Trial by Fire

“Lillian. I’m your oldest friend,” he pleaded. He felt his breath catch in his throat and let it happen, in case crying might convince her. “I stayed with you when Rowan and Tristan left.”


“Only to plot against me,” she said with mock consolation for his gathering tears.

“Only because you shut me out,” he countered accusingly. “I would have been your ally, but what else was I supposed to do when you wouldn’t even pretend I was wanted?”

“Gideon? I know you’re not really hurt, nor are you my ally, so let’s skip the act. You can either go out there, receive the Gift, and revel in the battle with the rest of my army, or I can possess you and work you like a puppet.”

Gideon opened his mouth to protest, and Lillian shut it for him with a painful snap. He tasted blood in his mouth. She’d made him bite off the tip of his tongue. Lillian strode toward him, her nearly black smoke-colored willstone now pulsing with an eerie blue light and her green eyes narrowing to slits as her anger rose up inside of her like a steep wave.

“And I promise you, if you defy me, you won’t even be able to lift your arms to defend yourself when they come to cut you down. This is the only choice you’ve ever had. I’m not going to work with you, Gideon. You work when I tell you to. Now,” she said, the wave of anger ebbing out of her. She eased away from him, and her livid face drained, leaving it white and smooth again. Gideon bent forward, spitting out a mouthful of blood and the tip of his own tongue. “I think it would be wise for you to arm yourself with your shiniest weapons and your flashiest uniform because you, my oldest friend, are about to die a glorious death.”




Juliet let go of Dana’s neck as soon as they reached the Outlander camp. With barely a backward glance, Dana ran off to find her son. Having no place to go, Juliet spun around and looked up at the walls of Salem. She knew this wasn’t over. Lillian would send out her army. Juliet glanced around at the Outlander camp. There were tens of thousands of people here. There was no way they’d be able to break camp and get away from Lillian’s army in time.

Beyond the borders of the camp, Juliet saw branches moving violently and heard the synchronized shouts of the perimeter guards as they repelled a Woven attack. Even if they tried to get some of the women and children out before the battle, trying to run through the woods at night would be suicide. The Outlanders had to stand and fight—all of them—or they’d die.

“Lady Juliet,” a deep voice called. Juliet snapped herself out of her morbid thoughts and peered into the half dark. She saw a man, flanked by warriors, coming toward her. He wasn’t exceptionally tall or large, but there was something about the set of his shoulders that marked him as the leader. As he got close, she noticed that he had a limp.

“Alaric,” Juliet said, and then corrected herself. “Sachem,” she said, tilting her head down in a respectful nod. Her knees were shaking. Juliet had spent most of her teen years terrified of Alaric Windrider and his tribe of painted savages.

“I heard what you did for my people in the courtroom,” he said. “I thank you and welcome you to my camp.”

Juliet hadn’t expected him to be so polite. She looked up at him, wondering how old he was. His hair was salted with gray at the temples, but up close he didn’t look much older than thirty. He was handsome. None of the stories about him had mentioned that, although they seemed to mention everything else, including what had happened to him to make him the most feared leader of the Outlander tribes.