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With a nod, Narl stepped back. “We’re sisters now, so when ya fight, fight fierce. When ya stand, stand strong.”
“I’ll treasure the gift and wear it with pride. Troll pride,” she added, and made Narl smile.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
On the flight from the Troll camp to the farm, Breen stretched out on Lonrach’s neck and closed her eyes. Everything in her let go, every muscle went lax, every thought hazed.
It had been the deepest healing she’d ever attempted, and one that sucked her dry. She’d washed Loga’s blood—so much blood—from her hands. But she could still smell it.
She felt the wind snap at her, and a quick damp when they streamed through a cloud, but lay limp. She’d probably been more tired in her life, but at the moment, she couldn’t remember when.
Trusting Lonrach wouldn’t let her fall, she half dozed until she felt him descend.
As she let herself slide off, Marco hurried out of the house with Morena and Bollocks on his heels.
“Brian did a flyby—literally—and called down you were coming. That was awhile ago. Girl, we were about to send out a search party.”
Her tongue felt limp, barely able to move to help form words. “It took awhile.”
“Hey, you’re wearing a Wonder Woman crown—diadem,” he corrected.
“With Troll markings,” Morena added, fascinated. “Only members of their tribe are allowed to wear one.”
“I’m an honorary Troll now.” Her head spun a little as she bent down to pet Bollocks because he whined at her feet.
“There’s a story I want to hear, but not now, I’m thinking.” Morena took hold of Breen’s arm to steady her. “You look worn well past the bone. Come inside and sit. We’ll get you some food, some tea.”
“Honestly, I just want to go home, go home and lie down for a few minutes. It’s been a lot.”
“I can see it has been. Take her on to the cottage, Marco, get some food into her if you can. Do you want me to help?”
“I’ve got her.” He slid an arm around Breen’s waist. “We’ve got her, right, Bollocks? Morena, you give that stew a stir now and again, then garnish it like I told you when you and Harken are ready to eat it.”
“Leave it to me now that you’ve done all the rest of it. You rest yourself, Breen. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
Instead of dashing ahead, Bollocks stayed by Breen’s side as they crossed to the Welcoming Tree. Marco hauled her up the steps, over the branches and rock, then into Ireland.
“Brian said you saved Loga’s life—that’s head Troll, right?”
“Yes, but I don’t know as I’d go as far as saving his life. He was hurt, and he needed attention, but he’s really strong. It was awful pain, Marco, and he barely flinched, even when he came to.”
“You feel some of it, too. The pain, right? Isn’t that how it works?”
“Scared me. There was so much blood. Blood all over my hands,” she murmured, leaning on him. “And I was afraid I wasn’t going to be enough. I felt a little off still from the waterfall. But—”
“You did what you had to do.”
“We were almost too late. If Brian hadn’t gotten us there so fast, Thar might have stabbed him again and left him to bleed out. The rest of the tribe might have believed him.”
“Didn’t happen. You and Brian made sure of it. Why that elf guy? Why hang it on him?”
It felt like a dream, walking in the chilly air, hearing the burble of the stream.
“Argo and Loga got into it a few days ago over a trade. Insults were hurled, punches exchanged. Apparently it happens sometimes, andthey all shrug it off. But it made for a scapegoat. Sul thinks—and I agree with her—Thar likely sent a raven letting Odran know all of that. It’s just all screwed up, Marco.”
“Yeah, it is.” Almost home, he thought, again and again, and kept his voice cheerful as worry for her hounded him. “And you got yourself a Troll crown.”
