Page 41 of An Archer's Reckoning

“Napping with your sword up Ayden’s—”

“Órla!” Ayden and I said in unison.

She giggled. “—sheath.”

I pulled my trousers up and began lacing them. “Órla, while we dress, would you mind flying a circle around our position, say a half mile or mile out? See if the Kingdom scouts are nearby?”

She shook out her feathers and straightened. “Yes, my liege. Of course, my liege.”

“Oh, stop it, you feathery fur ball.”

She made an odd gurgling sound I was fairly certain was a laugh. “I cannot be both feathery and furry. If you intend to spar, please bring a weapon . . . and not that wrinkled old man you poked Ayden with.”

Ayden spat out another laugh but was composed enough to avoid looking up lest he become Órla’s next target.

Before I could reply, she took wing and zipped past us and out the narrow cavern opening.

“At least she’s on our side,” Ayden said once we were alone again.

“You have no idea how much you just said.” I chuckled.

“What do you mean?” he asked as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“I’m not sure, but . . . I think there is more to Órla than I’ve been told. She wears the mantle of Daughter of Magic, but I was called Son of Magic. I have no idea what either of those things really means. And, while a talking owl is pretty impressive, I really haven’t seen her do anything fantastic, certainly not on the order of the Gifts I’ve discovered for myself.”

“But?” Ayden asked.

“But . . . I feel something . . . more. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Again, she’s on our side. More is good, right?”

“Right.” I smiled, stepped forward, and kissed him again.

As his hand reached up to cup my cheek, Órla darted back inside.

“Declan!”

“Órla, what is it?” I’d never seen her look frantic.

“I saw dead Rangers.”

“Shit,” Ayden said.

“I think it’s a lot worse than that,” she said.

“Órla, slow down. What did you see? Don’t leave anything out.”

“Let me show you.” She didn’t wait for an answer, simply took flight and sailed out into the forest.

“What does she mean, show you?” Ayden asked.

“I can see through her eyes.” When Ayden stared without blinking, I added, “I’ll explain later. I need to focus.”

I sat at the table and closed my eyes. Órla’s spirit flared brightly in the winter whiteness as our Lights found each other and joined.

“Oh, Spirits,” I said without opening my eyes. “There are troops. Ayden, they’re everywhere. And there’s Rangers . . . gods . . . four—no, five bodies, tossed in a pile.”

Órla soared higher, and I wobbled in the chair at the disorienting shift. When she circled and dove in for another look beneath the forest’s canopy, my breath caught.

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