We came to halt upside down but relatively intact. The air was thick with dust and the windows were caked with the stuff, meaning I had no clue where we’d landed or where the Adlin were. The sensors were ominously quiet. Something must have broken when we’d been sent flying. The engines, however, were still at full bore, and the acrid smell of smoke teased the dusty air. I hastily shut everything down and an odd, creak-filled hush fell over the pod.

Nothing moved except the wind, and she was urging us to get out, to flee before the Adlin fell upon us again.

But if we’d did flee, we’d die. The Adlin had kept up with the scooter’s top speed—what hope would we have on foot?

I reached up with a bloody hand and gripped the ragged edges of the hole I’d blasted into the foot well, and then unlatched the seat belt with the other. Once back on my feet, I twisted around and glanced at Saska. She was hanging upside down, her eyes closed and her expression slack. It was hard to tell whether she was conscious or not.

“Saska, you okay?”

She jumped at the question, but didn’t open her eyes. “Yes.”

The whisperings of the wind got stronger, and brought with it an ominous howling. The Adlin were coming at us yet again.

I gathered my weapons, then pressed the earwig. “Base, this is eight-three. The scooter is down. I repeat, the scooter is down.”

Static was my only reply. I cursed softly but resisted the urge to rip the thing out of my ear. While I might not be getting a response, there was always a chance that Winterborne could hear me. And, if not, they should at least be able track my position through it—but only as long as the tail remained inserted in my ear canal.

“Well,” I said as I began reloading all the weapons, “unless Blacklake can break the land-speed record, it looks like it’s just the two of us.”

“Yes.” Again her reply was remote.

I glanced at her sharply. Air spun tightly around her, air that was as sharp and electric as a storm on a summer night. On a surface level, she might have appeared uncertain about her air witch abilities, but her subconscious self certainly had no such doubts.

The bite in the air got stronger, louder, and the pod began to shudder and shake. But rather than lifting it up, as I half expected, the wind began to tear at the broken metal, ripping it further apart, creating a hole big enough to fit a person through.

There was a soft click and Saska fell free of her restraints, grunting as she landed partially on her head and partially on her back. The wind began to wrap around her and I suddenly realized what was about to happen.

“You are not going to leave me here alone, witch.”

I slung the rifle across my shoulder, clipped the gut busters to my utilities belt, and then lunged forward and wrapped both arms around her waist. And none too soon. The wind had barely finished demolishing the rest of the pod’s wall when it pulled her free, taking me with it in the process. It swept us upward, into the blue of the sky, and then hesitated. Fingers of wind began to tear at my grip on Saska. I closed my eyes and for the first time ever, attempted to meld with the air, reaching as deep into its heart as I could. Pleading my case, asking it to save me too.

The fingers stopped pulling at my hands and, after a moment, the wind wrapped around us both and held us steady. A cocoon of cloudy, gossamer air that was as soft as spun cotton and yet as cold as ice then formed to conceal us. When that was done, we were ripped up and sideways at speed.

I had no idea where we were going. The wind might have listened to my plea but she wasn’t talking to me right now. Nor was Saska. All I could do was hope we weren’t being taken toward even bigger trouble.

Only a few minutes seemed to have passed when our speed diminished and the cocoon began to unravel. Below us, brown soil stretched on forever, empty and without life. I could see neither the Adlin nor the Blacklake rescue party, and there was nothing even remotely familiar.

The wind delivered us onto the ground then gently eased away. I loosened my grip on Saska and rolled away from her, staring up at the blue sky while I sucked in air and thanked whatever gods might be listening for our freedom.

I guessed it now was up to me to ensure we remained that way.

I sat up. While I still had all my weapons, none of them would protect us for very long if the Adlin found us. As for injuries… I finally allowed myself to look at my left hand. The black graphene-and-Kevlar-layered leather glove had undoubtedly saved me from losing it, but neither had gone undamaged. While I could still move three of my fingers, my pinky felt dead and lifeless. There was also a great gash that stretched from my knuckles to my elbow, and it was from this that most of the blood was coming. Weirdly, it wasn’t hurting. Maybe I was still in shock. Or maybe the desperate knowledge of what our fate might yet be if we didn’t find some sort of sanctuary in this barren, blighted place was simply smothering it.

If I wanted any chance of survival, the first thing I’d better do was stop the blood loss. I stripped off my jacket, and then grabbed the knife and cut the sleeves into strips. I didn’t bother taking off my glove—it was probably helping to keep the wound together—and simply wound the strips of material as tightly as I could over my hand and forearm. It would make grabbing and firing weapons harder, but realistically, a lack of movement in one hand wasn’t going to make a great deal of difference if we were caught.

I shoved my jacket back on then pushed upright. There was nothing on the horizon, no sign of dust, and absolutely no indication of where we were. I unclipped the small compass from my belt and held it away from my body. The needle swung about for a second or two, then settled on north. Winterborne lay to the south, Blacklake to the west. All of which wasn’t much help when I had no idea where we’d actually landed and therefore how far we were from either of them. I bent and roughly shook Saska. “Wake up.”

“Can’t,” she mumbled. “Everything hurts.”

I’d heard that sometimes when a witch used too much of their strength to summon and control wind and weather, their body could be thrown into such a state of shock that could take hours—if not days—for them to recover, but I wouldn’t have thought that would have applied here.

But then, what would I know? I wasn’t witch trained and had never asked the wind to do much more than throw up the occasional dust devil.

“Where did you ask the wind to take us?” I said. “Where did it leave us?”

“Home,” she said. “I told it to go home.”

“And is your home Winterborne?”

“No. Yes.” The wind stirred, briefly teasing her hair, and then she waved a hand. “West. We went west.”

Meaning we were probably closer to Blacklake than Winterborne. Which was handy, given the garrison had emptied out to rescue us, but only if they weren’t headed in the opposite direction to where we now were.

“We need to start walking.”

“I can’t.”

“You must.” I reached down, grabbed her hand with my one good one, then planted my feet and hauled her upright. She cursed me, her language colorful and inventive. No gently raised witch, this one, I thought with a grin.

“Lean on me.” I gripped her waist with my bad hand—as much as I was able to anyway—to steady her.

She flung an arm around my shoulders and, after a stumble or two, we began walking in a westerly direction. Although our pace wasn’t great, it was at least momentum.

Time ticked by. The sun got higher, and no matter how hard I scanned the horizon, there was no sign that anyone or anything was coming to rescue us. But there was also no sign of the Adlin, so I guess that evened things out.

We continued walking. The barrenness of this place seemed to stretch on, with no relief in sight. Wherever the hell the wind had blown us, it obviously wasn’t anywhere near the Blacklake encampment. While I hadn’t actually been there, I’d done escort duty to Farsprings, and that place was a veritable garden, thanks to its closeness to the river and the attention the two witches who did duty there gave to the soil immediately around the encampment. I could see no reason why Blacklake, with the river running across its western flank, would be any different.

As the day grew hotter and the air shimmered, walking became more and more difficult. My arm burned, the pain a pulse that was as rapid as my heartbeat, and an odd lightheadedness was beginning to take hold.

That’s when I saw it.

The dust.

Relief stirred and I staggered to a stop. The approaching cloud was thick and heavy, and spoke of numbers.

“I think the cavalry just found us, Saska.”

“No.”

The reply was so softly spoken I wouldn’t have heard it if not for the wind snatching it up toward me. That same wind spoke of the dust and the things that came.

It wasn’t the Blacklake soldiers. It was the Adlin.

They’d found us.

Somehow, the bastards had found us.

I couldn’t run. Nor could I call the wind—not to lift us up and whisk us away. I didn’t have the strength to maintain such an order, even if the wind would obey a call like that from me. Maybe Saska could… but even as that thought crossed my mind, her knees buckled and she became a deadweight that almost dragged me down with her.

I let her go, took a deep breath, and tried to think. To plan. After a moment, I pressed the earwig and said, “This is Nightwatch eight-three, sending out a code red call. We are on foot and in trouble. The earwig is malfunctioning and the scooter is destroyed. Adlin have our scent. We have, perhaps, ten minutes. If you’re out there, if you’re listening, come save our asses. And if you can’t do that, come get our bodies.”

Or whatever was left of them after the Adlin had finished with us.

I glanced around again, looking for someplace to make a stand, to give us hope, but there was absolutely nothing but flat, hard earth….

Maybe that was our salvation.

I gathered the wind to my hand, directed it at the soil, and asked it to dig. Maybe she sensed my desperation and need, because she gathered speed and strength as she clawed at the soil. Dust flew all around us, a choking cloud that would flag our presence to anyone who was out there. It didn’t matter, because the only things that were out there were the Adlin, and they were already well aware of us.

A short trench that was three feet wide and almost double that in depth was soon created. I directed the wind sideways to create a cave, then jumped into the trench and dragged Saska in after me. There was very little room to maneuver but that was the whole point.

The fierce, trumpeting war cry of the Adlin bit across the howling of the wind. I closed my eyes and urged the air to hurry. She picked up strength, tearing at my hair and clothes, threatening to suck us into the vortex that was hammering through the rocklike soil. Chunks of earth began to explode all around us. I shifted to protect Saska’s naked body, but it was mostly the smaller pieces that hit us. The larger chunks were flung upwards and shot sideways. Maybe the wind was doing her bit to help us.

When a deep enough cave had been created in the soil, I asked the wind to ease, then shifted my grip on Saska and dragged her to the very back of the earth shelter. It was about twelve feet in length and three wide, and a little too grave-like, when I thought about. But at least the Adlin, with their big bodies and wide shoulders, would have trouble getting down here en masse.

Their roaring cut out again. I grabbed the gut busters, double-checked they were fully loaded and undamaged, and then returned to the cave’s opening. For a minute, everything was silent. Nothing moved other than the floating dust.

Then a big, hairy body appeared high in the air before thumping feet first into the trench. He wedged tight at hip level and began to pound and tear at the soil. I dropped the guns, grabbed the knife, and slashed at his legs, severing tendons and biting deep into bone. He roared and twisted, the earth shuddering under the force of his blows. Dust and stone rained around me, but I continued to saw at his legs, until one was amputated and the other hanging by threads. Blood poured from the remains of his limbs, a black river that spoke of death. This time, it was his rather than mine. But the trembling earth told me there were at least five others up there, if not more.

The movements of the Adlin stuck in the cave’s entrance got weaker, his strength seeming to drain as swiftly as his blood. His body jerked, shifting upward several inches, before he was torn from the entrance and a fierce, battle-scarred leathery face appeared. I jumped back, grabbed a gut buster, and fired. The pellets tore into the Adlin’s face, shredding his nose, cheeks, and mouth, and taking out one eye. But he didn’t move. He simply opened his broken, bloody mouth and screamed at me. His breath smelled like death. I aimed slightly higher and fired again. This time, the pellets took off the top of his head and much of his brain.

As his body fell toward me and half covered the entrance, claws slashed down from the left. I threw myself backward, but one claw snagged my boot and dug down into flesh. I swore and fired the gut buster; hair and skin flew, and bone was revealed, but again the Adlin didn’t seem to care. He simply dragged me forward and up. I swore, grabbed my knife with my left hand, and slashed awkwardly at the claws drawing me toward death. The glass blade was diamond bright in the shadows of our earth hollow, and it cut across the Adlin’s knuckles as swiftly and as easily as paper, separating its flesh and releasing me from its grip. The creature screamed and slashed with the remains of his hand, trying to hook me again. I scrambled backward, out of his reach and out of immediate sight.

The severed claw was still stuck in my leg, and though it hurt something fierce, I didn’t pull it out. I had no idea what damage it had done, but blood was filling my boot and I suspected it might get worse if I removed the claw. I tugged off my jacket, cut some more strips of material from it, and hastily wrapped my calf to immobilize the claw and stop it from causing further damage. The Adlin were now tearing at the tunnel opening, desperately trying to widen it. I reached across for my weapons and waited. I didn’t have the energy to do anything else.

Dust once again filled the air, and heavy chunks of earth littered the cave entrance. Maybe they were trying to bury us rather than eat us…. The thought died as another Adlin jumped into the hole. I raised the rifle and fired. The nitrate bullets killed him in an instant and his body filled the entrance, momentarily stopping the others. But it left me with only the knife, the gut busters, and my blaster. The latter was useless against the Adlin, but that’s not what I’d be using it for anyway.

There was no way I’d let either of us be taken alive by those things.

I briefly closed my eyes and tried to quell the fear—and the anger—that rose. Every Nightwatch member knew death was a possibility. I just hadn’t thought mine would find me facing the enemy alone out in the middle of the Tenterra wasteland.

The Adlin’s body was soon hauled from the widened entrance but another didn’t immediately fill its place. Maybe they’d finally learned what fate would befall them if they did. While they didn’t appear to have human intelligence, the Adlin certainly weren’t stupid. They were more than capable of creating primitive weapons, so they were certainly able to grasp the consequences of their actions—at least when the hunting rage wasn’t on them.

But that could be said about many a human, too.

A thumping sound began immediately above us, echoing lightly as dust floated down from the ceiling. As the thumping got louder—harder—I realized they were trying to bring the roof down. The heavy blanket of dust now swirling through the cave caught in my throat, making me cough. I hurriedly tore several strips off the bottom of my shirt to use as a filter then edged forward, wondering if it was possible to shoot any of them. The minute I moved, an arm swooped down through the trench and tried to grab me.

I resisted the impulse to fire at the questing claws and simply kept out of their reach. I had maybe a dozen rounds left in each of the gut busters; I couldn’t afford to waste them. Not if it was going to take at least two rounds to take out one of them.

The jumping continued and cracks appeared in the roof. I swore and reached for the wind. She stirred lightly around me then ran away, and for a minute, I thought I heard someone swearing. Which was stupid, because the wind, as much as she sometimes appeared to be playing games with me, wasn’t capable of any sort of emotion.

The cave’s roof cracked. As I looked up, a huge chunk of stone and soil came tumbling down. I leaned sideways to avoid it then pressed the earwig in frustration. “For freedom’s sake, is anyone out there? This is Nightwatch eight-three, about to become Adlin lunch if someone doesn’t get to us within the next couple of minutes.”

Unsurprisingly, static was my only reply. I cursed it and fate and anyone else who might be listening, then slid on my backside to the rear of our disintegrating shelter. I unlatched the blaster, counted the bullets in the chamber to ensure I kept two for Saska and myself, then gripped the gut busters and waited.

More and more chunks of soil came down, until a crack of blue sky was visible. Another thump, and then feet appeared. I unleashed the gut busters and just kept firing. There was little point in conserving bullets now.

Blood and bone and freedom only knew what else began to rain through the widening cracks above us. The Adlin didn’t seem to care about the damage I was inflicting on them; they just kept on jumping. The low-ammo light began to blink—a slow flashing that was little more than a countdown to our death.

The booming retort of the weapons echoed all around us, sounding like a dozen rather than merely two. One of the gut busters fell silent, but that odd echoing continued.

Imagination? Wishful thinking?

I cocked my head and listened. It was neither. There were other weapons being fired out there.

Hope surged but I clamped down on it, hard. Until every Adlin warrior was dead and I saw the evidence of salvation with my own eyes, I couldn’t allow myself to hope.

The heavy machine-gun fire continued for another few minutes, then silence fell. I waited. A few more minutes passed, then dust stirred, a heavy cloud that drifted into our broken shelter, making any sort of vision next to impossible.

“Nightwatch eight-three?” a deep voice said. “This is Blacklake Prime. How are you both faring down there?”

Blacklake Prime. Winterborne hadn’t just called out the regular troops; they’d sent the commander of the whole outpost. It made me wonder who the woman I’d rescued was, because they certainly wouldn’t have done it for me.

“I’m injured, and our witch is unconscious.”

“Is she hurt?”

“No.”

“Good. I’m sending a healer down. Don’t shoot him.”

A smile touched my lips. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about the Nightwatch, but we’re not inclined to shoot our rescuers.”

“I thought it best to mention, given the way you were spraying bullets around.” Amusement ran through the rich tone of his voice. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had an armory down there.”

“No armory. I just decided it was better to go out in a blaze of glory.”

Feet appeared at the main entrance to our cave, then a brown-clad man dropped into the trench, his fingers briefly brushing the ground before he rose again. He was carrying a medikit and looked a whole lot younger than me, although that could merely be the impression given by his rather wild-looking red hair.

“I’m Mace Dien, chief healer at Blacklake.”

So, once again, not just any old healer, but the man in charge. Saska had to be someone of importance—maybe even someone from one of the ruling houses.

“Neve March.” I held out my good hand and, after a moment, he shook it. “Saska is unconscious, but I think it’s due more to overusing her abilities. I did run a scanner over her when I found her, and it came back negative for injuries.”

His gaze briefly scanned her then came back to me. “She’s not the one needing attention right now.”

I smile tugged my lips. “Perhaps, but she’s the reason you’re all here, is she not?”

He didn’t bother denying it, just moved inside our shelter and crouched down beside me. “Tell me if this hurts,” he said, and lightly placed a hand on my injured leg.

It felt like I was being touched by a hot iron, and it set off a wave of heat and pain so fierce it had a hiss escaping and sweat popping out across my brow.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” His gaze shifted to my left arm, and he made a “show me” motion with a couple of fingers.

I raised it as ordered but it was a far harder task than it should have been. Obviously now that adrenaline was no longer coursing through my body, reaction was setting in.

Again, he touched me, and again it felt like fire. He screwed his nose up and met my gaze. “They both need immediate attention, but I can’t do anything in this pit. If I give you a painkiller, do you think you can stand being hauled out?”

“Yes.” No matter how much pain it caused, it would never be as bad as what the Adlin would have put us through had they caught us alive.

“Good.”

He opened the medikit, which turned out to be extremely basic, containing little more than vials of painkillers and a couple of needle-free injectors. But then, he was a healer, and they tended to work alongside regular medicine and doctors, using a mix of psychic power and magic to heal wounds. They also tended to spend a lot of their time on the battlefield, patching up bodies to ensure survival until proper medical attention could be given.

He injected both my arm and my leg, then closed the kit back up and rose. “Okay,” he said, offering me his hand. “Take it easy getting up. You’ve lost a lot of blood and could be very lightheaded.”

There was no “could be” about it. I gripped his hand, took a deep, steadying breath, then nodded. He carefully pulled me upright, but it didn’t really matter. My head still spun, my knees buckled, and my stomach rose rather alarmingly. He gripped my elbow to steady me, and then shifted his grip to my waist, holding me upright in much the same manner as I’d held Saska up earlier.

“One coming up,” he said as we shuffled forward.

It was an effort that had sweat running down my spine and forehead. Damn, I felt weak.

Once we’d made it into the open air, hands reached down and hauled me up. The fierceness of the sunshine had my eyes watering but it didn’t stop me from seeing the mutilated remains of the Adlin. There weren’t just five or six bodies scattered about, but over a dozen of them. It was a far greater number than what had initially attacked us and it made me wonder why. Adlin might be fierce hunters, but it was unusual for a hunting pack to allow others in on the action once the chase had begun.

The two men who’d hauled me upright shifted their grip and then carried me across to one of three heavily armored, tanklike troop movers. These things weren’t designed for comfort, and were cramped and basic inside. This one had two medibeds situated at the rear of the vehicle. The soldiers carefully placed me the bottom bunk then gave me a nod and retreated. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore not only the sick weakness washing through my limbs but the impulse to punch the air in victory and shout obscenities at the ghosts of the Adlin who’d been slaughtered in this place. Both urges were undoubtedly a reaction to surviving the unsurvivable, but it wasn’t like we were out of the woods yet. The Adlin had showed an amazing tenacity, and part of me couldn’t help but think our problems weren’t over yet.

Footsteps echoed as someone entered the mover, and I reluctantly opened my eyes. The man who had entered was tall, with the brown skin and hair that was commonly found amongst those who were earth witches, and eyes that were a startling green.

“Trey Stone, Blacklake Prime.” He stopped near the bunk and crossed his arms. “That’s one hell of a chase you led the Adlin on, March.”

“It was either run or die, and I really wasn’t in the mood for the latter today.”

“Obviously.” His gaze scanned my face but showed little reaction to the very evident stain on my cheek. Which was odd, because it was the first thing most people commented on when they initially met me. “Was there any indication of how Saska Rossi came to be naked and unescorted in the middle of nowhere?”

“No indication at all, Commander.”

But the fact that she was a Rossi really did explain why everyone had gone to such lengths to rescue us. The Rossis were a very powerful family of air witches, and one of the six ruling houses in Winterborne.

Stone was another.

And while it wasn’t surprising to find an earth witch stationed at Blacklake—all outposts had both air and earth witches on their rosters—it was certainly unusual for the placement to go to someone from a ruling house. It was even rarer for that person to become prime.

“And how did you get to be here, so far away from your scooter?” he asked.

I gave him an edited version of events and he frowned. But before he could question me further, the two men who’d carried me reappeared with Saska. Stone stepped back to let them pass, then glanced at me again. “We’re returning to Blacklake. I’ll inform your captain we’ve found you alive and relatively intact.”

“Thanks.”

He headed out of the carrier, moving with a grace and lightness that was rare in those of earth. Or maybe it simply rare in those born into the lower houses, or in those who usually held duty at the five border encampments.

Mace climbed into the cabin, followed by half a dozen other men. He curtained off the rear of the carrier then strapped Saska in before repeating the process on me.

As the roar of the engine coming to life filled the air and the whole carrier began to rattle, he said, “I’m afraid your wounds aren’t going to wait until we get back to Blacklake.”

I shrugged. “That’s okay. I have no problems with healers.”

“Good to hear, although it wouldn’t matter if you did, because I’m all you’ve got. And you won’t be awake to protest, anyway.”

“I’d rather not—”

“Every Nightwatch I’ve ever treated has said that.” He placed a hand on my forehead. Heat leapt from his skin to mine, and an odd sort of peace began to descend. “The expectation of toughness must be off the scale amongst your lot.”

“It’s not.” The words came out slightly slurred as the peacefulness began to extend across my body. “I just hate…”

…being incapacitated when others are facing danger in my stead. But the words never made it to my lips. The peacefulness claimed me and I knew no more.

It was the warm wash of water that woke me. For several seconds I didn’t move; I simply enjoyed the sensation as I gathered my senses and tried to figure out where I was.

And that obviously wasn’t in the troop carrier. This place was quiet and filled with the fresh scents of herbs and femininity rather than machine oil and men.

The gentle breeze that stirred past my skin spoke of night and stars, and told me nine hours had passed since our rescue. There was no pain emanating from either my arm or my leg, although a quick twitch of my left hand revealed a still unresponsive little finger. But that might have been because there was something tight wrapped around it.

I opened my eyes. A woman with gray hair and a lined face met my gaze and smiled. “You’re not supposed to be awake yet.”

“I do a lot of things I’m not supposed to do.”

A quick look around revealed I was in a hospital ward. The whitewashed walls were made of stone and lined with small windows that probably wouldn’t allow much daylight in, but also wouldn’t let anyone climb in or out. While I was currently the only occupant, there were at least a dozen beds in the room, each one possessing a silent array of medical machines both over and beside it.

“So I hear.” The woman dunked the cloth into a tub of water and continued to wash me down. It was, I thought with a slight frown, a rather pleasurable experience. Which was weird given the situation and the lack of attraction. “Like you and the witch surviving against impossible odds.”

“That was good luck and her abilities more than anything I might have done.” I raised my hand and saw that it was still in a partial splint. “What’s happened to my finger?”

“It was smashed and severed. They’ve managed to reattach the flesh, but the bone was almost beyond repair. They’ve inserted metal knuckles and joints and are hoping the grafts will take.”

The skin at the tip of my finger was pink, which at least indicated the blood vessels were working as they should.

“And Saska? Where’s she?”

“In the state apartments. Can’t have someone of her ilk staying with us commoners, now, can we?” It was said with a smile, and without rancor.

“We surely can’t.” I echoed her smile and held out my good hand. “I’m Neve.”

She wiped a hand on her skirts then shook mine. “Treace. Chief nurse and all-round dogsbody in this place.”

“How long am I likely to be held in this place, Treace?”

Her smile grew. “I was wondering when we’d get to that question. It’s usually the first one I’m asked.”

“And do you have an answer in this particular instance?”

“Not really. Not until Mace appears to examine your wounds, and he’s currently up with the Rossi woman.” She dumped the washcloth back into the water and grabbed a towel. “But your leg has healed rather nicely and I’m thinking it’ll be sooner rather than later.”

She began drying me off. It was a rough caress that had shivers of delight running through me. Which again was decidedly odd, because I wasn’t normally that sensitive to touch, especially when it involved someone I wasn’t physically attracted to. Maybe it was just a hangover from near death—a renewed appreciation of life and everything it involved.

There was a soft knock on the door at the far end of the room, then it opened slightly and another woman poked her head through the gap. “Lord Kiro wants to interview our Nightwatch officer, if she’s feeling up to it.”

Treace glanced at me. “Are you?”

“That depends on who Lord Kiro is.”

Her smile remained in place, but her eyes told a different story. Lord Kiro was someone she was uncertain—maybe even afraid—of. “The Rossi clan sent him here to confirm Saska’s identity. Apparently she’s been missing for nigh on twelve years now.”

Meaning he was from the Rossi clan? “Why does he want to talk to me? I don’t know her—I just rescued her.”

Treace shrugged. “I’ll send him away if you wish.”

I hesitated and then shook my head. “It will only delay the inevitable. But I’d like something to eat once he’s gone, if that can be arranged.”

“It surely can.” She pulled the bedsheet back over my body, and then nodded an acceptance at the other woman before heading out the door to my right.

I pushed up into a sitting position and tugged the sheet up over my breasts. While nudity didn’t faze me, I’d heard those of earth and air were a whole lot less comfortable in their skin than the Nightwatch tended to be. Of course, we lived in cramped quarters and shared bathing facilities, while those who lived in either the Upper or Lower Reaches not only had the benefit of their own huge dwellings, but also privacy and the ability to be alone when not on duty.

While I waited for Lord Kiro to appear, I glanced down at my left arm. It, like my left cheek, my right hip, leg, and the entirety of my foot, was stained, but the leathery skin looked lavender in the half-light of the hospital. It was an unwanted legacy of the past and the war, when the Irkallan had not only overrun all the villages and farms that had once dotted Tenterra, but had also raped those who’d survived the slaughter, be they men, women, or children. Those of us who carried this unwanted reminder of that time were no longer outcast or looked upon with revulsion—for the most part—but because we were also rarely gifted with any ability in magic, few considered us to be ideal partners. Even those who were totally ungifted—the blacksmiths, bakers, builders, even the Nightwatch with whom I lived—would not consider undertaking the committal ceremony with someone such as me. It was a fact I’d long ago accepted, even if in the deeper recesses of night and dreams I sometimes ached for more.

The stain actually looked quite pretty in this light, but it was somewhat spoiled by the scar that now ran from my knuckles to my elbow. Although it would fade with time, it was currently an ugly, ragged pink line that spoke of death’s closeness. But I guessed I was lucky that two scars and a reconstructed digit was all I’d come away with. It could have been a whole lot worse.

The door down the far end of the room opened and a tall, silver-haired gentleman stepped through. Despite the fact he looked to be well past his fifties—maybe even his sixties—his power rode before him like a wave and sent electricity racing across my skin, making it jump and itch. But it wasn’t the power of the air and the storms; it wasn’t even the power of the earth. It was deeper—and more personal—than that.

I resisted the urge to scratch and watched him warily. He was dressed in black from head to toe, and it was a color that suited him, for it emphasized both the strength of his body and the fierceness of his power—a power that both appealed and repelled, all at the same time.

“Neve March, we owe you a great debt.” He snagged a chair, dragged it up to my bed, and sat down.

I resisted the ridiculous urge to edge away from him and forced a smile. “I was only doing my job.”

“I don’t think there are many who would act as you did.” He paused, his gaze sweeping me, lingering briefly on the stains that were on show. “I don’t think there are many who could.”

I frowned at the odd emphasis he placed on “could.” “All Nightwatch are trained the same. I did nothing more than what was expected of me.”

“Perhaps.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. I had a vague feeling he was somehow here to judge me, but why that would be the case I had no idea.

“Tell me about finding Saska and how the two of you managed to survive the Adlin.”

My frown deepened. “Surely she’s already done that?”

“Her version is decidedly sketchy on details.”

“She was semi-unconscious for much of it,” I replied. “But it thankfully didn’t stop her from raising the wind. We’d be dead if not for that.”

“Indeed.”

While there was nothing in his tone or his expression that suggested disbelief, it nevertheless wrapped around me like a glove—a glove that felt like silk and steel combined, and one that had goose bumps skittering across my skin. It wasn’t all fear—far from it. But I didn’t dare acknowledge what the rest of it was, because to do so would give it power. And it was a power, the wind whispered, he would not hesitate to use.

“Please,” he continued, “I’d really like to hear your version of events.”

I studied him for a second, a deep sense of unease growing. Something was going on, something I didn’t understand and couldn’t immediately fight. But I obeyed, only omitting my part in the wind’s actions.

By the time I’d finished, he was leaning forward, his arms resting on the edge of the bed close to my hip, as if drawn there by anticipation of the story’s end. Yet I was no storyteller and he already knew how this particular tale ended.

“That is all quite extraordinary,” he said. “Saska’s powers have certainly grown in the twelve years of her absence.”

His tone suggested that should not have been the case. “Has she remembered where she’s been in that time?”

A glimmer of amusement appeared in his pale eyes; he knew a redirect when he heard one. “No. Nor can she remember who the father of her child might be or how she came to be in possession of an Adlin beacon. It’s a puzzle, and one her husband will undoubtedly desire an answer to.”

If Saska was committed, then she must have gone through the ceremony as soon as she’d come of age, as she appeared to be no older than me.

“I gather a full scan has been run on her?”

He smiled, knowing full well what I was actually asking. “Of course.”

His tone suggested it was the first thing they’d done, and surely meant the babe wasn’t Adlin.

“Who fathered her son is of no real consequence, of course,” he continued. “Not if he is born into magic.”

Because, in the end, the capacity for magic—be it earth, air, or personal—mattered more than bloodlines or relationships. It was the reason why so many of the children born into ruling families had Sifft blood but possessed no magic. In the past, they’d erroneously believed that shifting was a form of magic, when it was nothing more than complex DNA coding.

“Is her husband coming here to escort her back to Winterborne?”

“That task has been conferred to me.” He shifted back in the chair, but one hand brushed my hip as he did so. Despite the sheet that lay between my skin and his, awareness surged and pleasure rushed through me again.

Why on earth was I in such a hyper state? Why was this weird, unwanted rush of desire even happening, first with the older woman and now with this man—a man who was obviously here for reasons other than what he’d stated?

He was still watching me far too closely and I had a vague feeling he was very aware of my sensitive state. Which, erect nipples aside, should not have been the case. He wasn’t Sifft, and shouldn’t have been able to scent desire.

“Whose idea was it to dig an earth shelter?” he asked, after a moment.

“Mine.” I paused, feeling rather like a wildebeest caught in a powerful spotlight, knowing trouble was coming but unable to see or move past the glare of the lights. “Why?”

“Because while air witches can control wind and weather for as long as their strength holds out, the earth is not theirs to command.”

I frowned. “But she didn’t command the earth. She merely asked the wind to cut into it.”

“Even that should not have been possible. Earth and air are two completely different elements and a witch who controls one cannot impact the other.”

I shrugged, trying to ignore the confusion within as much as the questions that rose at his statement. “Maybe the wind sensed her desperation.”

“Maybe.” He studied me for a moment then pushed to his feet and held out a hand. “I would like to officially thank you on behalf of the Rossi clan.”

I hesitated, not wanting to touch him but knowing he’d consider it offensive if I didn’t. But the minute my fingers were encased in his, energy surged, a wave of heat that prickled across my skin like desire and yet had a far darker purpose. Lord Kiro might possess a very powerful and seductive type of personal magic, but he was also a reader—someone who had the ability to touch the flesh of another and draw out his or her innermost secrets.

I had no secrets—nothing other than a tiny fraction of magical ability I wasn’t supposed to possess. And as far as I knew, readers weren’t capable of uncovering such information—that was the job of auditors.

“Believe me,” I said, keeping my voice even. “No thanks are required.”

“Many would disagree.” He frowned down at our hands, as if confused, then said, “Saska would like to see you when you feel up to it. Tonight, if possible, but certainly before we leave tomorrow.”

Because of course a common Nightwatch officer would not be transported in the same vehicle as those from a ruling house—even if said Nightwatch officer had saved one of their asses. I pulled my hand from his and said, “Sure. I’m just waiting on dinner now, but maybe afterward?”

“I’ll let her know.” He gave me a half bow, then turned and strode from the room.

But the tension that rode me didn’t leave, even after he’d well and truly departed. Something was happening, something over which I had no control and no understanding. Something that involved that man, Saska, and perhaps even the ability I wasn’t supposed to have.

Restless and uneasy, I flicked off the sheet and swung my feet off the bed. The scar on my leg was as puckered and ugly as the one on my arm, though at least it was no larger than a babe’s fist. I eased down onto my left leg then carefully switched my weight to my right. A niggle of pain ran across my nerve endings, but the leg seemed to hold up. I took a step, then when nothing happened, walked over to the window and looked out.

Just in time to see a huge ball of flame arc over Blacklake’s curtain wall and smash down into the courtyard.