Timeless (Maiden Of Time Book 3)

by Crystal Collier

  He slammed the ground and shoved onto his knees. His necklace lay in the weeds, waiting for him. It mocked him with its weight and the inability to fulfill his obligations. To reach his sister. To save the Neitherlands. To lead these Lost Ones to safety.

  Kiren snatched the chain.

  He wasn’t going home after all.

  He lay a long time recovering before shoving to his feet and rubbing his tender chest. He’d sent everything up to the sky, and the sky had sent it back with a vengeance. At least the energy was returned. It hadn’t been wasted, but after a blow like that, he needed rest—the traditional kind.

  But he couldn’t sit still.

  An urge tugged at the back of his mind. He should check… A sense of agitation carried him away from the gateway, to the spot where his enemy had been trapped long ago.

  The prison was gone.

  Air hissed from between his teeth, his lungs refusing its reentry. While he should have been monitoring this spot, he was out gallivanting the world, healing people and frivolously wasting his days.

  Somewhere, a great evil was loose, an evil he must put down, and he had no idea where to begin searching.

  He dropped to a knee, uttering a desperate prayer for guidance.

  Faces flashed in his mind—the hundreds of faces he’d encountered. All in danger. All at risk. Alexia. Her baby.

  His head snapped up. He touched the aching gash, the mischief his own arrogance had wrought. He would suffer a hundred such malignments if it meant she was safe, that she would live.

  Kiren got to his feet. He forced the panic down and listened, slowing his breathing until he heard the hum of the wind, the soft chirp of insects, the scuttle of rodents and distant song of a stream. The answer was here. He just had to find it.

  He bent and brushed a hand across the mulch where the prison had stood. The ground quelled at his touch. It resonated with the energy in his necklace, and an invisible trail bled off the spot, pointing him north, so old it was less than a whisper. At least he had a starting point.

  ***

  Deamus jumped as lightning struck Arik and crouched back behind a tree. Well, that was…unexpected. It seemed the gateway liked the High King’s heir less than himself.

  He’d recognized Arik when they met—the very image of his father. Open the gateway, and the heir could be restored to the throne so easily. But Deamus lacked the key. He’d felt the power surrounding this heir, and now he knew why. More importantly, Arik knew the location of the gateway, and watching closely had paid off. This was the spot.

  Foolish of Arik to try opening it without the correct incantation. He now had a slice across his face as a permanent reminder.

  Arik had used the key, the necklace. Had he unlocked the gateway? If so, it was now left to Deamus to finish the job. He watched for Arik to leave, shaking his head at the witless move.

  Deamus stepped out and assumed the spot where Arik had crushed the weeds. He lifted both hands over his head and muttered the words, a prayer or inquiry, not a command. Would it work this time?

  The wind picked up. Clouds swirled around him. The gateway tugged at his energy. He let it have what he’d stored, holding the clasp tight, ready to close off the flow. A pin-hole of darkness split the sky, widening to a well, leaking blackness to the ground like falling stars.

  No walls of light.

  Deamus let go. It appeared he needed the key after all. He turned back to camp, to find Alexia. She would be pleased to know they had everything they needed, if she could convince Arik to surrender his necklace. Deamus was fairly certain she could convince the heir, although he didn’t wish to know the method.

  His throat tightened at the idea of her being near Arik, of the sickening endearments they must share. She should have chosen him. She might still. She just didn’t know it yet.

  Thirty-Nine

  Unmasked

  A shiver trailed down Alexia’s spine. She could feel eyes on her, but not the welcome kind—predator eyes, like those of a panther. She turned slowly. People milled about the camp, conversing, arguing, preparing for the night. Beyond them, darkness swelled in the trees. An unnatural darkness.

  She gripped the medallion and hurried toward it. If the thing was now manifesting, she would stop it. No more deaths. No more suffering. It was why she hadn’t mentioned the thing’s presence to Amos—because the dagger may work on it. A little closer and she might be able to destroy it. For good.

  “Alexia?”

  She paused, glancing at Mae and back to the trees.

  “This new world,” Mae spoke quietly, “Amos told me of your errand. Do you, do you think there is a place for me there?”

  Alexia turned to her friend, startled by the desperate, hopeful tone.

  “I wish to stop hurting people.” Mae bowed her head. “If there truly is a barrier, perhaps it is where I belong.”

  Alexia’s heart broke. She took her friend’s hand. “Mae, see.” She opened her mind, remembering the inn on scorched earth and the kindly inn keeper who had housed so many of the Passionate needing protection, the woman with cornflower eyes and a terrifying gift. Alexia released her. “I do not know what this other world has to offer, but if you remain, you will find your own peace. You will become great.”

  Mae took a deep breath, blinking.

  Alexia glanced back at the woods. The ominous black was gone. She tilted her head, searching for its essence elsewhere, but couldn’t sense it. The entity had vacated.

  Alexia extended a hand to her friend. “Come, Mae. Let us try something new with your gift. We shall see if you can push the energy away from yourself and into another being.”

  ***

  The scream announcing another casualty came hours later than Alexia expected. Ockman lay dead, his neck twisted the wrong direction, eyes wide as if watching the monster that had killed him walk away.

  Alexia bowed her head. She might have prevented it—had she approached the darkness instead of calming Mae. But then, perhaps she’d merely have presented herself as a vessel for the enemy to destroy. Even the dagger might not be enough. Had Mae saved her?

  ***

  Panic filled the camp. Alexia leaned over the fire, warming her hands, weighed by Ockman’s death. She’d confessed to Amos, and the council held a debate. If the thing could follow them across landmasses, would relocating to another camp do any good? They’d parted without a decision, and Amos had been in his tent all afternoon.

  “The knight slipped his bonds to take revenge,” Oriel whispered across from her.

  “That is absurd. The man is still bound,” Silivia said. “It was the thing that killed Murial.”

  Hammond drummed his knees. “Or the knight’s allies have come and are tormenting us from the shadows.”

  Amos stepped out of his tent. The Passionate quieted. Alexia caught his eyes and he gave her a grim nod. He had reached a decision.

  He stopped before the largest fire, and his voice boomed over them. “An evil has come upon us, though whether it be of man or shadow, we cannot say. But we do know one of you has been betraying us to our enemies. Turn yourself in,” he demanded, “else we will find you by examining your mind and learning for ourselves.”

  Shudders spread through the camp. No one could resist the force of the combined council.

  “If you run, you admit your guilt, and we do not take treachery lightly.” Amos finished, “You have until midnight to reveal yourself.”

  Tension hung like the scent of dirty flesh: suffocating, constant, thick.

  Alexia escaped to the far side of the crumbling wall where the knight rested on his side, eyes closed. She dismissed Sarlic, promising she would find him when she was done speaking with the prisoner.

  “You know who it is.” She sat beside the knight. “The murderer who betrayed us and has possibly taken up killing our own?”

  The man laughed, actually awake despite his appearance. “A wise individual.”

  Her fists tightened. “You think so?”r />
  He lifted a chin toward the wall. “What do you think they would do if unleashed on a city? On normal, ungifted people?”

  “We are people,” she countered.

  He huffed.

  “My father was a country baron, nothing special about him other than his title.” Oh how she missed Father. “But he loved a beautiful, strange woman with a unique heritage.” She brushed at a grass stain on her skirt. “Is there any evil in that?”

  He lifted his eyes, assessing her. “You do not show the humility of a noble woman.”

  “No, I do not, because I am more than a noble woman. You stood across from me on the battle field.”

  He looked away.

  “We warriors carry a heavy burden. We fight for causes we would rather shun on behalf of those who need us.”

  His jaw clenched. She had hit a nerve.

  “Even so, I would no sooner hurt one of your kind as one of ours, but I will not see them wiped off the face of the Earth.” She nodded at the wall. “Death is a tragedy except when it comes in old age.”

  The mountain crumbling reared up in her mind, men buried alive. She had killed his men. All of them. Who was she to lecture him about death and war?

  “Forgive me for not believing you, my lady.”

  “Alexia, if you please.”

  No reply.

  “Sir, we live in seclusion. We attack no one, and yet someone has decided we must be hunted and contained. I submit that these mandates are from men who wish to harness our powers and secure their standing against other countries or kings. They would use us, or kill us. Call me evil if you must, but I believe in saving my people from the torture of powerful men. In keeping their gifts from being turned on humanity.”

  His cheek twitched.

  “And now someone is killing my friends, one by one in the night, and I am forced to believe that one of this company is devolving our stability further.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Help me, and I will help you.”

  He half-chuckled and squeezed into a ball, grimacing. “There is no help for me.”

  Alexia sighed. If only she could win his trust, but that may be an impossible feat seeing how he believed it best for the Passionate to perish.

  She waved Sarlic back over and departed.

  ***

  Velia’s shadow draped over the flickering coals. Alexia patted the ground next to herself. The mist woman sat reluctantly, half in and out of the fog like always. They had communicated rarely because of Velia’s inability to speak, but Alexia always felt a great deal of gratitude for this woman’s sacrifice.

  A chilly hand touched Alexia’s, and an image burst over her: a tower prison, drafty, spilling light from chinks in the ceiling and single window. A man stood before her grinning like he was about to get exactly what he wanted. He is my captor.

  Alexia blinked. “You are in no prison.”

  I am always in his prison.

  And suddenly she understood. “You are bonded.”

  The mist-maiden’s head bowed. I have done many things of which I am not proud, but I am no murderer.

  Alexia stiffened. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Because I believed you would understand. Velia waved to Alexia’s belly.

  Oh, Velia… Her heart ached for the woman. To deny a bondmate was near impossible. She’d felt everything Kiren had felt, desired what he desired, needed to please him. But being bonded to a human was worse. Humans weren’t susceptible to the bond—meaning they didn’t ache to please their companion on instinct. They didn’t connect on a subconscious level. They didn’t die when their lover died. And sometimes, a lucky one of the Passionate survived their human bondmate’s death.

  I am the traitor, but I have not killed anyone.

  Alexia groaned. Velia hadn’t killed them directly, but she may as well have held the blade.

  But there is someone missing tonight, someone who appeared shortly before the murders began. Velia hesitated. Is he your bondmate?

  She turned on the woman. “He is not a murderer.”

  The mist-maiden bowed her head. Shelter me, and I will testify it is not him.

  So it was to be blackmail. Alexia bit down. “He needs no protection. He has no motive. He is innocent.”

  Once I was as well.

  Alexia glared. Velia met her stare, a challenge in hers, a threat. Back down or see him defamed. Again.

  Alexia would not back down.

  The mist maiden scowled and slipped away.

  There could be no bargain, no matter how she ached for the woman or Kiren. Alexia’s heart sped. It was what the Passionate would all conclude. Kiren was gone. Someone was dead. He had appeared before the first murder and left right before the last. What more evidence did they need? And if Velia vowed she had witnessed Kiren in the act?

  Mist collected near Amos, the woman’s head bowed. Alexia could almost hear Velia’s confession, followed by an accusation. Amos met Alexia’s stare from across the camp. His jaw squared.

  She could barely breathe. Things were about to become dangerous.

  Forty

  Shine the Light

  Kiren whirled as the wagon rattled past.

  It wasn’t her.

  He’d been walking for hours, ever since he woke this morning with a sore back in a hay mound. His sleep was filled with nightmares: the man who stood in the ash, laughing at the remains of a hidden cottage. Mother and Father buried in the cinders, their flesh smoldering as they screamed. Kiren had awakened with a start, tears fresh on his face. The man who had murdered his parents and been imprisoned on this world, he was liberated. Somewhere he wrought havoc. Somewhere he roamed free. And he was certainly coming for Kiren.

  But he would find the demented one first.

  He had passed straight through the town in pursuit of his enemy, pushing until every ounce of stamina was spent, until his feet had refused to lift, until he’d collapsed into a hay mound. Frustrated with the lost time, Kiren had awoken and trudged on, but when he’d spotted a thistle of thriving green amidst the barren branches, he thought of Alexia’s eyes—such a vibrant hue.

  A rock cut into his boot, and he glanced back at the wagon and the dark-haired woman he’d briefly mistaken for the succubus of his mind. But Alexia wasn’t that anymore. She was a compassionate soul who gave all for her people, even when it should be beyond her capacity. Their servant. Their queen.

  And those same Lost Ones had cared for him. She’d made that possible by accepting him—foolish pride and all. Even with the mischief happening around him, he’d been welcome because of her.

  Because she kissed him. Because she scarred him. Because she taught him what it meant to give of yourself entirely.

  Kiren rubbed a hand over his painful jaw.

  He was not going back, could not go back until he’d found his enemy. She would be safe among the others. They would sacrifice themselves on her behalf before any ill could come to her.

  He halted.

  What if his enemy was wreaking havoc on the Lost Ones? The essence of darkness, the many forced moves, the murders…

  Alexia was in the greatest danger.

  Her last words haunted him: “I will torture you no more.” Had she bid him farewell with that phrase? Because she knew what was coming?

  Never hearing her verbally lash him, never feeling the torture of her allure, never drowning in the ambrosia of her skin, he couldn’t live that existence.

  He turned around, marching with greater purpose than he ever had.

  She had pushed him away to protect him. If something happened to her because of him, something he could have prevented or healed, he would never be able to live with himself. She haunted him now, but she would become the wraith that tortured his every thought.

  He turned a prayer heavenward: let him not be too late!

  Forty-One

  Rush

  Alexia stopped in front of the little shop, fixated on her reflection in the window. No proper woman of the eighteenth centur
y would waddle through the streets in this state, but there hardly was a proper here. Velia had confessed to being the traitor and publicly accused Kiren of murder. Amos had accepted the confession freely, but like Alexia, he was skeptical. What possible motive could the healer have? And if Kiren wanted them dead, why had he bothered healing them at all? Tracking him down was the only way to prove his innocence.

  She nodded to Regin, Mae, and Amos as they separated amid the town’s traffic to find evidence of their quarry. Deamus admitted to having followed Kiren some and pointed them to this town. Alexia hated that they were tracking him like a criminal, but she had no way to disprove his guilt, and he had fled. Because of her.

  She uncurled her hand and gazed at the scabbed flesh. No matter how much damage she’d done to herself, she could never sheer away the evidence of her crimes. She was forever chained to this fate. As much as it weighed on her, she finally understood Kiren’s plight—her Kiren. The weight of thousands had rested on his shoulders. He’d borne it well, but that tortured silence hung at the back of his mind, the muted need to make right all pains suffered because of him. Now she recognized that place in herself. It was a gap that separated the functional Alexia from the one destroyed by guilt. No going back in time could undo the rift. She was forever fractured.

  And if her companions caught Kiren, if they accused him of one more terrible offense, it may be enough to break his confidence forever. She’d argued with Amos about this, but he insisted that to the rest of camp, Kiren looked guilty. And he was right.

  Because Kiren had abandoned them. Her child. Herself. All of the Passionate.

  An invisible fist squeezed around her heart, one that had been tightening with every thought of him. Her heart pulsed painfully. She’d never considered he might run, and if they couldn’t find him—as they likely wouldn’t—she’d never have the chance to say goodbye or reveal the truth about his child. She had foolishly squandered their time.