[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]
Seamus was the only one perched near the gate when I arrived, my bow in hand and a quiver of arrows at my hip. Paul was up in the watch-tower with Davon; Rory and Greg were securing the gates, layering the second heavy bar into place. I could see the Wild Hunt starting to assume positions up on the walls, but none of them were terribly close to the gate—only Seamus, whose back was to me as he stared out over the field beyond the walls.
A chill crept down my spine.
I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I swallowed my unease and jogged the last few steps to the wall. “Seamus!”
He tore his gaze from the field to look toward me, blinking rapidly for a few seconds before he straightened from his crouch. “What are you doing here?”
“Defending my home,” I said as I started to climb up to the top of the wall. Rory broke away from the gates to give me a hand up and Seamus reached down to pull me the last little bit up onto the wall. I didn’t want to let on, but I was still more than a little sore from Lin’s birth. “Where the hell else would I be?”
“With my sister and your son and Tala and the kids?”
“Even Tala’s coming to the wall,” I said quietly. “The last time Menhit came, she was able to call the camazotzi and control them like Cariocecus used to do. We’re going to need all the hands we can muster out here on the wall.”
Seamus wasn’t paying attention to my answer, though. He was gazing out over the field again, his brow furrowed, expression grim. I stared at him for a second, then followed his sight-line.
My stomach dropped. “What the hell is she doing?”
“Playing the hero,” Seamus said grimly. “Or at least trying.”
“She’s going to get herself killed.”
Seamus exhaled. “Déithe agus arrachtaigh. I hope not, Marin. I hope not.”
