Page 47

Then tiny stars burst from the crack.

Or what looked like stars. Tiny motes of shimmering light flew out, spinning in wild little spirals. They circled him like excited fireflies, leaving faint glowing trails in the air.

He swatted at one, startled. It tapped gently against his skin, warm and curious, then darted away, joining the others as they danced around him.

A wish.

The thought slid into his mind as clearly as spoken words. He stared at the stone, his pulse thundering. The lights grew in number, multiplying until the entire clearing glowed like the inside of a dream.

What did he wish for?

Effie had told him the rules. No wishes for others. The stone respected free will. And it had to be his truest desire.

He felt selfish. Foolish. Hopeful. Liam closed his eyes and wished.

Birdsong coaxed him awake.

Wind brushed across his face, carrying the scent of dew, grass, and morning. He blinked up at the canopy above him, confusion rippling through his chest.

He was lying on his back in the clearing.

Heart hammering, he sat up sharply and looked toward the stone.

No crack. No light. No swirling stars. Just the same solid boulder it had always been.

A dream, then?

But the clarity of it, the vividness, the warmth, the unmistakable hum of power felt far too real to dismiss.

Still… wandering in his sleep was the far more logical explanation. He’d never done so before, but the upheaval of the past weeks could unsettle any man.

He needed a door. A bolt. Something to keep him inside at night.

Rising to his feet, he trudged back to the cottage. The sun was still low. The builders wouldn’t arrive for some time. Enough for him to make a fire, warm some porridge, and settle his rattled nerves.

By midday, he had installed the front door, hung two window frames, and fitted a third at the back. His muscles burned pleasantly, but not painfully, as he stood outside, watching the two hired men finish the small stable.

By nightfall, he would have a place for a horse. And a horse meant he could finally travel to the village without relying on others. A cart would be essential, as mounting a horse was beyond him now.

But a cart, a horse, a stable… it all felt like progress.

He grabbed his overcoat and coin pouch and stepped out to meet the workers. The older man eyed him strangely, bushy brows drawing low.

“Ye did a lot of work today, Liam.”

Liam shrugged. “Aye. As usual.”

The man snorted. “Aye, but ye move better than us. Most days ye can barely make it back to yer cottage.”

The words hit him like a blow. His knees buckled, and he collapsed. His chest tightened as breath tore from his lungs in rapid panicked gasps. Spots began flickering in his vision.

The workers scrambled down from the wagon.

“What’s happening?” the younger man cried. “Are ye dying?”

Liam shook his head, fighting for breath. “N-no… I-I am…” Another gasp. “I am w-well.”

“Ye dinnae sound well,” the older man muttered, hauling him upright with surprising gentleness.