Page 94 of Queen of the Shadow

“I could tell that he was hiding something,” said Cuchulainn.

“And that was difficult for him. The words wanted to be spoken.” She shook her head. “His self-delusion is very strong.”

“It’s hard to believe he’ll ever move on to the Summerlands,” said Cuchulainn.

“He may not for what mortals would count as eons, but he isn’t evil. Self-deluded? Yes. A predator of children? Yes.” She turned to Cuchulainn. “Can you imagine how painful it will be for him when he finally faces the dark truth about himself and is repentant?”

“I wouldn’t have thought about that had you not mentioned it. All I was thinking about was that he’d tried to steal and rape a child and he deserved the Winterlands.”

“If he didn’t have the capacity to change and atone, he would be in the Winterlands,” she said.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Should he even be allowed to atone?”

“My mother’s heart says no. But the part of me that carries the compassion and wisdom of Béfionn’s blood says that if he or any other spirit has the ability to atone and change, they do not deserve to spend eternity tormented in frozen gloom.” She met his gaze. “How many lifetimes do you think it has taken you to attain the well of kindness you carry within?”

He opened his mouth to respond and then closed it. He chewed his lip as he considered a response. Cuchulainn sighed and spoke truth. “Many lifetimes. Sometimes I’m stubborn. Too stubborn. And if it doesn’t have to do with the skills of a warrior, I can be a slow learner.”

“You understand.”

She didn’t phrase it as a question, but he answered. “I think I do. I probably haven’t always—” Cuchulainn’s words were broken off as Chance snorted and came to an abrupt halt.

In the road before them stood Drest. Behind him crowded the corporeal spirits of his two hundred dead comrades—the entirety of Aife’s defeated army.

“Scáthach! Cuchulainn! What an extraordinary surprise.” Drest bared his teeth in a feral grin and raised his bloody sword.

Chapter 22

Before Sentanta met Scáthach, he would not have forgiven Drest or his army of dead warriors. He wouldn’t have even considered that they might be given another chance—a chance at not spending eternity in gloom, lost, far from their home.

But now? Now he did know her, and she’d changed everything.

* * *

Cuchulainn reacted instantly. “Hup, Chance, hup!” He gave the stallion his head and the big horse shot forward, not hesitating to plow his way through the army of dead. Warriors lunged aside as the chariot raced through and kept going.

“After them!” Drest’s command sounded behind them.

Cuchulainn let Chance run, only pulling him to a halt when they were out of sight of the pursuing army. The horse snorted and pranced in place, eager to keep running. “Settle,” Cuchulainn told him. “Be calm. Control yourself.”

The stallion stilled immediately.

Scáthach turned to face Cuchulainn. “You stop?”

“I need to ask you about Drest and the army. They’re Norse, correct?”

She tilted her head to the side, studying him. “They are.”

“Then what are they doing here? Should they not have been escorted to Valhalla by Odin’s Valkyries?”

“Valkyries only come to the battlefield to escort warriors to Valhalla when they die honorably,” she explained.

Cuchulainn’s brow furrowed. “But Drest and his army died in battle.”

“They did. In a dishonorable battle following a woman who commanded they attack a fort without provocation. Their ultimate purpose in following Aife was to usurp a crown not meant for her.”

His brow smoothed. “And that is lacking in honor. So even though they died in battle, they died dishonorably.”

“Yes, though I’m surprised to see them here. They should be in the domain of their Underworld goddess, Hel, where she will exact judgment,” said Scáthach. “I wonder if they are lost because they died so close to Dunscáith, a castle created by the Goddess of our Underworld?”