They rode hard through the woods and gave the horses their heads when they reached the lowlands, which stretched out to the foot of the mountains. Gradually, Maia became aware of the power of the Medium all around her. It was in the blades of grass, the puffy clouds chasing across the sky. She felt the Medium in the rocks and boulders, in the flowers and seedlings. It was even in the wind. Her awareness of it had expanded, so much so it felt as if she were seeing the world as it really was for the first time. It was right in her skin, in her very pores. She could feel her blood thrumming in her veins, her heartbeat rhythmic and constant, a drum of power. She sensed the lives of birds and squirrels, of tiny insects too small to see. She could command them, she realized. They were aware of her as well, and she could sense their small minds brushing against hers, drawn to her like moths to a flame. The new powers frightened her.
She remembered again the way Walraven had summoned all those mice and rats. She could do that, she realized, and with little effort. As they rode, she sensed hawks floating overhead. As soon as she became aware of them, her mind seemed to reach out to them of its own accord, and suddenly she could see the panorama of the landscape from their perspective, including the three riders galloping in the fields below. It was jarring, watching herself from the hawk’s eyes. She saw her hair streaming behind her, the horses’ hooves churning relentlessly as they brought them toward the mountains.
The plains were lush with groves of evergreens. The Peliyey rose suddenly and sharply from the verdant valley floor, a colossal hunch of rugged stone that was wreathed in white from high mountain snows. Beyond the first battering rams was a grouping of even taller mountains, totally white with snow. The range dipped and stretched for leagues both north and south. Through the hawk’s eyes, Maia could see tiny hamlets nestled in the foothills of the giant range, but none within the range itself. There were towering waterfalls dotted around the mountains where the snow ran off and melted. It was enormous, breathtaking, and Maia’s heart filled with giddiness at the strange sensation of seeing it from both the hawk’s current perspective and its memories.
There was a rift in the mountains, a trail leading up to a lower pass. Their destination.
Maia?
The voice in her mind startled her and sent her slamming back into her body. It had been hours since they had left the king’s camp, and she could feel the grogginess in Collier’s thoughts.
Maia, where are you?
As he awoke, she could sense his surroundings. He was still in the tent, jostled awake by one of his guards, who had grown alarmed by his long silence. Through the kystrel around his neck, she could feel his growing fear, which he quickly mastered. She had guessed as much earlier, but here was the proof. The magic had bonded them together. He took a cup offered by his brother and drank it quickly. He gave some curt orders, for the men were restless.
“Where is Lady Marciana?” someone asked him.
It was so strange, feeling like she was still in the tent with him when she was hours away. He was sick with worry, wondering if linking himself to her had been a terrible mistake. She saw him as he was inside, saw the mixture of human feelings that he carefully guarded and concealed from others, but could not hide from her. She could strip his soul bare. It would be so easy. There was nothing he could do to protect himself. Yes, the kystrel gave him power—the ability to summon the Medium and command it to perform. But in return, it gave her absolute power over his mind, his thoughts, his feelings. His everything. She could bend him, twist him, make him into anyone she wanted him to be. She could . . .
Maia was horrified at the deliciousness of the feelings surging up inside her. At the welling hunger.
Maia?
His thoughts were timid. She could feel him reaching out to her, and it would be so easy to respond. It did not matter how many leagues separated them.
Their very souls were entwined because of the kystrel. When it had been wrenched from her neck, she had felt empty and anxious without it. But because he was wearing it, her powers were only magnified. The stain of the tattoo would grow on his chest now while hers started to fade. She could sense it vividly now, the mixing of their minds, the drawing together.
I sense you, he thought. Why will you not answer me? You are mounted and riding fast. It makes me a little . . . ill. How strange this feels. You can hear me? I sense that you can. Answer me.
He gave another curt order to someone and stormed out of the tent. She could feel his anger starting to throb, frustration mingling with it. He inspected his stallion’s saddle and then scolded the boy who had prepared it for doing it wrong. He touched his heart, covering the kystrel with his palm.
Maia, answer me! I sense you . . . east. You are riding to the mountains. One of the passes is very dangerous. You must not go there. There is a creature in the mountains. No one can kill it.
She wanted to get his thoughts out of her mind. She pulled her awareness away from his, feeling the jolt and shudder of the horse as it charged beneath her.
Maia stared at the mountain range. The air was crisp and lovely, the scent heavy with the smell of grass and earth. She stamped at the horse’s flanks, riding harder, faster, trying to escape the thoughts flitting through her mind. She had always loved horses and was an accomplished rider. A horse meant freedom, which is why her father had given all of hers away.