Hart and Hunter

Chapter 40

Ch. 40: Dane

With the children awake and charmed into a docile, somnambulistic state, we leave the cavern behind, retrace our steps through the macabre passageway, and regroup outside.

There, the fae quickly fashion a makeshift stretcher from fallen branches and the fronds of huge ferns on which to bear Halloran's body. As they work, Rhiannon slips back into the cave one last time, returning with something bundled in a small bit of cloth.

With Freya looking after Ingrid and Danni and Erickson taking care of his niece, I'm free to devote my attention to Julian: to my brave, wonderful mate who, for one terrible moment, I'd thought I would lose.

I'd seen it on his face, in the fierce light in his eyes, as he'd stood at the edge of the chasm; he'd have ended himself—and my world with him—if he'd had to. I owe it to Erickson, and to Rian Halloran, that he did not.

Now, as the fae put the finishing touches on the stretcher and one sacrifices her long cloak to act as a shroud, Julian sticks close to me and averts his eyes. His skin is pale and cool to the touch, and his limbs tremble slightly. He radiates exhaustion, and I wish I could offer him some comfort, but empty condolences are all I've got.

"I'm sorry," I say, looping my arm around his shoulders and pulling him against my side. "I wish there was more we could have done for him."

Julian sighs. "Me, too. He had a lot to make up for, and he'd made mistakes, but I think he was a good man."

"He was."

Rhiannon's soft, slightly rough voice surprises me. She'd approached from Julian's other side without my noticing. Her black brows pinched with concern, she feels the side of his face and brow, and asks him a question in the lilting, musical tongue of the fae. Unexpectedly, Julian answers in the same. I'd forgotten he'd picked it up—or 'remembered' it, as he says—during his time in the Fae realm. Too bad he hadn't picked up runes and sign language, too.

Whatever he says seems to reassure Rhiannon, and her expression eases.

"You were very brave, Julian," she says with a small, sad smile. "Your grandfather would be proud of you, as am I. And though I never had the fortune to know my son, if he was anything like you, then I am proud of him, as well."

Julian's eyes stray to the cloth-bound form on the stretcher and a shiver wracks his frame. "What now?"

Rhiannon follows his gaze, and sorrow revisits her face. "Home," she whispers. "I will keep my promise to him. For many years, I feared and hated him, and dreamed of vengeance; but I understand now that he was innocent—or as innocent as are any who followed Darragh's lead. The Wolves, too, were innocent. I am not."

"You were a victim, too," I say. "I can't speak for them, but I think if they could, the Wolves would forgive you."

Rhiannon turns and looks up at me, and the ghost of a smile touches her lips. "My father was called 'Warbringer,' long ago; Your mother's name is 'Peacemaker' in our tongue. That our lines should join gives me great hope, Dane Hunter."

She turns and surveys the sad little gathering, and sighs.

"I wish we had more time, but we have none to spare. We must return to the human realm, and thence to Faerie, before the moons set."

"Moons?" I look up, but I haven't glimpsed the sky since we arrived in this nightmare place. The upper reaches of the trees remain veiled in mist.

"When the moon in each realm aligns, it is easier to slip between worlds. When you have spent as much time here as I have, you can sense it." She shivers. "Come—leave this place where it belongs, in memory. It is time to go home."