Amber Eyes

by S. D. Grimm

  Jayden nodded. She knew the prophecy. It hadn’t always made sense to her, but now that she knew Idla wasn’t the sorceress—and who truly was—she understood one thing clearly: she had to stop Franco from unleashing a greater evil. “I won’t let the Mistress escape.” Even if it killed her.

  Jayden opened her eyes. Wind blew outside, rippling against the tent flap. An electric taste in the air told her a storm wasn’t far off. This storm churned in the distance like the worry in her stomach. Storms like this were wild.

  She sat up and pulled her knees into her chest. Lightning flashed, brightening her surroundings. This storm would be drenching. She breathed deep. Franco wanted her. Wanted to use her. Bed her. Logan warned her that he wouldn’t allow her to sacrifice herself like that. They’d find a different way. But it wasn’t just her. He threatened everyone she loved. Why hadn’t Thea told her how to defeat him or get out of this mess? That would have been helpful. Instead Thea had spoken of Jayden’s death. She’d seen Jayden’s death.

  Thunder rumbled low and treacherous like a growl.

  So Jayden had been right all along. She wasn’t going to survive this destiny.

  She breathed in the sweet, rainy scent. The static charge in the air still had the ability to calm her. So did Ethan’s presence. She’d placed her bedroll near his, per Melanie’s request, so she could check on him in the night.

  Scout had curled up beside him, unwilling to leave Ethan’s side.

  Unable to help it, she touched his hand. He gripped back and squeezed with more strength than she expected.

  Her heart caught in her chest and she sat up. “You’re awake?”

  “I don’t sleep well during storms.” His smile was evident in his words.

  Scout whimpered, trying to bury his head under Ethan’s hand to be petted.

  “Hey, boy. I missed you, too.” He touched the dog and only then did Scout’s whining cease. He curled up near Ethan’s leg and sighed contentedly.

  Jayden watched them, smiling. How she’d missed his voice. Wetness collected in her eyes and she sniffed.

  “Hey. Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not. I’m—” Every emotion she’d been holding back burst forth. The relief, the fear, all of it. And the rain broke through. Just a sprinkle that spattered the fabric above them and stopped as quickly as it started. As if the clouds meant to contain it, but some leaked out anyway. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “You didn’t.”

  A sob caught in her throat.

  “Jayden.” He tried to push himself up.

  She pressed her hand against his chest and shook her head, unable to speak.

  His fingers wiped away her tear, brushed the hand she’d laid on his chest. Tugged her sleeve. “Come here.” He opened his arm and motioned for her to lie next to him.

  She needed no more coaxing. Fears about Thea’s prediction faded. Right now, if only for a moment, she could be his. Or at least pretend. She cuddled into him. Let his warmth melt the chill in her heart. She breathed in his scent that the raindrops had made stronger. Pine. Leather. His gentle grip pulled her close, and she closed her eyes. A tear dripped onto his shirt. Then more. He didn’t say a word. Just hugged her tighter.

  When every last silent tear had quelled, she noticed the wet spot they’d left on his shirt and wiped her hand over it, as if it would do any good. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “We—I thought you were dead. I never would have left if I knew you were alive in there.”

  “I know.”

  She pushed herself up to sitting and stared at him. The darkness muted many of his features, but she could still make out his outline. She wished to see him—look into his eyes, the doorway of her talent. As if in answer, the clouds shifted and moonlight peeked through.

  Ethan’s gaze entrapped her. His brown eyes were unfathomably dark at night. The hum of electricity crackled between them again. Heat lightning echoed it. Holding her breath, she leaned closer.

  He reached up, pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and smiled. “I heard you killed the queen.”

  Idla’s burnt face filled her memory and she glanced away.

  “Sorry, Jayden. I—”

  “It’s okay.”

  He tried to push himself up again and, rather than argue, she helped him sit.

  Lightning flashed in the sky, giving her glimpses of his face. Illuminated the bruising around his ear. Pictures of Scarface punching him pulsed through her mind in tandem with the storm’s light.

  The thought of losing him again stabbed her heart with a deep ache. “I don’t want to lose you.” I can’t lose you.

  His chest stopped mid-breath for half a heartbeat, and she realized she’d spoken her fear aloud. He took her hand in his, and the current of electricity surged between them again. He placed something into her palm and gently closed her fingers around the object.

  She looked down, opening her hand. Air rushed out of her lungs when she saw the tiny white horse from her mother’s necklace. “Ethan, how did you—”

  “Anything for you, Jayden. Anything.”

  “Thank you.” She clutched the charm close to her heart and leaned toward him.

  He didn’t move away. His eyes grew softer and his emotions didn’t slam into her like normal. Instead they lapped against her heart like calm waves against the sand, pulling and pushing at the same time. So many emotions tightly wound together that she couldn’t unravel. She pulled one of the strings. Fear. Another. Regret. Still another. Hope. She stopped.

  Her stomach squeezed and she remembered Thea’s words.

  She couldn’t have this. Not if she was going to die. It wouldn’t be fair. Yes, she needed love. The kind that made her fight for her people and protect them—that’s what she would embrace. This kind of love—desire for a life she could never have—was going to have to stay locked tight in her heart.

  Moonlight slipped away again, and the storm seemed to swell. Rain remained in the clouds like emotions unable to escape. She knew exactly how that felt.

  Chapter 14

  Pure Motivation

  Connor crept into the library and breathed in the aroma of old parchment. Thousands of books packed the hundreds of shelves in the arched-ceilinged room. A few tables and leather armchairs lined the floors. Not that anyone used them save him.

  Sunlight spilled in through the high window, illuminating a wheeled ladder that rested against the shelves on the west wall. Connor aligned the ladder with a mosaic on the ceiling of a gryphon, then he plucked a book from the fourth shelf, seven books in.

  The ladder wiggled as he scaled thirteen shelves high and counted seven books over. Dust motes sparkled in the sun as his fingers ran over spines of books rarely touched. He stifled a sneeze and pulled a thick volume from the last place he’d hidden it and replaced it with the other one he’d picked. He chuckled as he read the title: A History of Feravolk Dance.

  Cradling the book he needed, he climbed down and sat at one of the tables. As a boy, he’d attempted to take this book from the library, along with a stack of others. Idla had found him and had him given a switching that Rebekah likely never forgave her for.

  He laid the book on the table farthest from the entrance of the room and sat down so he could see the door. Something in this book might have answers. He’d read the whole volume several times, but much of it still didn’t make sense.

  One prophecy in particular always seemed a good place to start. And though he knew each word already, he opened to the well-worn page and read it again:

  A sorceress will come with power to destroy all the Creator has built.

  She’ll break the land and the people’s hearts and bring death to those who’d oppose her.

  But hope will be found when the Deliverers rise through flame, through ash, and heal the heart of the land.

  Through blazing fire and torrent of rain, the Forest shall fall and rise again.

/>   Those who will deliver the land will summon the Creator’s power.

  They will work as one, each having different talents: the heart of one, soul of another, the mind of one, and strength of her brother.

  No matter how many times he read it, he didn’t know enough to unravel the real meaning. But he was certain it was the key to stopping the Mistress. Or to finding out her true plan to obtain the Creator’s power.

  “Studying again?”

  Connor’s hackles rose at the voice in the doorway, but he didn’t look up. “Why are you here, Kara? You don’t seem the reading type.”

  Kara sauntered toward him and walked around the table, taking her time. She leaned over his shoulder. “The Book of Prophecy. I think this one is your favorite, you choose it so often. You must have it memorized by now.”

  He turned toward her, his nose nearly bumping hers, and refused to back away. “The picture books are on the east end.”

  She touched the tip of his nose with her finger. “I like the one with maps in it. Something about thrones and corners meeting, strange things that would sail right over your pretty little head.”

  Maps and thrones? Connor glanced toward the east end. One of the prophecies rang clear in his thoughts: They shall sit on thrones of life and there find the Creator’s power.

  It was likely true. He had most of the book memorized. The problem lay in deciphering what everything meant. But if there truly was a book that told him the location of these thrones, he needed it.

  Kara chuckled and slid into the chair next to him, crossing one leg over the other. “You didn’t know about it?”

  He just stared at her. Maybe if he didn’t respond, she’d go away. Not that it had worked in the past. He pulled his book closer. She’d already seen him with it anyway, so might as well keep reading.

  Her fingers touched the top edge. “Can’t you share? I like this one, too.” She slid the book away from him and opened it, thumbing through the well-worn pages. “My favorite part is this passage: ‘When the four Deliverers join their talents, the Door of Death will be opened.’ Arcane, isn’t it?”

  She pushed the book back toward him and tapped her finger over the passage. Connor didn’t need to read it. He read it every time he entered the library. Not that this prophecy made much sense, either.

  Kara searched his face with narrowed eyes. “What do you suppose it means?”

  He glared at her.

  She leaned away. “No reason to get ferocious, Wolfy.”

  “Wolfy?”

  She leaned uncomfortably close. “I like your eyes. They match your temper. Ferocious.”

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, hoping to convey a nonchalant attitude. If Kara knew his secret, that could really change things. Then again, Kara’s games might be tedious, but playing along usually resulted in useful information.

  He shrugged. “I’m not ferocious.”

  Kara laughed and it seemed authentic, not just one of her agenda-­driven, annoying laughs. “Really? Because I’ve seen you get pretty—”

  “I can be.” He glared.

  She tapped the book. “What’s your take on the passage?”

  “The Doors of Life and Death are part of the Afterworld. Only the Creator has the power to open the door to the Afterworld. It must be the moment the Deliverers obtain the Creator’s power. When they take the thrones.”

  “That’s a fine theory, but there are others who have the power to open the door to the Afterworld.”

  So Kara knew more than he’d thought. He’d studied the Old Custom as much as the Book of Prophecy. One other—the Mistress—had the power to open those doors, but only the Creator had the power to open the Door of Life and the Door of Death simultaneously. Besides, she didn’t have those powers anymore. They were taken from her and given to two others. “The Creator has banished her to a life of imprisonment. She was stripped of her powers.”

  Kara placed her elbows on the table. Her eyes darted around the room. “Only stripped of the ability to use them. Once she is freed, her powers will be within her reach again. She will be free soon. Her spies have been hard at work. And she seeks the Deliverers.”

  Connor examined Kara’s face. “She wants the Creator’s power.”

  Kara nodded. “There are those who would free her. Franco is one of them.”

  “Are you?”

  Kara’s sultry smile returned.

  Connor smirked. “You carry a seeing stone. It’s an ancient weapon of the Mist—”

  Kara placed a finger on his lips. “Don’t say her title in my presence.” She cocked her head. “You know about my stone? It seems I am not the only one who has been spying in secret.”

  “You and your sister want to help my mother. Why?”

  She smiled. “And you. Don’t exclude yourself, Wolfy.”

  “Don’t call me that. Answer the question.”

  “Franco plans to use the Deliverers before taking them to his master—the one we have been speaking about. I can’t have that.”

  “Because the”—he’d almost said the Mistress of Shadows again—“she . . . is your master, too?”

  “Thea seems to think you’re thick. I don’t, but you do mistake one thing. I have no master.”

  “And you would give your master the Creator’s powers?”

  Kara stared at him, a glimmer in her blue-green eyes.

  Connor leaned closer. “You would take me to your . . . employer?”

  “Perhaps. But what do I stand to gain if she wins?”

  “Doesn’t she claim to want to give her followers power over the land?”

  Kara licked her lips. “I am an assassin. I have all the power I need already.”

  “Then whom do you work for, really?”

  Kara’s lips slid into a smile. “The highest bidder.”

  Chapter 15

  Altering the Plan

  Thea slipped through a secret passage from the tunnels into an empty hallway. She knew those tapestries with the hounds chasing the fox. She was on the sixth floor. The south stairs were open to her, but she’d have to pass the kitchens on the way down to the spell chamber if she went that way. If she took the north staircase, she would pass Belladonna’s room.

  She breathed deep, clearing her head, and listened to the pictures in her mind. A red ruby. Blood. A silver blade. Death.

  If she didn’t go to the spell chamber now, everything in that vision could be avoided. She wouldn’t have to die. Kara would. Kara couldn’t die, not while Thea could help it. Spell chamber it was. And sealing her fate. She breathed deep and headed toward the north staircase.

  She’d only ever truly loved two people in her lifetime. Both were sisters to her—one by blood, the other by circumstance. She could think of no better reason to die than to save both of them.

  Thea descended to the ground floor. Then she walked through the corridor, letting no one see her, and headed outside. The sun shone on her back, warming it as she stopped in front of the palace’s secret way, the bard’s gate.

  Different heat warmed her. She peered into the blacksmith’s hut. The steady thud of the hammer clanking against metal easily hid the sound of her soft footsteps as she sneaked behind the blacksmith. She picked up the wooden plank in the floor just enough to slide through. The man never moved as she put the plank back in place from beneath.

  In the dank corridor, she leaned against the wall until her eyes adjusted. Rats skittered along the dusty ground. She stalked forward and opened the secret door. On the other side, illuminated with the glow of torches, stood the stone door to the spell chamber. Thea walked up to it and slipped the key from her pocket. She slid it into the lock. It clicked open and she stepped inside. The pungent aroma always twisted her stomach. Today, it wasn’t the only thing knotting her insides.

  The spell book sat on a pedestal in the entryway, tempting anyone who entered to touch it. Wouldn’t Franco just love that? The first time Thea had reached out to touch the book, the pictures i
n her mind warned her that Idla would be alerted. It was the reason Thea had learned to make her potions from other sources. Idla might be dead now, but the price for using the Mistress’s spell book was high. Idla would have had to blood-will a successor to take her place as the Mistress’s host—the book held her power. Only one chosen by the Mistress, or, in the case of death, the person blood-willed to take her place, could touch the book without tripping an alarm. Who had Franco blood-willed to take his place if he died?

  Thea’s mind filled with pictures. Her talent would answer that question. She stopped to listen. She saw Franco and Belladonna slice their palms. Blood dripped into a bejeweled goblet, and they both drank. Thea’s stomach turned.

  Belladonna? Odd choice.

  She gasped. Everything made sense now. The way things would end. The things she needed Kara to do. She’d better get to making those potions then. She’d need some of Idla’s ingredients.

  She pulled the piece of paper from her pocket and set in on the wooden table, smoothing it with her fingers, careful not to smudge any of the writing. A resurrection spell. The most powerful of all the potions. It was said that anyone who made such a spell would surely die within months.

  This time it would be true.

  The other potion she needed to make was a recipe she knew by heart. She searched the long rows of shelves for her first ingredient: dried dragon embers.

  Once she’d collected everything she needed and laid it out on the table, she read the instructions again. She could afford no mistakes. The dried ember fit in the palm of her hand. She crushed it, singeing her fingers in the process.

  When she finished creating her final potions, she tucked the two vials safely in her clothes. If she exited now, Belladonna would find her.

  But it had to be now. Images of Kara’s death played in her head every time she considered the alternative. Thea’s heart squeezed. She opened the door and took two steps into the tunnel.

  A quiet sniffle punctured the silence.

  Belladonna. The wicked woman was here to set everything in motion.