“Pretraun, I never thought I’d be this happy to see you!” Aren choked on his emotions as he grabbed the gnome and pulled him into a fierce hug. Pretraun hugged him back, then pulled away. A dozen or two strange words fell out of its mouth, and Aren strained to find the pattern in the language.
Pretraun, seeming to sense Aren’s frustration, held the knife in front of his face again. The gnome pointed at the marking engraved into the blade just above the bolster: the simple, yet stylized lines of the Guardian constellation. Aren took the knife and ran a thumb over the clean Gerrit mark. It was the blade that his siblings had given him; the same knife Gryf insisted he carry at all times. The gnome had sense enough to unstrap it from Aren’s boot.
“It protects me, doesn’t it? When I’m actually holding and using it.”
Pretraun nodded, then helped Aren to his feet. The gnome pushed at his legs, and Aren began to run away from the voices and flickering lights. He wanted to ask Pretraun how he had survived the unicorn attack, but his head hurt like it had just been squeezed by an octopus, and strange dots of light swam in his vision. He couldn’t understand the gnome’s mushroomy words anyway, so he pushed on, propelled by the strange cries and chanting that seemed to be nearing him no matter how fast he moved.
The woman’s voice reached out to him. Don’t look back, Aren. Tiede needs you, so don’t look back.
Aren was delirious with exhaustion. His lungs were burning, and every muscle in his body ached. No matter how fast or how far he ran, the eerie noises kept following. He cursed the fae and their wings and magics. Pretraun ran beside him, bouncing up and down like a ridiculous squirrel. Aren had to make a stand; there was no way he could keep this up. He had the knife and he had Pretraun; it might not be enough to hold the fae back, but he had to try. He wasn’t even sure he was running in the right direction.
He stopped at a smattering of moss-covered boulders, leaning against one of the larger rocks with one hand while keeping a firm grip on the hilt of his knife with the other. Sweat dripped off his brow and slicked his torso. Heat radiated off his skin, yet his body seized in shivery fits, and he felt as though icy fingers were trying to take hold of him. He wiped at his brow with his forearm and looked down at Pretraun. “I can’t,” he rasped, his throat dry. “I’ll have to try to fight them off.”
Pretraun didn’t seem surprised or perturbed. He tugged at his cloth sack, twisting it so he could dig around inside. Aren leaned back against the boulder, his legs shaking, no longer able to hold himself steady. He slid down against the rock until he was seated against it. Pretraun produced a small flask, unscrewed the top, then pushed it towards his face.
“Water?” Aren asked. The gnome nodded, nudging. Aren smiled, closing his eyes as he declined. “You drink it. I’ve a feeling I’m not going to make it out this time.” Pretraun pressed the flask to Aren’s lips and poured. Aren sputtered, choked, then swallowed, shoving the gnome away. Pretraun nodded, satisfied. “I thought you were trying to help me,” Aren managed to cough out. When he could breathe without feeling like he was drowning, he leaned his head back against the rock, closing his eyes again. “I’ve been so tired, friend. I just want to sleep. Stars, I just want to sleep.”
Images of fae and strange symbols danced in the darkness of his mind. He felt Pretraun smooth the hair back on his head, like a father would a child, then sensed the subtle shift of earth around him as the gnome moved away. This wasn’t how he’d expected this expedition to turn out. The chanting and strange music were getting closer.
“I’m sorry, Selina,” he said as the strong pull of sleep took over.
ELEVEN
Aren’s eyes opened wide, the muted sound of guitar strings and wind chimes bringing him back to life. He sat up and found that he was clothed and indoors, sunlight shining in through the open windows. He squeezed his eyes shut, counted to ten in Ancient, then opened them.
The sitting room was small and tidy, and he was lying against a heap of pillows on a sofa of bright-blue velvet. He could smell the ocean breeze and wafts of fresh citrus.
“Dane,” he called, not trusting his voice. The music stopped and the strings protested as someone gripped the guitar by the neck. Dane entered and set the instrument against a wall before taking a seat on the ottoman next to him. “We’re at Rieka’s,” Aren stated, wishing it were a question.
“You could’ve told me you were leaving,” Dane said. “I wasn’t prepared for the state you were in.”
“So I was ass-naked again?”
“No, just your shirt was missing this time, thank the gods,” Dane grumbled. “But something had a grand old time beating you; all I could do was clean the cuts. You still have a high fever, though not as bad as when I found you, and—”
“You found me.” Aren felt pieces of his memory start to come together, though at the cost of a throbbing in the back of his head. “You were able to use the markers? Where was I?”
Dane leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers rubbing his temples. “I found the first and third markers. When I didn’t find the second one, I thought I was lost for good. Then, I found you near the fourth marker. I thought you were dead.”
Aren noted the weariness in Dane’s tone, as well as the reined-in frustration. He wasn’t sure what he could say or do to make it better. After a moment, when only the sea winds rustled between them, he said, “Thanks.”
Dane looked him in the eye. “I’m just glad you’re alive. We need to get Rieka to look at your cuts, properly dress them. There’s also your fever we need to take care of.”
“What time is it? We’re supposed to spar with Lord Vir again.”
“He canceled. The Doctor told him to rest because he’s ill.”
“And Gryf?”
“Pissed off and worried, but otherwise healing just fine thanks to Rieka’s bleeding-out theory. We thought you had finally fallen asleep in your room once the nosebleed stopped. Gods’ sakes, you couldn’t even open your eyes for the pain.”
Aren swung his feet off the sofa and felt his blood rush, unbalancing him for a moment. He kept the pain and confusion to himself, feeling guilty for what he had done, but the voices were gone.
Dane handed him his boots. “Selina had a feeling that you left. She said the Wood’s gone quiet. That’s how Gryf and I found out. She’s frightened for you, and I would’ve taken you straight to the House just to ease her worry if you hadn’t been so beaten up. You’re in really bad shape.”
Aren pulled on his boots as Dane stood over him, waiting. There was nothing else to say. There was too much to process, and they both knew that if he tried to remember what had happened, fierce headaches would seize him up again. Aren stood up, making sure he felt steady before moving again. He held a hand out and Dane pressed the hilt of a knife into it. Aren ran a thumb over the Gerrit mark. “Saved my life.”
“I know.”
TWELVE
“Aren,” Kaila whispered, not wanting to startle him. She had found him at his desk in the Library with his head down, an arm for a pillow. Every now and then a fierce shiver would seize him. Aren didn’t acknowledge her, so she crept closer. His breathing was ragged, his skin sallow. “What happened to you?”
He was mumbling in his sleep and she pulled up a chair. His words were unintelligible, and every now and then he winced in pain. Kaila bit her lip, not sure what she could do for him without her powers.
“Magic,” he said, clear as a bell.
She cocked her head, then leaned in closer, hoping to make out more words, when she smelled something out of place. Something dark lingered on him. She recalled how he had smelled the other night: like the sea and the invigorating salt-tinged air. His scent was masculine, intoxicating. She leaned closer still, her cheek grazing his jawline. As he mumbled about a swan, she closed her eyes and concentrated, willing her dulled senses to focus, and her mind began to filter through aeons of history, testing and forming connections in the space of a heartbeat.
Her eyes opened w
ide as she sat up. “Wild magic,” she breathed. “Why did you return to the Wood? How did you get out alive?”
“Trouble,” he murmured. “Tiede…trouble…”
Kaila bit at her lower lip again, gazing at his pallid, troubled face. First, there was the little Priestess. Then, there was the storm connected to events in Tiede Wood. Aren seemed to be the key piece in the puzzle. What fate line had she stumbled upon, and where was it leading her?
She reached out to push stray strands of hair away from his face, and he stirred. His eyes, shadowed by dark circles and bruises, blinked open, lazy and hesitant. His head didn’t move but his eyes began to focus, and she smiled, letting him take his time returning to full consciousness.
“Lake?” he rasped, his voice straining to escape his barely parted lips. “I must be dreaming.”
“You’d dream of me?” she asked, her smile widening. He began to straighten up, but grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut. She reached out to help steady him.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his lips moving without words to accompany. When he opened his eyes again, he said in a sleep-slurred voice, “Stars, my fever must be bad. I thought Lake left this morning. When she said goodbye, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see her again.”
“What was she to you anyway? Just another in the long line of women in your life.”
“She was my friend.” He lowered his eyes. “I let down all my defenses with her.” He let out a laugh. “And she’s mistaken if she thinks there are so many women. I haven’t even—”
She put a finger to his lips to silence him. “Friends. It makes me so happy to hear you say that,” she said, her heart leaping with inexplicable joy. He took her hand, pressed the back of it to his lips, and held it there. His touch was hot, feverish. “I don’t think you’re following Old World customs when you do that,” she pointed out. “You aren’t fooling me.”
He shrugged, letting her go, a sheepish smile on his face. “I’m really not dreaming?” She shook her head, laughing. “Then, I apologize for my physical state. I must look like the dead.”
“You’re not far from it,” she teased. “What happened to you?”
“I’m not sure.”
A comfortable silence followed as they stared at each other, eyes locked, reading and seeking the unspoken. She noted the confusion, fear, and embarrassment in his green eyes.
“Lake, I know we’ve only had one night to get to know each other, but I—”
She pressed a finger against his lips again, afraid of what confessions he might make. He took her hand, kept it close to his mouth, breathing in her scent. “I made it as far as the farmlands,” she said. “My contact received word that travel isn’t safe, so I’ll spend a little more time here. I have field research I can do out on the western cliffs.”
“What you’re saying is you can’t stay in the Library with me every day while you’re here,” he said, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth, exposing a shy dimple.
“I thought it would be best if I put it out there before you started working your charms on me.” She slipped her hand out of his.
“You’re the one with the charms,” he said. “Go ahead, I’ll let you work them on me.”
“You are incorrigible.”
“You never told me about your beau, your lover—”
“Nikken,” she said, her eyes meeting his, holding him. “His name is Nikken and it’s not entirely what you think.”
He must have noted the frustration in her tone and sensed that she didn’t want to talk about it. His voice softened. “You don’t need to say another word.”
“Aren, I—”
“I really do feel much better now that you’re here.” He laid his head back down on his desk, closed his eyes. “Will you stay with me? I’ll send for coffee.”
She smoothed his hair back away from his face. “You aren’t making this easy for me. You need to go to bed.”
“Come with me. We’ll go upstairs. Plenty of room under my covers.”
“Aren!”
“Did I say that out loud?” His voice was getting faint, but she could still hear his smile. “I’m delirious with fever.”
She rolled her eyes as she continued to smooth his hair. He didn’t speak again, and she began to hum a lullaby that the women of the Kailen Islands sang to their babies. An overwhelming sense of serenity filled her as she watched him sleep. She leaned over to place a kiss on his forehead, then stood up, wondering how she could get him to go to his room and rest. She recalled how strict Elder was about the Library, so she imagined there must be keys to lock up. She was about to go through his robe pockets when she felt the change in temperature, a disturbance in the air. She whirled around, pulling the dagger hidden in her cloak as she did so.
The young man unsheathed a blade almost as fast she did. There were two of them, and she cursed herself for not hearing them approach. In her haste to see Aren, she had forgotten to close the doors behind her earlier. How could she have been so reckless?
The shorter, more muscular man spoke first. “That’s our brother,” he said. “If you mean him no harm, then none will come to you.”
He hadn’t drawn a weapon, but the power emanating from him was palpable. The dozens of small cuts all over the left side of his face and neck were covered in a clear salve and still healing. His clothes were dirty and shredded in places, allowing Kaila to glimpse the full marks of the Fighter inked onto his upper left arm.
Kaila reached out with her spirit as best she could, knowing now what to look for. Their fire blessings connected to her. She lowered her weapon, sheathed it. “You caught me by surprise. I apologize for being so paranoid.”
“You’ve every right to be,” said the Fighter. “The House was attacked this morning, and two people were killed in the lower eastern district earlier this evening.”
“The House was attacked?” Kaila put a hand to her heart. Tiede was in more trouble than she realized.
“It’s been a rough day. You must be the Master from Tennar,” the taller of the two men said, sheathing his blade. “Aren and Rieka mentioned you. I’m Dane and this is Gryf.”
“Lake.” She inclined her head.
“Aren said you left.”
“It’s a long story and it’s not important. Aren shouldn’t be lying here like this. He’s burning up, he should be resting.”
“I’ll carry him,” Gryf said.
Her brows furrowed as Gryf picked up the unconscious Aren and walked away towards the stairs. Aren was so tall compared to his brother, yet Gryf carried him as though he were merely a sack of grain. Aren, dead to the world, played the part.
“What happened to him?” Kaila asked, turning to face Dane. She noted the anxiety in his eyes despite his calm demeanor. “Don’t answer that,” she said before he could say anything. “You don’t know me, and to be honest, Aren doesn’t know me as well as he thinks he does.”
Dane nodded, then led her towards the stairs and out the second floor so he could lock the doors. “Aren is fond of you, whether he admits it or not, but he said you were already involved with someone. Like you said, I don’t know you, but you seem nice and Rieka said she enjoyed your company. Aren says you’re smart, and anyone with eyes can see how beautiful you are.” Kaila was about to speak, but he held a hand up. “Maybe he’s already fallen for you, but don’t lead him on. You might break him.”
THIRTEEN
Elder Tanda stood in the hallway, listening to the twinkling sound of the piano mingled with the singing and giggling of ladies. He peeked into the parlor, hoping that the time Vir was spending with his wife would ease some of the growing tension in the House.
Geyle stood by the black grand piano as Saris played a merry tune reminiscent of Rose. Another lady sang the lyrics in a high, sweet voice that seemed to lift the gloom that had settled over the House since the attack that morning. Geyle was laughing and clapping, and every now and then she’d turn her gaze to her husband, as if to make sure he wa
s still there.
Vir sat in one of the high-backed chairs, a drink in his hand. The young lord managed to force a partial smile. He looked worse as the day wore on, more pale and haggard, and Tanda wondered if he could convince Vir to rest for a few hours.
“Is everything all right, Elder?”
He turned to find Crina approaching. He took a few steps away from the parlor to meet her, keeping his staff from thumping against the stone floor. “I don’t want to disrupt. He has very little time for her anymore.”
Crina sighed, feeling the weight behind his words. The Head Priestess, while still beautiful and graceful as always, looked tired and a little out of sorts, which was uncharacteristic. It seemed as if the entire House had been upended within a matter of days.
“What do you need to bother him about?” she asked in that regal tone of hers.
“My Apprentice.” He grimaced. A knowing look passed between them, and he thought the mere mention of Aren had drained her of whatever energy she had left.
“He’s been trouble since before he was born.” She rolled her eyes before alighting a hand over her heart. “I have news of the little girl that I need to share with Lord Vir, but it can wait. I need to confirm some things before I talk to him, so I’ll leave you to it.” She walked away, her soft footfalls and white, gauzy dress making her seem like a ghost.
Tanda took a deep breath, then made his way into the parlor. The music and singing stopped at once, and he hated having to drag Vir away from this temporary respite.
“Continue.” Vir waved a hand at the ladies as Tanda took a seat next to him. The women hesitated, but Geyle indicated that the songs begin again, only softer.
“Please tell me you’ve found the Apprentice,” Vir whispered. “I would rather be in my study right now, and truth be told my wife would rather have his company.”
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