FORTY-EIGHT
SAGE
“Do you hear that?” Kieran whispers as we cross the field.
My feet slow a little, anxiety trickling through me. I scan the trees, seeing only shadows.
Before I can tell him no, one of the shadows moves. A large one. Just slightly.
I freeze.
Kieran grabs me, pulling me to the side, ducking under a fallen tree. “Stay here, don’t move.” He brushes his fingers along the scar on my neck. “And trust that I’ll be watching you.” Then he poofs away.
Seriously?
I peek over the tree, searching for the spot where I saw the movement, but I can’t see anything now. It’s all a thick wall of tree limbs and ivy. I don’t even know if what I saw move was a threat. For all I know, it could’ve been an animal. Like a really big raccoon or something. Are there raccoons in this forest? Bears? We’re in Scotland, right? What sort of animals run around in the land of plaid? There aren’t monkeys, obviously, but maybe—
“What are we hiding from?” whispers a voice beside me.
I twist to look, nearly falling over.
An old man is crouched behind the log, staring at me with wide, curious eyes. “Is it a Norseman?” A squirrel appears over his shoulder, peeking at me too.
I stare at them both. The smell of him wafts around me, a thick, barnlike scent. His eyes are a piercing blue, framed by the bushiest eyebrows I’ve ever seen. His hair is a tangle of silver gray and his hat looks like—well, I think it’s a bird’s nest. There are leaves and vines woven into his long thick robes, and his hand is gripping a tall walking stick. He looks like he just popped out of a children’s story.
Something brushes my foot, and I bite back a gasp of surprise as I look down.
It’s only a rabbit. Its ears twitch back like it’s annoyed that I’m not petting it.
“I hope it’s not a Saxon,” the old man says with a snort. “They smell like the underside of a horse. Very disagreeable. Whoever they are, they bring bad apples.”
I don’t quite know what to say. Or do. But I think this is Lailoken. He doesn’t look the same, not even a little. But he’s familiar.
He sinks lower and asks me in a conspiratorial voice, “Did you come here by way of sky or sea?”
“I walked?” I say, like a question. I should tell him why I’m here, that he’s in danger, but I’m at a total loss for words. Suddenly my memories are no help at all.
“Oh!” he says in wonder, brow going up. “Well, that is exciting.”
“Um”—I look down at the rabbit by my foot—“I came to warn you.”
“You did?” He adjusts the nest on his head.
“Yeah, there’s someone who’s trying to—”
He places a dirty finger to his lips to hush me. Then he points to something behind me in the field, whispering, “The tale begins, my child.” Giddiness fills his features, and he motions for me to look. “I’ve been waiting so very long.”
I turn.
Faelan is emerging from the woods. He pauses at the edge, searching the opposite tree line, his body tense.
Relief washes over me, and I start to stand, lifting a hand to wave. But I’m grabbed from behind, the old man yanking on my shirt. “No, no,” he hisses. “You’re interrupting. Hush now and sit still.”
I open my mouth to scold him, and he puts a finger to his mouth again. My throat clenches. I can’t speak.
“No more foolishness, Lily. This is what we’ve waited for.” He motions at me to watch.
Fear threads through me, my skin turning clammy. What is he talking about?
He called me Lily.
I turn to Faelan, but when I open my mouth to call to him, nothing comes out. I try to get up, to move, but it’s like my feet are stuck, my legs useless.
Fear becomes dread. I stare at Faelan, helplessly watching him cross the clearing, his body crouched low to the ground, his eyes watchful. He won’t see me here; he’s focused on the trees across from us. He moves steadily. And when he passes us, he’s forty yards or so away.
He pauses halfway across the field, pulling a dagger from his waist like he heard something. He studies the trees ahead, then turns to look behind him.
An object sings through the air. And a dull thwack echoes around the clearing.
Faelan flies back, an arrow protruding from his chest.
A cry fills me, horror burning in my limbs, but I can’t move, I can’t speak. I’m frozen, useless. Held captive by a crazy old man.
Lailoken touches my shoulder like he’s consoling me as we watch. He leans over, whispering, “He is a brilliant boy, Mr. Winter. I hope he brought his heart with him. He shall need it.”
Another snapping of twigs nearby and someone else emerges from the forest. I blink, not sure I’m seeing right. I think I recognize him. He’s in old-fashioned black leathers, a bow held in his hand, a quiver on his back. His hair is dark brown, cut close to his head, and his skin is tan.
Ben. The shade from the Halloween party where all of this began.
“You got him,” he yells to someone behind him. “That should hold him for a minute, maybe two. Hurry up and get the bigger torque.”
Someone else yells back from the cover of the trees, a female voice, but I can’t hear it clearly.
“No way, not without the torque. I’m not getting paid enough to be gutted by your lover.”
There’s silence, and the man is joined by a second figure, a tall female. She emerges into the clearing like a Viking princess, her perfect body clad in tight, ancient-looking leathers, a thick iron shackle in her fist.
A white-blond braid curls over her shoulder.
Astrid.
What is she doing here? I expected to see Mara, but this . . . it doesn’t make sense.
I watch her and Ben walk toward Faelan’s body. They slow as they get closer, both pulling out daggers. Astrid says something quietly, and Ben goes around in a wider circle, to the other side. Then he kneels and grabs Faelan, pushing him into a limp sitting position.
Faelan looks completely out of it, his chin on his chest, his dark hair curtained over his face. A huge arrow is sticking out of his chest.
My own chest aches and tears fill my eyes. I want to run out there, to rip that bitch’s braid out by the roots. What the hell are they doing to him?
“Now they shall see, Lily,” Lailoken whispers. “It will come as quite a shock, but they shall see.”
Astrid leans over and places the torque around Faelan’s neck. Then she nods at Ben, who hoists him up and starts dragging Faelan’s body across the clearing into the trees. Astrid follows, slipping her dagger casually back into her belt, a satisfied grin on her face.
“Well, let’s go!” Lailoken says, sounding excited. He snaps his fingers and my throat warms, the lock on my limbs easing. “It’s almost your cue, princess. The boy needs us to save him.” He grabs me by the arm, yanking me to my feet and tugging me through a raspberry bush like he’s as strong as a twenty-year-old.
I stumble forward, getting pricked and snagged on the thorns as I’m pulled.
“Let go!” I hiss, trying to get away, but he’s gripping me too tightly, dragging me through brush and past branches, hurriedly weaving through the trees.
“No,” he says. “No more letting go. I’ve missed you too long.” The rabbit follows at our feet, and several more pop up from the bushes, joining the herd. The squirrel rides on the monk’s shoulder, clinging with its tiny claws. It glares at me with its beady eyes, like I’ve offended it.
“What is going on?” I ask, desperate.
“You’re going to complete the circle, of course. As your mother planned.”
I growl in frustration. That makes no sense.
“I know,” he says, like he actually pities me. “You’re mixed up in your belly. It’s how it had to be done. No other way to hide. But don’t worry, child. It’s all blossoming now!”
His words strike me—he knows why this is all happening. I open my mouth to ask him the millions of questions crowding my head, but he yanks me again, pulling me forward faster.
“Not now,” he says. “No time for questions.” Like he’s reading my mind.
We come to a sparser part of the forest, and he pauses, looking around frantically. He whistles, and a huge bird swoops down from an upper branch, landing on a root nearby. Lailoken leans over like he’s listening to the creature.
I stare at the owl. The perfectly soft white and tan feathers. The black eyes reflecting the forest around us.
“Fionn,” I say in amazement. Kieran said the bird was dead!
“He whispers that Mr. Winter is this way,” Lailoken says, pointing through the shadowed trees.
I don’t look away from the owl. No, this can’t possibly be the same bird. It just can’t, not so many years later.
Of course, I’m apparently talking to this guy, who was alive back then too, so . . .
The bird takes off, disappearing into the limbs above.
“Was that Fionn?” I dare to ask.
Lailoken uses his long staff to move the curling arm of a fern off the path. “It’s a maybe and a most definitely. It isn’t my place to say what spirit returns to me now and then.”
The vision of the bird splits me in two again. I feel the familiarity of the trees around me and the cool, damp air—Lily’s longing for it all—but this time I don’t push her back. I want to believe that Fionn was three feet away from me just now, that he’s still alive. It makes the magic in this world seem less horrible, after all the manipulation and dead bodies.
We come to a denser part of the forest again, and Lailoken slows, tapping his staff on a tree with a hollow thunk, thunk, thunk, like he’s knocking to be let in.
Another squirrel scuttles from above and begins to chatter, its tail ticking and swishing.
“They come this way,” Lailoken says to me, waving at the trees ahead. “Hiding is necessary, I believe. We should choose our moment wisely.” He tugs on my sleeve, urging me back behind a rock, and presses me into a bush. I search the trees ahead expectantly. When we hear the crunching of brush and pine needles underfoot, I duck lower behind the rock.
“I think we should take the arrow out,” I hear Ben say. “It’s tearing his lung. It could make a mess, and he’s bleeding an awful lot. I didn’t think we were planning on killing him.”
“Enough sympathy, Ben,” Astrid says in a silky voice. “I know what the demi hunter can take.”
My gut clenches hearing them talk about Faelan, his wounds. And when I see the pair of them emerge from the trees, Faelan in tow, I nearly lunge forward. His hands are tied behind his back, the thick torque keeping him powerless. His blue shirt is coated in slick red, and his skin is ashen.
Lailoken grabs me by the arm, shaking his head. “Choose wisely,” he mouths.
Ben sets Faelan on the moss, leaning him against a tree. “How long, then? We could be wandering in this place for a fortnight at this rate. We’re not going to find the old bastard. He’s flown the coop.”
“We’ll worry about the monk after we catch the princess. Now that we have her protector she’ll sense it, and she’ll come. Any minute. The stupid bitch is in heat. You should’ve seen her mooning over him at the Introduction. She has no idea.” Astrid crouches beside Faelan. “Does she, lover?”
He opens his eyes slowly, grunting. “Bitch,” he mutters, blood glistening on his bottom lip.
She grabs the shaft of the arrow, staring at him. Then she leans close, kissing him full on the mouth, and yanks the arrow out in a swift jerk, laughing as she pulls it away.
He squirms. “What’ve you done, Astrid, you’ve gone too far—”
She kisses him again, swallowing his words. When she pulls away the second time, he glowers at her.
“You remember how to play our game, lover?” she asks softly, running a finger down his blood-soaked shirt to the waist of his pants. His blood is on her lips and smeared on her chin. “We’d play for hours under the willow. Skin and clover and sweat.”
My nails scrape against the rock.
“Go fuck yourself,” he says through his teeth.
A dark smile slinks up her lips, and she tugs on the waist of his pants, straddling him. “I will do it,” she says, “you know I will.” She reaches over to her boot and pulls out a smaller knife. She points it at his face, then aims down, cutting the collar of his shirt before ripping it and baring his chest.
He grunts in pain from the sudden movement.
My bones ache watching it. Lailoken takes my arm, like he wants to hold me back from stopping them. I have no idea what I’m waiting for. I can access all my power now. My torque is still in my pocket from when Kieran took it off earlier.
But a part of me knows I still don’t have total control over the fire, and I’m terrified of hurting Faelan.
Astrid trails the blade of the knife along his clavicle. “I’ll force you to break your vow,” she says. “Right here against this tree, with Ben to bear witness—your body never fails to respond to mine, does it? Then you’ll be forced to return to your brother. You’ll have no choice any longer.”
His vow. Could it somehow be keeping him free of his father’s House? But how? I thought he was an outcast.
“How could you?” he chokes out. “After everything, you’ve done this? You’ve sided with Mara, killed a pixie, cursed Marius, chased away an old human—and for what? Just to get me imprisoned again by my brothers, held by your manipulations, after all these centuries?”
She laughs. “Please, you’re amazing, but not enough to risk the Pit for. This isn’t about you at all; your punishment for leaving me alone is just a bonus.” She rests the blade of the knife against his cheek and leans forward. “This is about the newblood. I made a deal, you see. Your precious firebird is going to be worked on by the Princess of Bones. She’s going to drive your pupil completely mad. And then she’s going to siphon all that power from her, leaving her a dried-up husk.”
Faelan jerks, and the blade breaks his skin, cutting into his face. Blood runs down, slicking his jaw and neck.
Astrid grins as he squirms. “She’ll probably look like she did the night you dragged her from the gutter. And all will be complete.” She moves the tip of the blade in a circle on his shoulder. “I know you thought I’d changed my mind about leaving your brothers. But I never actually planned to go with you. I couldn’t believe you were serious. I’d hoped you’d challenge your brother and take over as master. But I should’ve known—always so noble. So I waited patiently, and my opportunity finally came. And now I get what I want by upgrading to Kieran, and Princess Mara will get to play her freaky games. I’m excited to watch the bitch you’re infatuated with live a horrifying eternity in the princess’s claws. It’s a win-win for me, really.”
A chill works through me as Faelan goes completely still.
Then a burst of noise comes from above, the sound of hundreds of birds filling the trees.
Astrid’s smile fades, and she yells into the forest, “You should come out now, Sage. Or I’ll make you watch me do more than cut him. Olly, olly, oxen free!”
Lailoken lets go of my arm, whispering, “Go play, Lily.”