The longships had burned beautifully. Cú Dubh watched from the cliff road as the last of them slipped beneath the waves, its dragon prow reaching toward the sky like a drowning man's hand. The crews had never woken. He'd moved through them the way he always did, quick and quiet, blade finding throats before eyes could open. Then oil on the decks and fire on the oil.

  Three ships. Forty men apiece, maybe more. Gone before the sun touched the horizon.

  It had felt good, as always, but it was over too fast. Quick throats, sleeping men, no time to let the hatred run. The pressure was already building again by the time he reached the cliff road, and the only direction it had to go was toward his thoughts of the Weaver.

  The boy and the Heart would solve that. He didn't know exactly how to use the Heart, but one problem at a time.

  The sun was cresting the eastern hills when he reached the manor gates. The guards saw him coming and straightened, hands drifting toward weapons before they remembered who he was. What he was. They let him pass without a word.

  The courtyard was already filling with soldiers. Someone had organized them into loose ranks, and they stood in the grey morning light looking tired and confused and quietly terrified. They'd seen the fires in the harbour and the floating corpses. Now the creature responsible was walking past them like he owned the place.

  Cú Dubh liked the way they looked at him. The fear mixed with awe. The way their eyes slid away when he met them directly. This was how it should be. This was what the Weaver had made him for.

  Tighearnán was waiting at the top of the steps, dressed in finery that suggested he hadn't slept. His face was pale but composed, the face of a man who'd made a deal with something dangerous and was trying very hard not to regret it.

  "It's done," Cú Dubh said.

  "I saw." Tighearnán's voice was steady, but his hands betrayed him, fingers laced together to keep them still. "The harbour master sent word. All three ships. No survivors."

  "As promised."

  "As promised." Tighearnán took a breath. "You've done me a great service. The Isles haven't been this safe in fifteen years. Whatever you need, whatever resources, men, information. It's yours. Name it."

  Cú Dubh nodded once. The words were ashes in his mouth. He didn't care about Tighearnán's gratitude or his resources or his simpering promises. He cared about the Heart. He cared about the boy. He cared about finishing what he'd started.

  "I need to retrieve something from my quarters," he said. "Then we'll discuss the search."

  He didn't wait for a response. He crossed the courtyard, feeling the soldiers' eyes on his back, and climbed the stairs to the east tower.

  The door was unlocked. The room was empty.

  For a long moment, he just stood there, looking at the table where the satchel had been. The map was gone. The Heart was gone. Everything was gone except the bed he hadn't slept in, the chair he hadn't sat in, and the cold morning light falling through the window.

  Something cracked in his chest. He had let his heart be consumed by fire long ago, and he was still surprised it could feel anything besides the heat. Some wall he'd built between himself and the thing that lived underneath, the thing that wanted to tear and rend. A kind of blaze that only wanted to destroy until there was nothing left.

  He closed his eyes and breathed. He let the fury wash through him like flames through dry timber.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  When he opened his eyes again, his hands were steady. His face was calm. The thing underneath was still there, but it was caged again, waiting.

  He would find whoever did this, he would take back what was his, and then he would show them what happened to thieves who stole from nightmares.

  He descended the stairs and found a young man waiting at the bottom. The same man who had brought him the map the night before.

  "Mercenary," Cú Dubh said.

  "Athrachan," the young man replied.

  Athrachan meant changed one. A simpler word that was harsher on the tongue. An elegant way to describe Cú Dubh's form, even if the mercenary didn't realize how accurate it was. Cú Dubh didn't miss a step as he walked past the man in the mismatched armour.

  "Something I can do for you? I have no coin for your contract."

  "No need." The man smiled. "I'm contracted to Lord Tighearnán for the season."

  "You've been contracted for nine seasons, but you haven't left yet."

  "How did you…"

  Cú Dubh waved his hand. "What do you want, wanderless mercenary?"

  He paused, jaw tightening. "I saw who took your things."

  Cú Dubh went very still. "Tell me."

  "A woman. Young, I'd guess not yet twenty. Blonde hair, pale, and wearing a leather coat. She had piercings in her ears." Kiran's eyes met his, steady despite the fear that must have been churning underneath. "I tried to stop her, but she was fast. Got away over the rooftops before I could grab the bag."

  The description clawed at his memory but was just vague enough to describe half the young women in the Drowned Isles. He had to let it go or risk madness.

  "Where did she go?"

  "Down the cliff path. Toward the docks, I think. I lost sight of her in the dark."

  "Did she say anything? Give a name?"

  Kiran shook his head. "She said she got lost. Then she ran."

  A blonde woman with pierced ears. Young, fast, and knew the manor well enough to find her way in and out without being caught. Knew the rooftops. That meant she'd been here before. That meant this wasn't random.

  She took the map. Which meant she knew where they'd be searching, maybe even knew about the boy.

  "Why didn't you stop her?"

  Kiran's jaw tightened further. "I tried."

  "Not hard enough."

  "I don't put my hands on women."

  Cú Dubh stared at him. The fury pulsed behind his eyes, demanding release, but he held it back. Kiran's foolish rule.

  "Your code cost me something valuable," Cú Dubh said quietly. "Remember that, the next time you let a thief walk away because she happened to have breasts."

  Kiran's face darkened, but he didn't respond. Smart man.

  Cú Dubh turned and walked back toward the courtyard. The soldiers were still assembled, still waiting. Tighearnán had joined them, standing at the front with his new captain. They all watched as Cú Dubh approached.

  He stopped at the edge of the ranks and let them look at him. Let them see the yellow eyes and the wrong head. The thing that had sunk three ships while they slept. Let them understand what they were dealing with.

  "There's been a complication," he said. His voice carried across the courtyard, calm and clear. "The search now has two targets."

  Murmurs rippled through the ranks. The new captain raised a hand for silence.

  "The first target remains the same. A boy named Oisín. Fisherman's son. Lives in a village near Ballinacor." Cú Dubh paused, letting that settle. "The second target is a woman. Young, blonde, wearing a leather coat. She has piercings in her ears."

  He looked at their faces. Tired men, scared men, men who wanted to go back to their beds and forget any of this had happened. Too bad.

  "She stole something from me last night. Something I need. Find her, and you find the boy. She's heading the same direction."

  One of the soldiers raised a hand. "What do we do if we find her?"

  "Same as the boy. Bring her to me alive." Cú Dubh smiled, and he let them see the teeth. "I'll handle the rest."

  The soldiers shifted. Some of them looked at each other. None of them asked more questions.

  "First squad moves now," the new captain said. "Dawn was five minutes ago, we're already late. You heard the duine sí. Two targets. Move."

  The ranks broke. Men marched toward the docks and toward Tighearnán's waiting ships. Cú Dubh watched them go and felt the fury settle into something colder. Something patient and certain.

  She had the Heart and a map and was heading toward Ballinacor. He doubted she knew exactly what she was looking for or what was coming after her.

  He would find her, he would find the boy, and then he would figure out a way back to his Loom.

  Tighearnán appeared at his elbow. "Is there anything else you need? More men?"

  "Breakfast," Cú Dubh said. "Something I can eat while I walk."

  "Done."

  Tighearnán snapped his fingers, and a waiter appeared with a turkey leg. He ripped into its flesh as he walked down the path toward the docks.

  The sun was fully up now, golden light spilling across the isle, and somewhere outside Ballinacor, a blonde woman was running with his Heart in her bag.

  She would learn what it meant to get between the Black Hound and the thing he wanted most in this world.