by P. C. Cast
Hell, I didn’t know what he was thinking. He’d been different since we’d been back.
Well, of course he’s been different, I told myself sternly, feeling crappy and disloyal. My Warrior had made an Otherworld journey, died, been resurrected by an immortal, and then yanked back into a body that was weak and wounded.
But before then. Before we’d returned to the real world, something had happened between us. Something had changed for us. Or at least I’d thought it had. We’d been super intimate in the Otherworld. His drinking from me had been an incredible experience. It’d been more than sex. Yeah, it’d felt good. Really, really good. It had healed him, strengthened him, and—somehow—it had fixed whatever had still been broken inside me, allowing my tattoos to return.
And this new closeness with Stark had made losing Heath bearable.
So why was I feeling so depressed? What was wrong with me?
Crap. I didn’t know.
A mom would know. I thought about my mom and felt an unexpected and terrible loneliness. Yeah, she’d messed up and basically chosen a new husband over me, but she was still my mom. I miss her, the little voice inside my head admitted. Then I shook my head. No. I still had a “mom.” My grandma was that and more to me.
“It’s Grandma I miss.” And then, of course, I felt guilty because since I’d been back I hadn’t even called her. Okay, sure, I knew that Grandma would feel that my soul had returned—that I was safe. She’d always been super intuitive, especially about me. But I should have called her.
Feeling really disappointed in myself and sad, I chewed my lip and wrapped the cashmere scarf around my neck, holding the ends close while I made my way across the moat-like bridge and the cold wind whipped around me. Warriors were lighting the torches and I greeted the guys who bowed to me. I tried not to look at the creepy impaled skulls that framed the torches. Seriously. Skulls. Like of real dead people. Well, they were all old and shriveled and pretty much meatless, but still, disgusting.
Keeping my eyes carefully averted, I followed the raised pathway over the boggy area that surrounded the land side of the castle. When I got to the narrow road I turned left. The Sacred Grove began just a little way from the castle, seeming to stretch endlessly into the distance on the other side of the street. I knew where it was not because I remembered being carried, corpse-like, past it on my way to Sgiach. I knew where it was because during the past weeks, while Stark had been recovering, I’d felt myself drawn to the grove. When I hadn’t been with the queen, or Aphrodite, or checking on Stark, I’d been taking long walks inside it.
It reminded me of the Otherworld, and the fact that this memory comforted and creeped me out at the same time scared me.
Still, I’d visited the Sacred Grove, or as Seoras called it, the Croabh, but I’d always come to it during daylight hours. Never after sunset. Never at night.
I walked along the road. Torches lined the street. They cast flickering shadows against the edge of the grove, lending enough light so that I could make out a hint of the mossy, magickal world within the boundary of ageless trees. It looked different without the sun making a living canopy of branches. It wasn’t familiar anymore, and I felt a prickly sensation across my skin, like my senses were on super alert.
My eyes kept being pulled to the shadows within the grove. Were they blacker than they should be? Was there something not quite right lurking inside there? I shivered, and that’s when a movement farther down the street caught at the edge of my vision. My heart skittered around in my chest while I peered ahead of me, half expecting wings and coldness, evil and madness …
Instead what I saw had my heart skittering for other reasons.
Stark was there, standing in front of two trees that were twisted together to form one. The trees’ interwoven branches were decorated with strips of cloth knotted together—some were brightly colored, some were worn and faded and tattered. It was the mortal version of the hanging tree that had stood before Nyx’s Grove in the Otherworld, but just because this one was in the “real” world didn’t mean it was any less spectacular. Especially when the guy standing in front of it, staring up at its branches, was wearing the earth-colored MacUallis plaid, in the traditional Warrior way, complete with dirk and sporran and all sorts of sexy metal-studded leather accoutrements (as Damien would say).
I stared at him as if I hadn’t seen him for years. Stark looked strong and healthy and totally gorgeous. I was distracting myself by wondering what exactly Scottish guys did, or didn’t, wear under those kilts when he turned to face me.
His smile lit up his eyes. “I can practically hear you thinking.”
My cheeks got instantly warm, especially since Stark did have the ability to sense my emotions. “You’re not supposed to be listening in unless I’m in danger.”
His grin turned cocky and his eyes sparkled mischievously. “Then don’t think so loud. But you’re right. I shouldn’t have been listening in ’cause what I was getting from you was the opposite of what I’d call danger.”
“Smart-ass,” I said, but I couldn’t help grinning back.
“Yep, that’s me, but I’m your smart-ass.”
Stark held out his hand to me as I reached his side, and our fingers twined together. His touch was warm—his hand strong and steady. This close to him I could see that he still had shadows under his eyes, but he wasn’t as deadly pale as he had been. “You’re yourself again!”
“Yeah, it’s taken me a while; my sleep’s been weird—not as restful as it should be, but it’s like a switch flipped inside me today and I finally recharged.”
“I’m glad. I’ve been so worried about you.” As I said it I realized how true that was, and I also blurted, “I’ve missed you, too.”
He squeezed my hand and tugged me closer to him. All of his cocky kidding evaporated. “I know. You’ve felt distant and scared. What’s up with that?”
I started to tell him he was wrong—that I was just giving him some space to get well, but the words that formed and slipped from my lips were more honest. “You’ve been hurt a lot because of me.”
“Not because of you, Z. I’ve been hurt because that’s what Darkness does—it tries to destroy those of us who fight for Light.”
“Yeah, well, I wish Darkness would pick on someone else for a while and let you rest.”
He bumped me with his shoulder. “I knew what I was getting into when I swore myself to you. I was cool with it then—I’m cool with it now—and I’ll still be cool with it fifty years from now. And, Z, it really doesn’t make me sound very manly and Guardian-like when you say Darkness is ‘picking on’ me.”
“Look, I’m being serious. You want to know what’s up with me, well, I’ve been worried that you might have been hurt too bad this time.” I hesitated, fighting unexpected tears as I finally understood. “So bad that you weren’t gonna get well. And then you would leave me, too.”
Heath’s presence was so tangible there between us that I half expected to see him step from the grove and say Hey there, Zo. No crying. You snot way too much when you cry. And of course that thought made it even harder for me not to bawl.
“Listen to me, Zoey. I’m your Guardian. You’re my queen; that’s more than a High Priestess, so our bond is even stronger than a regular Oath Sworn Warrior’s.”
I blinked hard. “That’s good, ’cause it feels like bad stuff keeps trying to tear me away from everyone I love.”
“Nothing will ever take me away from you, Z. I’ve sworn my oath on it.” He smiled, and there was such confidence and trust and love in his eyes that he made my breath catch in my throat. “You’ll never get rid of me, mo bann ri.”
“Good,” I said softly, leaning my head against his shoulder as he drew me inside the half circle of his arm. “I’m tired of the whole leaving thing.”
He kissed my forehead, murmuring against my skin, “Yeah, me, too.”
“Actually, I think the truth is that I’m tired. Period. I need to recharge, too.” I looke
d up at him. “Would it be okay with you if we stayed here? I-I just don’t want to leave and go back to … to…” I hesitated, not sure how to put what I was feeling into words.
“To everything—the good and the bad. I know what you mean,” said my Guardian. “It’s cool with Sgiach?”
“She said we could stay as long as my conscience lets me,” I said, smiling a little wryly. “And right now my conscience is definitely letting me.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m in no rush to get back to all the Neferet drama that’s gotta be waiting for us.”
“So we stay for a while?”
Stark hugged me. “We stay until you say to go.”
I closed my eyes and rested in Stark’s arms, feeling like a huge weight had been taken off me. When he asked, “Hey, would you do something with me?” my response was instant and easy: “Yep, anything.”
I could feel him chuckling. “That answer makes me want to change what I was gonna ask you to do.”
“Not that kind of anything.” I gave him a little shove, even though I was feeling waves of relief that Stark was definitely acting like Stark again.
“No?” His gaze went from my eyes to my lips, and he suddenly looked less cocky and more hungry—and that look made my stomach shiver. Then he bent and kissed me, hard and long, and he completely took my breath away. “Are you sure you don’t mean that kind of anything?” he asked, his voice lower and gruffer than usual.
“No. Yes.”
He grinned. “Which is it?”
“I don’t know. I can’t think when you kiss me like that,” I told him honestly.
“Then I’ll have to do more of that kind of kissing,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, feeling light-headed and weirdly weak-kneed.
“Okay,” he repeated. “But later. Right now I’m going to show you how strong a Guardian I am and stick to the original question I was gonna ask you.” He reached into the leather satchel that was strapped across his body and pulled out a long, narrow strip of the MacUallis plaid, lifting it so that it floated gently on the breeze. “Zoey Redbird, would you tie your wishes and your dreams for the future with me in a knot on the hanging tree?”
I hesitated for only a second—only long enough to feel the sharp pain that was the absence of Heath, the absence of a future thread that could never be—and then I blinked my eyes clear of tears and answered my Guardian Warrior.
“Yes, Stark, I’ll tie my wishes and dreams for the future with you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Zoey
“I have to do what to my cashmere scarf?”
“Tear a strip from it,” Stark said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I got the instructions straight from Seoras. That and a bunch of smart-ass comments about my education being sadly lacking and something about not knowing my arse from my ear or my elbow, and also something about me being a fanny, and I don’t know what the hell that means.”
“Fanny? Like a girl’s name?”
“I don’t think so…”
Stark and I shook our heads, in total agreement about Seoras and his weirdness. “Anyway,” Stark continued, “he said the pieces of fabric have to be from something that’s mine and something that’s yours, and it has to be special to each of us.” He smiled and tugged at my shimmery, expensive, beautiful new scarf. “You like this thing a lot, don’t you?”
“Yeah, enough that I don’t want to rip it up.”
Stark laughed, pulled his dirk from the sheath at his waist, and handed it to me. “Good, then that tied with my plaid will make a strong knot between us.”
“Yeah, that plaid didn’t cost you eighty euros, which is more than a hundred dollars. I think,” I muttered as I reached for the dirk.
Instead of letting me take the dirk from him, Stark hesitated. His eyes found mine. “You’re right. It didn’t cost me money. It cost me blood.”
My shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. Listen to me, whining about money and a scarf. Ah, hell! I’m starting to sound like Aphrodite.”
Stark flipped the dirk around so that it pressed against his chest over his heart. “If you turn into Aphrodite I’m going to stab myself.”
“If I turn into Aphrodite, stab me first.” I reached for the dirk, and this time he gave it to me.
“Deal.” He grinned.
“Deal,” I said, and then I pierced the fringy edge of my new scarf and with one quick yank ripped a long, slender piece from it. “Now what?”
“Pick a branch. Seoras said I’m supposed to hold my piece, and you hold yours. We tie them together, and the wish we make for us will be tied together.”
“Really? That’s super romantic.”
“Yeah, I know.” He reached out and traced my cheek with one finger. “It makes me wish I’d made it up, just for you.”
I looked into his eyes and said exactly what I was thinking. “You’re the best Guardian in the world.”
Stark shook his head, his expression tight. “I’m not. Don’t say that.”
As he had done to me, I traced his cheek with a finger. “For me, Stark. For me you’re the best Guardian in the world.”
He relaxed a little. “For you, I’ll try to be.”
I looked from his eyes to the ancient tree. “There.” I pointed to a low-hanging branch that forked, creating with leaves and limbs what looked like a perfect heart. “That’s our place.”
Together we went to the tree. Then, like Sgiach’s Guardian had instructed, Stark and I tied the earth-colored MacUallis plaid and my shimmery length of cream together. Our fingers brushed and as we looped the last part of the knot, our eyes met.
“My wish for us is that our future is strong, just like this knot,” Stark said.
“My wish is that our future is together, just like this knot,” I said.
We sealed our wishes with a kiss that made me breathless. I was leaning into Stark to kiss him again when he took my hand in his and said, “Would you let me show you something?”
“Okay, sure,” I said, thinking that just about then I’d let Stark show me anything.
He started leading me into the grove, but he felt my hesitation because he squeezed my hand and smiled down at me. “Hey, there’s nothing here that can hurt you, and if there was I’d protect you. I promise.”
“I know. Sorry.” I swallowed past the weird little knot of fear that had formed in my throat, squeezed his hand back, and we walked into the grove.
“You’re back, Z. Really back. And you’re safe.”
“Doesn’t it remind you of the Otherworld, too?” I spoke quietly and Stark had to bend to hear me.
“Yeah, but in a good way.”
“Me, too, most of the time. I feel stuff here that makes me think of Nyx and her realm.”
“I think it has something to do with how old this place is, and how apart from the world it’s been. Okay, it’s over here,” he said. “Seoras was telling me about this, and I thought I saw it just before you came up. This is what I wanted to show you.” Stark pointed ahead and to the right of us, and I gasped in pleasure. One of the trees was glowing. From within the craggy lines in its thick bark, a soft blue light glistened, as if the tree had luminous veins.
“It’s amazing! What is it?”
“I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation—probably something about phosphorous plants and stuff, but I’d rather believe it’s magick, Scottish magick,” Stark said.
I looked up at him, smiled, and tugged at his plaid. “I like calling it magick, too. And speaking of Scottish stuff, I’m seriously liking you in this outfit.”
He glanced down at himself. “Yeah, weird that what’s basically a dress made out of wool can look so manly.”
I giggled. “I’d like to hear you tell Seoras and the rest of the Warriors that they’re wearing woolly dresses.”
“Hell, no. I just came from the Otherworld, but that doesn’t mean I have a death wish.” Then he seemed to reconsider what I’d just said, and added, �
�You like me in this, huh?”
I crossed my arms and walked a circle around him, giving him a serious once-over while he watched me. The colors of the MacUallis plaid always reminded me of the earth—weirdly enough, Oklahoma red dirt earth to be specific. That distinctive rusty brown was mixed with lighter just-changed-leaves and bark-like gray-black, lighter just-changed-leaves. He wore it the ancient way, like Seoras had taught him, pleating all those yards of material by hand and then wrapping himself into it and securing it with belts and cool old brooches (except I didn’t think Warrior guys called them brooches). He had another piece of plaid that he could pull up over his shoulders, which was a good thing because except for the crisscross leather belt things, all he wore over his chest was a sleeveless T-shirt that left lots of his skin bare.
He cleared his throat. His half grin made him look a little boyish and kinda nervous. “So? Do I pass your inspection, my queen?”
“Totally.” I grinned. “With a big A-plus.”
I liked it that even though he was a big, tough Guardian, he looked relieved. “Glad to hear it. Check out how handy all this wool is.” He took my hand and led me closer to the glowing tree, and sat down, spreading part of his plaid out over the moss. “Have a seat, Z.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said, curling up beside him. Stark pulled me into his arms and flipped up the edge of the kilt over me so that I was warm, cocooned in what felt like a lovely Warrior-and-plaid sandwich.
We lay there like that for what seemed like a long time. We didn’t talk. Instead we sank into a beautiful, comfortable silence. It felt right to be in Stark’s arms. Safe. And when his hands started to move, tracing the pattern of my tattoos, first on my face and then down my neck, that felt right, too.
“I’m glad they came back,” Stark said softly.
“It was because of you,” I whispered back. “Because of what you made me feel in the Otherworld.”
He smiled and kissed my forehead. “You mean scared and freaked out?”
“No,” I said, touching his face. “You made me feel alive again.”
