moment if Kelthi men were different from humans, if their connection would be similar, if –
“Then you’ve traveled further than most of us could bear,” he said.
The woman sitting beside him smiled as she poured more wine for herself. “We’ve all had our pilgrimages, in one form or another. I was a sailor once, before the storms took our harbor. Morgan’s men fished us out.”
Rhalir nodded to her. “This is Catherine, and she’s being modest. She got a dozen of us to safety in a rowboat half full of holes.”
“Half,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re the one who refused to bail.”
Lain found herself laughing at the warmth of their banter before she realized it. When the laughter faded, Rhalir said simply: “It’s strange, isn’t it? To keep walking after the world you knew ends.”
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Lain met his gaze, understanding passing silently between them. “Yes,” she said. “It’s like learning to breathe underwater.”
David nodded approvingly. “That’s a good wait to put it.”
She became suddenly aware of Morgan’s eyes on her, watching from across the rim of his cup.
They ate for a while as the conversation flowed around her – the talk of routes and trade, of distributing rations to those affected by the recent Dagorlind-driven storms. At last David set his spoon aside.
“We heard the wyrms stir again,” he said quietly. “In the northern reaches. Did you feel it?”
Lain hesitated, the memory blooming in her chest: the pulse under her hooves, the voice in the grove, her mother’s face. “Yes.”
Rhalir’s expression softened. “Then they have not forgotten us.”
Morgan smiled. “You see? Even the lost can be found again.”
His words were gentle, but she felt the weight behind them, deliberate as pressure on a bruise.
Catherine leaned forward, her tone curious. “Lord Balthir says the Underserpent can be freed – that you might be the one to do it.”
Lain looked down at her hands. “If that’s true, then I hope to succeed.”
Elder David lowered his spoon. “Have you thought of what may happen to the Spire, if such a thing is done?”
Lain had avoided this question in her own thoughts, more times than she could count. She shook her head only slightly.
“It is important that you know, Sister. While I am a believer that this is the correct course of action, I cannot in good conscience ask you to perform a task for us without informing you of all the details –”
“David,” Catherine warned, her eyes flicking between the Elder and Lain. “We discussed this –”
David raised a hand to still her objection. “And I made my position clear,” he said shortly. He turned back to Lain. “Sister, waking the Underserpent has consequences. There is a chance the Glinnel use it for more than controlling the weather and the movements of the earth. If it wakes, it may destroy the Spire. It may bring down all of Ivath.”
Lain thought for a long moment.
“Can we send warning to the citizens?” she asked.
“Compassionate heart,” Catherine said. “But the more warning the Dagorlind have, the more they will build their defenses against us.”
“We have given the Dagorlind more grace than they have ever afforded us,” Rhalir said. “They know of our rebellion. They will not see to reason.”
The echo of her uncle Soryn’s words came to her: We thought they would be merciful, if not reasonable.
She took a deep breath. “If freeing the Underserpent destroys the Spire, then the Spire was never meant to stand.”
Morgan nodded, his focus leaping to her with such suddenness that she could feel it through his eyes alone. “Well spoken.”
Something in her trembled. His voice was calm, already certain he would follow her.
Morgan refilled her cup himself, pouring until the dark wine trembled near the brim. “Eat,” he said. “There’s time yet before the road calls again. And Lain –” he paused, eyes steady on hers. “It means more than you know, having you at this table.”
He held her gaze for all of a moment before turning to the others. “This outpost will equip us for the next part of our journey. Catherine, have you spoken to the town council about what they expect for their generous quarter? We have gathered rations from the east road but I would like to provide more than just grain and gratitude.”
Catherine nodded and the conversation carried on. Lain looked down at her hands, the skin clean. Her antlers ached just a touch with her Heat.
Morgan put a hand to her back only briefly. She felt nothing from him through her Tuning. Nothing at all.
When the meal was finished, Morgan stood and thanked the others for their counsel. Elder David bowed deeply, murmuring a blessing; Rhalir clasped Morgan’s arm in solidarity; Catherin smiled at Lain, her gaze full of gentle faith.
One by one, they excused themselves, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the soft clink of cups being gathered by servants. Soon even they were gone.
Lain and Morgan were alone.
He poured the last of the wine, dividing it between them. The lamplight haloed his smooth black hair in pale gold. “They admire you,” he said. “Already you’ve given them hope.”
“I don’t know if I deserve their hope.”
His eyes softened. “You do. You share their pain. They see themselves in you.”
The room seemed smaller now, the air thick with the scent of spice. The Heat stirred, heavy and insistent. Every sound sharpened, the brush of his sleeve, his breath.
Lain swallowed. “I only want the Glinnel to be spared,” she said quietly. “I don’t care about divinity or vengeance. I just want my people safe.”
Morgan leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “Ren’s letter made it clear the Dagorlind wished you dead,” he said. “And yet vengeance is not a concern to you?”
“My people are like me,” she said, realizing it only as she said it aloud. “We all thought we were doing what was right. I just… want to protect those I love.”
Morgan nodded. “And those you love? Who are they?”
Her heart clenched. “Hellen. She’s a Glinnel.” Then, after a pause: “Elder Tanel. He saved me when I was only an infant. He did his best…” Trailing off, she thought of the draught, his resistance to her Heat, then the way he’d succumbed to it finally, overwhelmed with love for her, overwhelmed with joy that she had lived. The careful gift he had left for her, with his note wishing her luck on her journey. “He knew I would be sacrificed as Bellborn. But when I failed – when the Underserpent saved me – he didn’t know they were sending me to die. He believed in me.”
Morgan was watching her carefully. “He sounds like a man of conviction,” he said.
“He would understand,” she said. “If he knew what the High Glinnel were doing to the Underserpent.”
Morgan studied her for a long moment more. “Then we’ll save him,” he said simply. “And any peers of yours, the young ones – any who wish to forgo the shackles of the Dagorlind.”
She looked up sharply. “You swear it?”
He nodded. “By my blood, by the old magics the Dagorlind tried to bury. I will see your people free of their grasp before the wyrm rises. But it can only be done with the Starbloom. I sent Ren to retrieve it…”
Her heart stuttered. He saw it on her face.
“Have you found it, Lain?”
Slowly, she reached into the fold of her robe and drew out the velvet pouch. She didn’t open it, only held it between her palms. The faintest shimmer of golden pollen dusted her fingers.
“I have it,” she whispered.
Morgan’s gaze filled with wonder that seemed almost reverent. “Then it’s true. You’re the one the wyrms chose.”
She shook her head, trembling. “No, I was just there. I sang, that’s all –”
“Don’t diminish it.” He leaned forward, voice low, coaxing. “You sang to the stars and they answered. Do you know how long the world has waited for you?”
The Heat surged like fire before the billows.
“You’re not a weapon, Singer Lain,” he said. “You’re a miracle. A true saint.”
She tried to look away, but his hand came to rest over hers. The contact stole her breath. Through her Tuning, there was no emotion. Yet the silence itself was vast and magnetic.
“You’ll help us free the Underserpent,” he said. “And it won’t be for vengeance, or faith. It will be for peace.”
Her throat tightened. Oh, how she wished she could believe. “The Dagorlind don’t want peace. Do they?”
“No. But we will make it.” He gave a knowing nod. “Together.”
The word hung between them, strangely dangerous.
He rose at last, the chair whispering against the stone. “Tomorrow we’ll speak of the path ahead. For now, please know. You’ve given me hope again.”
He put his hand out for her, and she took it, the Heat flaring again at the contact. He guided her to the door, and between the Heat and the wine an image swirled of him walking her not to her quarters but to his, backing her onto his bed, kneeling before her, hands sliding into her robes –
But he stopped at the hall, releasing her from his grasp.
When he turned to leave, she almost reached for him without thinking, her tail twitching in the air before she pulled her hand back to her chest.
He gave her a coy smile, eyes landing softly on her antlers before finding her face once more.
“Goodnight, Sister,” he said.