Page 148 of Blood & Claw

After Mor had gone, she had tried to return north to Cannich and serve the Elk King. He’d proved to be a strong ruler so far—less mercurial than Mor had ever been—yet restlessness seized her.

Aye, she was still loyal to her own people, but she didn’t belong in Cannich.

She didn’t belong in Duncrag either.

So, she roamed Albia alone, with only a raven for company, surviving as a trapper and hunter, selling meat and fur. Her brother welcomed her at Duncrag, so she entered that fort unglamored and ignored the stares. However, she disguised herself whenever she entered other Marav settlements. Things had shifted in Albia, but not enough that her kind were no longer feared.

Maybe I should linger here and see if I can help those three.

Eagal gave a rough croak. Why would you do that? You barely know them … and you’ve never met the woman they tried to rescue.

No … but I owe Ailsa and Darach a debt.

And she did. She’d meant what she’d said before they parted ways. She wouldn’t forget a kindness.

Her gaze returned to the fort. Its stone walls were new, quickly built.

An army must have worked day and night to raise it.

Her skin prickled.

Can Darach and Ailsa be saved? Rùn asked. Anxiety tinged the thought.

Not tonight, Fern replied.

And perhaps not ever. As one of the Shee, Fern had ways of melding with the shadows, of altering her appearance so she might fool those at the gates long enough to let her through. However, without a plan, she’d just end up a prisoner too.

And Eagal had a point. Even if she owed them, these people weren’t her friends. She wasn’t going to get herself impaled on an iron blade on their account.

As if sensing her conflict, Eagal gave a loud caw and ruffled his feathers in disapproval. I can’t believe you’re even considering this. There’s always trouble among the Marav … let them butcher each other. Best for us all if the Shee rule these lands.

Fern’s lips thinned. The situation wasn’t as simplistic as Eagal made out though. The High Queen was just, but the south was fractured. Lara’s over-kings had rebelled, and the land had split into three rival kingdoms clawing at one another.

Fern had seen the strain in Duncrag. Rebuilding was slow.

And her brother lived there, which complicated things further.

Thinking of Alar softened something inside her. She was long estranged from her mother in Sheehallion. Her father was dead. Her brother was all she had.

Rùn snorted and tossed his head. I will help.

Fern smiled. She was sure the stout-hearted beast would.

“Three paths,” she murmured aloud. “Which will I take?”

Neither of her companions answered. They would let her make her choice without further interference.

Time slipped by as she worried over it.

Duncrag.

Cannich.

Here.

Each had its merits. Each had its drawbacks.

Maybe she wouldn’t choose any of them. Maybe she’d just walk away from all of this.