Page 32 of The Violet Raven

“Morning, Triona. You look… unsettled,” she says, her brow furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

I hesitate in the doorway, unsure how to begin. The images that woke me still swirl in my mind, and I don’t know if I can articulate the strange mix of fear and familiarity gripping me. But the urgency bubbling inside me forces the words out.

“I had the strangest… memory? Nightmare? I don’t even know what to call it. It’s been clawing at me.”

She gestures for me to sit, her curiosity immediate. “Go on,” she urges, her tone gentle but concerned.

As I recount the things I remember, the images feel more vivid, but more unsettling. “It felt like something I should remember, but I can’t. It’s slipping away, and it’s… it’s driving me mad.”

Dealla leans forward, her brows knitting together. “You said it felt like a memory. Why?”

I hesitate, my hand drifting to the back of my head. “There’s a scar here,” I say softly. “Right where the stone hit in the… whatever it was. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember, but I don’t know how I got it.”

“You never asked about it?”

“No,” I admit, my voice dropping. “I just… I’ve never truly taken the time to think about it. But now? It feels as if it might mean something, as if there’s this piece of my life I’ve forgotten.”

“Well, you do have a shite memory.”

The tease lands, pulling a small laugh from me. It breaks the tension—just for a breath.

Dealla’s gaze sharpens, and her voice takes on a serious tone. “Why is this bothering you so?”

Before I can respond, Casey saunters into the room, an impish grin lighting up his face. He’s carrying a bundle of firewood, clearly mid-task, but the moment he spots us, his attention veers off course. Whatever intention he had is immediately forgotten—his curiosity now far more interested in whatever conversation he’s just walked in on.

“Well, look who’s up bright and early,” he quips, flashing a quick smile at Dealla. “Good morning, Dealla. Ye’re practically glowin’ today.”

Then, with a smirk in my direction, he adds, “And Triona, still lookin’ half-asleep, even when ye’re upright. Truly impressive.”

I roll my eyes, but a small smile tugs at my lips. “Nice to see your sense of humour is still as questionable as ever.”

Dealla shakes her head with a playful smirk of her own. “Casey,” she scolds lightly, “if you spent half as much time being useful as you do trying to be clever, you might actually have found a bride by now. Someone else to taunt for eternity.”

“Ouch, Dealla! Right in the pride.”

I stifle a laugh, and he grins, completely unfazed. “Lucky for me, I’ve already got a bride to be under this roof,” he says, throwing Dealla a wicked grin. “Fair hair, bright blue eyes, alarming wit—ring any bells?”

Dealla arches a brow, lips twitching. “Oh please. You better hope your bride has poor taste and a high tolerance for nonsense.”

Casey beams. “Aye, and a thing for hopeless charm. I’m her dream, really.”

I snort. “If Dealla ever so much as glances in your direction with interest, I’ll assume she’s been cursed. Or concussed. I’d never let her succumb to whatever bizarre spell you’d have her under, you absolute bogle in trousers.”

Casey turns, feigning fresh betrayal. “A bogle, Triona? That’s low, even for you.”

Dealla laughs under her breath. “I mean… if the boot fits.”

“You wound me, Triona. And here I was, planning to name our firstborn after you.”

“Ach, the poor bairn will be hexed from birth,” I mutter, fighting a grin.

For a few minutes more, it’s just the three of us caught in that easy warmth—the kind that comes from years of knowing one another too well. But as the giggles settle, something quieter creeps in. The kind of hush that follows laughter when someone remembers why we were gathered here to start.

Casey is the first to notice. He tilts his head, brows knitting slightly as his voice softens. “Alright then… what had the two’ve you whisperin’ like old hens?”

Dealla gives him a measured look. “You’re one to talk. You’ve done naught but squawk since you walked through the door.”

“Aye, but my squawkin’s charming. Yours is suspicious.” He leans forward, gaze flicking between us. “C’mon now. I ken that look on yer face, Triona. Out with it.”