The trees were thick along the river as the wind carried them further along, drifting under sail closer and closer to the lake. Aoife held the tiller as Gray kept an eye on the sails, adjusting them as needed to keep them moving forward. Both were quiet for a time, Gray’s expression suggesting that his thoughts were elsewhere even as he tended the sails. Aoife watched him, lips thinning.
What are you sensing out there, Gray? What danger do you feel coming? There was a heaviness to the world, one that left her slightly uncomfortable, though not enough to make her say something about it.
Part of her reason for keeping her mouth shut about it, though, was the thought that it was perhaps just all in her head, something born of worry and paranoia, not a child of reality.
I hope it’s just a figment of my imagination.
A whistle split the air, jerking her from her thoughts and startling Gray from his. “What was that?”
“Sentries, maybe?” Gray turned his gaze to the shore, to the old trees, a mix of pines and bare-branched deciduous trees. “Someone keeping watch for intruders?”
“Bloody hell, if they think we’re intruders—”
“We’d better hope that your brother shows up and fast.”
Aoife sucked in a sharp breath. “Assuming this is the right place.”
“You said we were close.”
“I did,” she admitted, fingers tightening on the tiller. “I also said I can’t tell exactly where we need to be, though. That was based on Teca’s scrying and she’s not here, is she?”
Gray winced.
Another whistle echoed through the trees, followed by another, then a third.
“Whoever’s up there knows we’re here,” Gray said with a grimace. “I’d kill for a working engine right about now.”
“What, so we can run?”
Gray smiled weakly. “If we have to.”
Aoife shivered. “Let’s hope we don’t have to.” She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.
It’s a gamble, but it’s also a chance you have to take.
She raised her voice. “Tell Phelan O’Credne that Aoife’s come to find him!”
