“I have to leave, I’m so sorry. Sage needs me.” I can barely utter the words. Marius is my master. He’s my keeper. He saved me and took me in when everyone rejected me, when they betrayed me. He’s the only true friend I’ve ever had. And I should be with him, at his side, taking care of every detail to bring him back. But I can’t help it. I have to go.
I keep seeing Sage in danger, and I’m not by her side. I’m not but Kieran is. An irrational fear is coiling in my chest as I realize I could lose her, lose something that was never meant to be mine to begin with.
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.