I lifted my staff and found I could move again. The shepherd did not wait; he dashed down the hill and grabbed my arm, squeezing hard as he dragged me up the hill. The lamb in his arm bleated mournfully. “You must move faster than that if you want to live,” he shouted.
I opened my mouth to beg him to slow down, but my breath was knocked away and I struggled to focus on my feet. The man was surprisingly strong. He dragged me over the hill and down the other side into a flat pasture. We entered the city, but I did not see much of it, for I was too busy trying to stay on my feet. Wind rushed past my ears, and when at last we stopped, I bent over, coughing and shaking. Everything hurt. I spit out a ball of blood and it splashed onto the stone. When I stood, my heart skipped a beat in awe.
White arches rose high into the air with runes carved into them and statues of winged creatures that looked like fairies. The darkening sky made it impossible to see how high it rose but the man’s panicked shouts dragged me back. “Come on then. The gates are shutting!”
We stood in a stone atrium where arched gates led into a dark void. It reminded me of the cave, and I peered past the shadowy entrance, a growing discomfort rising in me. The shepherd dashed through the gates. Not wanting to be left alone, I forced myself to follow, just as a bell rang. I cowered as the enormous sound filled my ears and I almost dropped my staff. The bell rang out ten times, and the gates across the entrance began to close. I forced my shaking legs to move and squeezed between the gates just before they clanked shut.
I blinked in the dim light just as a cold, female voice said. “You’re new. What are you doing here?”
Waves of black passed over my vision and I struggled to breath. Leaning heavily on the staff, I lifted my head. A motley group of people and a great deal of sheep moved in the wide opening of the structure. Shepherds guided sheep farther down the hall, and beyond them, I glimpsed families. Men, children, mothers rocking wailing babes, young and old alike, gathered together in one wide hall. It was the largest structure I’d ever been in and stretched in every direction, farther than my eyes could see. A group of men in armor glanced over me. I couldn’t move, not even to limp past the doorway. My tongue was thick in my mouth and I was vaguely aware of the stabbing pain in my side.
The man who had dragged me inside pushed over to the woman who had asked about me and pointed. “I found her in the hills. She looked like she was going to sleep out there so I brought her here.”
Voices murmured around me.
“She looks terrible.”
“So thin and with dark circles under her eyes, did someone beat her up?”
“She looks like one of them whores—they come here, diseased and dirty.”
“Don’t say such things; all are welcome in the temple.”
“She looked like she’s going to collapse.”
“Someone help her.”
And then a familiar voice, high with disbelief. “Aofie? Aofie!”
I swayed and pitched forward, but not before I caught a glimpse of Romulus’s piercing gray eyes and ice-white hair. Strong arms went around my waist as I collapsed and darkness took me.
Chapter Thirty-One
During those daysa fever took over. I dimly recalled waking, drinking, and sleeping as the days passed in a blur. Nightmares plagued me and I was dimly aware of waking, screaming and shaking. Eventually, the sweating and chills faded, and one day I woke, feeling lucid.
I sat up, taking in my surroundings. I’d lain on a pallet of wool. It was soft and warm, likely drenched with my own sweat. The room was bright, leading me to believe it was daylight, and I was alone. I was in what looked like a hall with an arched roof. The ceiling was painted with bizarre drawings of winged creatures. Some looked like babes but others were blue giants with wings on their back and demonic faces. Above all of them were creatures in white with golden halos on their heads and swords of light in their hands, striking down the blue devils one by one. I shivered at the painting and averted my eyes. What kind of place was I in?
On the floor were various stacks of wool and bedrolls, pressed against the stone walls. I assumed I was in the sleeping quarters of the building—or castle. There were exits in four corners of the room but the two in the back had been walled up and blocked.
Footsteps made me straighten. I ran a hand through my hair, recalling with a pang that it was short now, and barely came past my chin. The back of my shift hung open but aside from a slight tightness to my skin, my back did not hurt anymore. I reached my hands back to touch it, my fingers brushing a welt just below my shoulder. Would I have scars?
“Aofie?” a man said.
Romulus appeared in the doorway dressed in his signature tattered clothes. He was clean-shaven with his ice-white hair actually clean and tied at the nape of his neck. His eyebrows rose and his mouth twisted as he examined me. Although I couldn’t read his expression, relief swept through me, followed by a flush.
“Romulus.” I cleared my throat. “You really are here. I thought it was a dream.”
“It is no dream.” He crossed the room and handed me a steaming bowl of soup. “You need this more than I do.”
Aware that I was ravenous, I took the bowl and started spooning soup into my mouth as Romulus sat down in front of me.
“Aofie Mor,” he murmured, his voice gruff. “You’re always turning up in the most unlikely places. I admit, I assumed you were with the queen and her people.” His eyes raked over me as he lowered his voice. “What happened?
I swallowed hard and tears pricked my eyes. Why was I already crying? Keeping my gaze on the food to avoid Romulus’s penetrating gaze, I told him. “They are dead.”
“Dead?” He made a fist and pressed it to his mouth, all the while shaking his head. “No. That cannot be. The Evasion Spell was strong, they were hidden.”
My lower lip trembled as I dropped the spoon back into the soup. My hunger disappeared as gruesome memories filled my thoughts. Putting the bowl down, I pressed my hands against my forehead and rocked back and forth. It was almost easier hiding in the cave with Adomos, where I did not have to answer questions or explain what had happened.
