His sister walked a small circle around his body. For some reason she'd always liked to do that. As a little girl, she'd made him dizzy as she raced around him at a dead run, giggling as she went.
Even though she was a young woman before him now, in his heart he always saw her as that chubby little toddler who used to sit on his lap for hours, playing with his braids as she gibbered her baby speech at him.
Just like Dere...
His stomach clenched at the memory.
Ceara hadn't been his only sister. Three more had been born between them. Fia had died her first year of life. Tress had lived to age five when she perished of the same illness that had claimed their mother.
And Dere...
She had died at age four.
She'd gone out at sunrise, wanting to see the fey folk Talon had teased her with. He'd told her how he often saw them out the window at daybreak while she slept.
Only five years old himself, he had heard someone leave their hut. At first he had thought it was his father. But as he snuggled back down to sleep, he'd realized Dere wasn't in their bed.
He'd gotten up immediately and rushed out to find her.
She had slipped on the rocks along the edge of the cliff that looked out onto the sea where he'd told her the fey frolicked in the early dawn's light.
He heard her scream and had run as fast as he could.
By the time he reached her, it was too late. Her young arms had been unable to hold on until he got there.
She lay below on the rocks with the waves rushing over her.
Even now, he could see her lying there. Could see the looks on his parents' faces when he had awakened them with the news.
Worst of all, he could see the accusation in his father's eyes.
Neither of his parents had ever uttered the words aloud, but in his heart he knew they had blamed him for it.
Not that it mattered. He blamed himself. He always had.
It was why he had been so protective of Ceara and Tress. Why he had been so determined that nothing bad would ever happen to his youngest sister.
Tonight, he saw a hesitancy in Ceara's steps.
"So, what's the news from the Daimon world?" he asked her.
Ceara paused. "How did you know?"
"You've been strangely quiet tonight. It's not like you to stay hidden while I hunt unless you're conferring with the others."
Her eyes glowed warmly. "I never could hide from you." She wrapped her arms around herself. "There was talk. There is a force here. One not Daimon born."
"Goblin, ghoul, demonic? What?"
"No one seems to be sure. There are Daimons surrounding the source of it, but it is not one of them. It's something else."
"A god?"
She looked up, exasperated. "I'm trying to find someone who knows, but as yet..." She paused and wrung her hands. "I want you to be careful, Speirr. Whatever this thing is, it holds a great deal of malice. Hatred."
"Can you locate it?"
"I have tried, but it moves whenever I draw near. It is as if the source knows to avoid me."