by S. D. Grimm
“Then trust it.” She laid a hand on his chest. “If your talent stems from love, perhaps it’s not a weakness. Perhaps you just need to trust it more. Listen to your heart, not your fears.”
He placed his hand over hers and his thumb rubbed against it. “I’ll try to remember that.”
So would she. It was time to face fears with the hope that she could overcome them. And it started with her facing the one person she never wanted to lay eyes on again. Franco.
Chapter 59
A Bridge to Cross
Ryan concentrated on the position of his opponent’s feet, the angle
of his sword, the placement of his arms, and the sweat rolling down his own back. Still, he brought his sword up to defend against a blow nearly too late. Focus.
He chopped his sword at his opponent, a tall, muscular man with a perpetual smug grin. The man swung again, and Ryan could see that he had nearly missed that advance because he lost sight of the other’s footing. Too many things to remember.
A shift in his opponent’s step caught Ryan’s attention. He braced himself for the strike. Catching it, he staggered backward. Perpetual Grin was stronger, but Ryan was faster—thanks to his talent.
One Eye and his crazed theories about dancing and sword fighting. Sure, they worked . . . if he could focus his attention on everything at once.
In the heat of a fight? Not so much.
Perpetual Grin twisted and spun.
Spinning. Dancing.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Could it be that simple? Yes and no. When Ryan was dancing, he could twirl a girl, catch her in a dip, and take the next partner without losing a step. What if he danced with Perpetual Grin? Not a structured dance, but a dance nonetheless. After all, it took a lot of talent not to let a girl who was resisting his lead step on his toes. And he was a master at that.
He studied the man in front of him as if he were a pretty girl come to dance. Okay, an ugly girl. Just as well, because the object of the dance was to not let her touch him. Perpetual Grin spun. Ryan blocked the blow as easily as if he would have grabbed her hand. He pushed, moved back, and spun. Music seemed to strike up in his head.
As he saw the movements, his body reacted—and all those drills One Eye had made him do for the past months finally counted for something. His muscles remembered what to do. How to block, dodge, strike.
The veil had been lifted. All he had to do was dance.
He struck with his sword, causing Perpetual Grin to back up. Ryan dislodged his opponent’s sword and placed his blade on the man’s neck. Perpetual Grin lost his signature smile and kicked at the ground as everyone began cheering for the Knight.
Ryan shook his head. He’d done it again. But this time, not by the skin of his teeth. Sweat rolled down his back. His arms ached. But he’d done it.
“Nice crowd today.” Tessa slapped his back. Her nose wrinkled, and she wiped her hand on his sleeve. “Looks like you attracted an old friend.”
Serena? No, she wouldn’t—
A slender woman dressed in deep blue stood staring at him with pretty green eyes. Madison. Pleasant surprise.
What had she been up to? He was about to head over to her when a burly man with a patch over his eye appeared from the crowd and patted Ryan’s back.
“One Eye?”
“I see you finally got the lesson.” The other’s gruff voice resounded over the clapping. “Tomorrow I won’t hold back.” He winked.
Ryan shuddered. It just wasn’t natural for a one-eyed man to wink.
As quickly as the man had appeared, he ghosted back into the mingling crowd. Ryan stood staring. In the dissipating crowd he’d lost sight of Madison, but he figured she’d gone inside. He wiped the sweat from his face before he decided to go in himself and get a drink.
Heat met him at the door. Martha had the kitchens fired up today.
“Excuse me?” A small but distinctly feminine voice caught his attention.
He turned toward Madison and smiled. “You look lovely this evening. Would you care for a dance with the Knight?”
She stepped back, eyebrows scrunching together. “Cocky thing, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been called that before. You should come up with something more original.”
She scoffed. Then she leaned close, and her eyes swept the room. “Can I talk to you?”
Well, she was acting strange. “Of course, but we’d better do it while dancing.” He smiled his best and extended his hand. “The Knight has many suitors, and after tonight’s performance—you were watching, weren’t you?”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“Clearly.” He shot her his most charming grin and offered his hand again.
She simply looked at it. “Dancing? You’re serious?”
A flock of other girls started to approach. He’d be busy tonight. He nodded in their direction, and Madison glanced that way.
Ryan took her hand. “I’d rather dance with you. After all, you’ve always been honest with me.”
“We hardly know each other.”
“All the more reason.” My, she was playing hard to get tonight. “Has something changed?”
“No. I still need to have that discussion.” Madison sighed, grabbed his arm, and led him out to the dance floor. “Dancing it is.”
When the music started, she didn’t rely on his leading. In fact, he wasn’t leading at all. She was. Ryan narrowed his eyes and searched her face. Something was different about her. “You seem to have had some lessons.”
She tilted her chin up. “Of course.”
“Are you going to let me lead?” He raised an eyebrow, wondering what game she was playing.
Her eyes softened and she smiled. “I’m sorry, yes.”
Well, now she looked more herself. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Madison?”
The hope that sprung into her eyes made his stomach squeeze. “Yes. I need your help. And I’m not Madison.”
“A secret name?” He glanced around the room. The man who had escorted her last time was nowhere in sight.
Her smile turned coy. “I’ve never met you before. Madison is my twin sister.”
“Well, that explains things. You must think me awfully forward, then.” Ryan spun her.
She faced him again and grabbed his hands. “I do, but I like you anyway.”
“All right. I’ll take that. So tell me, Not Madison, what is your name?”
“Morgan.”
“Ah.”
“You don’t believe me?”
He laughed. “No.”
“Well, it’s true.” She rolled up her sleeve and showed him the blood moon birthmark.
He covered it with his hand and scanned the room. “You can’t just show that off. Even here.”
“Your concern is heartwarming.” She pulled her sleeve back down and smiled. “But I had to make sure you’re taking me seriously. I speak the truth, and I need your help.”
She was more confident on her feet that her sister had been, and much less cozy. Ryan had no trouble believing she was Madison’s twin. What puzzled him was who these girls really were. And what kind of help this one expected.
When the dance was over, Morgan dragged him to a table and sat. He thought about protesting, but his curiosity had the stronger pull.
Morgan’s eyes grew pleading. “My sister’s in danger.”
“What happened?”
“She was on her way to the Forest of Legends when she came through here, but she’s been captured by the king.”
Ryan lowered his voice. “And what do you expect me to do about that? I’m no friend of the king.”
“I know. You’re one of the Feravolk, aren’t you?”
It was true, if not recently. “Yes. I’ll be heading back to my Feravolk camp soon. I could get some of the others to—”
“There’s no time. It has to be you. You save her. I’ve seen it.”
That didn’t sound good. “Seen?” He recalled Chloe’s comment the first time h
e’d seen Madison. “You’re the sister who can tell the future, aren’t you?”
“Not exactly. I have . . . a gift. I can see things. Future things. Not the whole future. But I saw you. You and a pretty blonde-haired girl saved my sister.”
Ryan slowly leaned away. What was it with clairvoyants confiding in him? “Listen, I wish I could go storm the castle and rescue your sister, but it just isn’t practical.” And what pretty blonde? Could she mean Serena?
“You were there already, close to the king and some strange dark-haired woman.”
So she wasn’t going to give this up. A chill crawled up Ryan’s spine, and not because the room was cold. “Close to the king? I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“I don’t. I saw you.”
“Listen I’ll—” Oh no, not tears. Heavens, not tears. It was like he could feel his heart softening. He reached for a handkerchief and handed it to her. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
A smiled blossomed on her face, but the tears continued to drip down her cheeks. “Thank you. I knew you would.”
The way she looked up at him reminded him of the times his sisters changed his good intentions into blood oaths. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach. He’d just made a promise as far as she was concerned, not only to do what he could but to rescue her sister. What was he, some hero meant to go storming castles and winning pretty girls? No.
She wiped her cheeks with his handkerchief. “I just get pieces of visions. I can’t make them come. They just do.”
He sighed. “You might as well tell me what happens.”
Her eyes practically glimmered. “I see you in the palace with my sister. She gets onto a horse, a brown stallion. A man is there with her. Then you get on a white horse, behind the woman I mentioned. You kiss her, so she must be someone you know. Or—well, I suppose that’s beside the point. You save my sister.”
So there was storming and castles and kissing. The kissing might be okay—she did think he was a hero. Snare heroes.
She winced. “It’s not very helpful, is it?”
“What about me being close to the king? And can you tell me more about this dark-haired woman?”
“Yes. Go to the palace. You belong in the king’s inner circle.”
If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought a thousand tiny spiders were marching over his skin.
Morgan continued, “You wore the apparel of one of the palace guards, and you carried the king’s key.”
“Key?”
“He always carries that key around his neck. I don’t know what it’s for, but no one carries something around their neck unless it’s valuable to them.”
Perfect. Now he had to rescue a girl, wear the uniform of the king’s men, and take the man’s key? Snare the key, snare heroes, snare all of it. Except the kissing.
“Morgan, I just don’t see how any of that is possible.”
“It always is.”
“Like when you saved my sister and brother from the king’s men.”
She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes.
He tipped his chin toward Chloe on the dance floor.
“Oh.”
“You remember her?”
She nodded slowly, seeming to focus on some internal thought. “And Ethan. He’s your brother?” Her words came out quiet. Soft. Like someone trying to spare him bad news.
Ryan’s heart forgot to beat for a moment. “What are you not telling me?”
“You go after my sister. I’ll help your brother. I’ve—I’ve seen him recently.”
“In your visions?”
“Yes. And the people he travels with.”
“They’re my friends.”
Her green eyes met his, full of determination and purpose. “I can help them. Will you help Madison?”
Snare me. “Morgan, I’ll do whatever I can.”
She rose.
He stood with her.
“They call you the Knight.”
Ryan rubbed his hand over his face, but had no time to protest before the warmth of her palm touched his chest. He looked at her and those big, hopeful eyes.
“Thank you, Knight Ryan. I’ll never forget you.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Then she darted out of the tavern.
I’ll never forget you? What was that supposed to mean? Would he survive this rescue? Ryan stood there rubbing his cheek. Francesca’s grip on his arm brought him back to reality. For once he was glad to see the redhead.
Chapter 60
Time of Death
Connor opened his eyes to darkness. He sucked in a breath and sat up. The light glow of a candle across the room revealed his mother curled up in a chair. His chair. His room. How did he get here? The last thing he remembered was being in Franco’s quarters with Madison.
The chair skidded against the floor as she flew out of it. “Connor?”
“I-I’m okay.” He cupped his head in his hands. The bracer was gone. Probably just as well. Whatever it had done to him, he had no desire to relive. Unless it was necessary. “What happened? How did I get here?”
“Balton carried you. Franco alerted me that you’d collapsed, and I persuaded the general to carry you.” Rebekah’s eyes creased in the corners.
Connor cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t see how that’s funny.”
She poured him a glass of water. “He’s been quite compliant, actually.”
She handed him the drink and the bracer peeked out from under her sleeve.
“Mother.”
“It doesn’t affect me the way it did you.” Her hand smoothed his hair like he was little boy in her lap.
“You shouldn’t use it. Not until I can figure out more about it.” And why it pulsed with evil.
“I only used it to get you back here safe and sound.” Her brown eyes softened.
“Thank you.”
She took his empty glass to the table and refilled it. “How’s your head?”
Aside from throbbing like he’d played with a mountain goat? “Fine.”
Rebekah rolled her eyes.
“Why ask then?” He smiled, a little.
Her forehead creased and she ran her light fingers over his hair again—it did feel nice. “Get some sleep.”
He swallowed the water and his head hit the pillow. “How long have I been sleeping?”
Silence.
Connor shot up, then grabbed his head. With one eye open, he stared at his mother’s back, willing the pain to go away. “Mother?”
“Two days.”
Two . . .? “I need to get to the library.”
She faced him, chewing her lip. “You need to sleep. Tell me what to bring you.”
“The truth is, I don’t know.”
“If you wait until morning—”
He threw his sheets to the side. “I think the sooner we get out of here, the better.”
“At least eat something.” The tray she held up for him did remind him of the ache in his stomach.
He grabbed a roll and held it with his teeth as he laced up his boots. Then he took another, and an apple. Picking up a lit candle, he headed out the door.
Each step brought a new pounding to his head. Maybe he did need more sleep. No, he had to find out what that bracer had done to him, especially if his mother was walking around using it.
He stepped into the library and the scent of musty books surrounded him. His shoes landed softly on the smooth wood floor. He scanned the walls of books, then walked to the section on the west wall where he’d first stumbled upon a copy of the Old Custom. Maybe something about the Creator’s split with the Mistress of Shadows would be there.
He moved his fingers across the spine of a burgundy cover that seemed familiar. A stab of pain shot through his head, and he bent over, clutching his knees. Black spots smothered his vision. Hot wax hardened on his knuckles and the candle clattered to the floor.
Breathing deep, he leaned against the bookshelf as the intensity of the headache passed. That could
not keep happening. Now he’d have to get another light. He slid down to the floor.
“Connor?”
He froze.
“Connor?”
He didn’t recognize the soft whisper just outside the library. His heart beat faster. Slowly he rose to his feet and crept closer to the doorway.
“Connor, please answer me. I know you’re close.”
He stood, back pressed against the wall, ready to spring into the doorway if needed.
The footsteps stopped just outside of the library’s entrance. Light spilled into the room. He stayed just clear of its rays. Someone stepped closer.
“Connor? Please answer me.” She moved far enough into the room that he could see her.
“Madison?”
“Yes. Where are you—oh!” She turned just as he resolved to show himself, and they nearly collided.
“Sorry,” Connor said.
She smiled. “You startled me.”
He stared at her, waiting for her to speak, but she didn’t say anything, just searched his face with her big, green eyes. “Thank you. For rescuing me.”
“He hadn’t touched you?”
She shook her head and tears coated her eyes. “And I’m no longer chained, though I can’t leave the palace or he’ll know.”
That sounded familiar. He took a step back from her. He didn’t really want Franco to come looking for her here and find him. “Can I help you?”
“No.” She walked past him and set her candle on the table. “But I can help you.”
He leaned against a bookcase and crossed his arms, ignoring the ache behind his eyes that magnified with his every movement.
Madison’s eyes seemed to grow larger, if that were possible. “You don’t want my help?”
“Are you reading my mind or something?”
Her smile sprouted. “Of course not.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“I’m a Healer, Connor.”
“I know what you are.”
“Well, that headache you’re walking around with is interrupting my sleep.”
He pushed off from the bookcase. “Pardon?”
“I need to help you.”
“So you can sleep?” And risk Franco knowing what she’d healed him from? “No, thanks.”
He walked by her and stooped to pick up his candle. Might as well light it before his unexpected company left. When he stood, another stab of pain shot through him. He clutched the edge of a shelf until it passed.
