“Well, let’s go!” Lailoken says, sounding excited. He snaps his fingers and my throat warms, the lock on my limbs easing. “It’s almost your cue, princess. The boy needs us to save him.” He grabs me by the arm, yanking me to my feet and tugging me through a raspberry bush like he’s as strong as a twenty-year-old.
I stumble forward, getting pricked and snagged on the thorns as I’m pulled.
“Let go!” I hiss, trying to get away, but he’s gripping me too tightly, dragging me through brush and past branches, hurriedly weaving through the trees.
“No,” he says. “No more letting go. I’ve missed you too long.” The rabbit follows at our feet, and several more pop up from the bushes, joining the herd. The squirrel rides on the monk’s shoulder, clinging with its tiny claws. It glares at me with its beady eyes, like I’ve offended it.
“What is going on?” I ask, desperate.
“You’re going to complete the circle, of course. As your mother planned.”
I growl in frustration. That makes no sense.
“I know,” he says, like he actually pities me. “You’re mixed up in your belly. It’s how it had to be done. No other way to hide. But don’t worry, child. It’s all blossoming now!”
His words strike me—he knows why this is all happening. I open my mouth to ask him the millions of questions crowding my head, but he yanks me again, pulling me forward faster.
“Not now,” he says. “No time for questions.” Like he’s reading my mind.
We come to a sparser part of the forest, and he pauses, looking around frantically. He whistles, and a huge bird swoops down from an upper branch, landing on a root nearby. Lailoken leans over like he’s listening to the creature.
I stare at the owl. The perfectly soft white and tan feathers. The black eyes reflecting the forest around us.
“Fionn,” I say in amazement. Kieran said the bird was dead!
“He whispers that Mr. Winter is this way,” Lailoken says, pointing through the shadowed trees.
I don’t look away from the owl. No, this can’t possibly be the same bird. It just can’t, not so many years later.
Of course, I’m apparently talking to this guy, who was alive back then too, so . . .
The bird takes off, disappearing into the limbs above.
“Was that Fionn?” I dare to ask.
Lailoken uses his long staff to move the curling arm of a fern off the path. “It’s a maybe and a most definitely. It isn’t my place to say what spirit returns to me now and then.”
The vision of the bird splits me in two again. I feel the familiarity of the trees around me and the cool, damp air—Lily’s longing for it all—but this time I don’t push her back. I want to believe that Fionn was three feet away from me just now, that he’s still alive. It makes the magic in this world seem less horrible, after all the manipulation and dead bodies.
We come to a denser part of the forest again, and Lailoken slows, tapping his staff on a tree with a hollow thunk, thunk, thunk, like he’s knocking to be let in.
Another squirrel scuttles from above and begins to chatter, its tail ticking and swishing.
“They come this way,” Lailoken says to me, waving at the trees ahead. “Hiding is necessary, I believe. We should choose our moment wisely.” He tugs on my sleeve, urging me back behind a rock, and presses me into a bush. I search the trees ahead expectantly. When we hear the crunching of brush and pine needles underfoot, I duck lower behind the rock.
“I think we should take the arrow out,” I hear Ben say. “It’s tearing his lung. It could make a mess, and he’s bleeding an awful lot. I didn’t think we were planning on killing him.”
“Enough sympathy, Ben,” Astrid says in a silky voice. “I know what the demi hunter can take.”
My gut clenches hearing them talk about Faelan, his wounds. And when I see the pair of them emerge from the trees, Faelan in tow, I nearly lunge forward. His hands are tied behind his back, the thick torque keeping him powerless. His blue shirt is coated in slick red, and his skin is ashen.
Lailoken grabs me by the arm, shaking his head. “Choose wisely,” he mouths.
Ben sets Faelan on the moss, leaning him against a tree. “How long, then? We could be wandering in this place for a fortnight at this rate. We’re not going to find the old bastard. He’s flown the coop.”
“We’ll worry about the monk after we catch the princess. Now that we have her protector she’ll sense it, and she’ll come. Any minute. The stupid bitch is in heat. You should’ve seen her mooning over him at the Introduction. She has no idea.” Astrid crouches beside Faelan. “Does she, lover?”
He opens his eyes slowly, grunting. “Bitch,” he mutters, blood glistening on his bottom lip.
She grabs the shaft of the arrow, staring at him. Then she leans close, kissing him full on the mouth, and yanks the arrow out in a swift jerk, laughing as she pulls it away.
He squirms. “What’ve you done, Astrid, you’ve gone too far—”
She kisses him again, swallowing his words. When she pulls away the second time, he glowers at her.
“You remember how to play our game, lover?” she asks softly, running a finger down his blood-soaked shirt to the waist of his pants. His blood is on her lips and smeared on her chin. “We’d play for hours under the willow. Skin and clover and sweat.”
My nails scrape against the rock.
“Go fuck yourself,” he says through his teeth.
A dark smile slinks up her lips, and she tugs on the waist of his pants, straddling him. “I will do it,” she says, “you know I will.” She reaches over to her boot and pulls out a smaller knife. She points it at his face, then aims down, cutting the collar of his shirt before ripping it and baring his chest.
He grunts in pain from the sudden movement.
My bones ache watching it. Lailoken takes my arm, like he wants to hold me back from stopping them. I have no idea what I’m waiting for. I can access all my power now. My torque is still in my pocket from when Kieran took it off earlier.
But a part of me knows I still don’t have total control over the fire, and I’m terrified of hurting Faelan.
Astrid trails the blade of the knife along his clavicle. “I’ll force you to break your vow,” she says. “Right here against this tree, with Ben to bear witness—your body never fails to respond to mine, does it? Then you’ll be forced to return to your brother. You’ll have no choice any longer.”
His vow. Could it somehow be keeping him free of his father’s House? But how? I thought he was an outcast.
“How could you?” he chokes out. “After everything, you’ve done this? You’ve sided with Mara, killed a pixie, cursed Marius, chased away an old human—and for what? Just to get me imprisoned again by my brothers, held by your manipulations, after all these centuries?”
She laughs. “Please, you’re amazing, but not enough to risk the Pit for. This isn’t about you at all; your punishment for leaving me alone is just a bonus.” She rests the blade of the knife against his cheek and leans forward. “This is about the newblood. I made a deal, you see. Your precious firebird is going to be worked on by the Princess of Bones. She’s going to drive your pupil completely mad. And then she’s going to siphon all that power from her, leaving her a dried-up husk.”