“Why do they stay hidden?”
“Not all do. But it’s definitely to their advantage to maintain the element of subtlety, especially in our current war climate where a sense of threat is already high.”
“Well, ’ow come they ’aven’t done more to stop the war?”
“They have. How do you think Faelen’s survived this long? But unfortunately, some haven’t been as strong. Others switched sides.”
“Switched sides?”
He blows on the coals and lets that uncomfortable thought sink in.
Colin looks at me, steam from his half-clothed body rising in the cool air. His face is suddenly very serious, and I think I know why. Because it’s rippling through my head too.
“So . . . if they couldn’t win the war after all these years,” he says cautiously, “what makes you think Nym and I have any chance in hulls?”
Eogan pushes a hand through his bangs and stares at the fire licking the kindling near his feet. His dark skin is beautiful against the snowy background. He glances at Colin.
Not at me though. He won’t look at me.
Another swipe through his bangs.
“Because Nym’s the most powerful Uathúil anyone’s ever seen,” he finally mutters, and turns to stride off.
It takes a few heartbeats for his words to sink in, but when they do, I don’t know whether to laugh at their absurdity or cry at the horror. Either way, I can’t handle thinking about it. So I busy myself with boiling potatoes for dinner.
We wait for him to return before eating in a silence broken only by the periodic sound of distant wolf howls. I stoke the fire higher while Colin cleans up from the meal and Eogan ties our food bags between three trees on the edge of the clearing. We layer our clothing to keep out the ice and snow, then drift off to sleep beneath a smoke-shattered moon.
Screaming.
I’m awakened by a child screaming.
Bloodcurdling and familiar. Memories of rot, and flesh, and limbs being torn from their sockets. I grab my knife and sit up as the sound tears across the mountain range.
It’s not a child. It’s a bolcrane.
The blood drains from my chest.
What is it doing this far from Litchfell?
The gutting cry erupts again—so eerie and disgusting in its perfect mimic of a child’s tortured screech. I pull my blankets around me and look for the nearest tree to climb. From the resounding echoes, the animal’s still a long way off, but how fast is it moving? And what in hulls is it doing? Bolcranes don’t travel out of Litchfell. Ever.
A wolf howl reverberates across the range, followed by three others. Is the bolcrane hunting the wolves? I roll over to shove more wood on the fire and meet Eogan doing the same. His eyes connect with mine. He leans in and his fingers are cupping my face and slipping down, down, down my skin until I gasp at the craving welling up within me. What’s he doing? Adora’s warning flares in my head, but I don’t give a blast because his touch is lightning, burning me alive and breaking me down.
My lips part.
His eyes flash and widen, and his breath catches when mine escapes.
Then he’s sliding his fingers farther, to my neck, on my pulse, and telling me to sleep. He’ll stand guard. I mumble that I don’t want to sleep because the bolcranes are coming, but suddenly I can’t remember what I’m saying or why I’m awake because I don’t remember his calming influence ever being so strong.
When my eyes open the next morning, my head feels foggy, but I have the distinct sensation I’ve slept deeply. Colin’s still snoring, but he’s squirmed over with his sleeping blankets and has his head resting against my arm. He moans and shifts his freckly face onto my elbow. I sit up and jerk away. Mortified.
A low chuckle draws my attention to Eogan. He’s sitting next to the fire, sharpening a pile of his handmade blades.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” I mutter, and scramble out of my blankets to scoot as far from Colin as possible.
“What? He likes you.”
“He likes anything female.”
“Maybe, but he also respects you. And that’s harder to earn.”
The casual way he says it, as if it’s true, punctures holes in my attitude. I tug my fingers through my hair and unwind it from its waist-length braid. I frown at the fire. Do you respect me? I want to ask him.
“How about you? Do you have any love interests?” I say instead.
“You mean aside from Adora?”
He waits for me to look up before breaking into a laugh. “Only once. A long time ago.”
“What happened? She break your heart?”
He’s slow to answer. When he does, his voice is decidedly quiet. As if remembering. “You could say that.”
Oh.
“How about you? Anyone ever swept you away?”
“Nope.”