Go to bed now, or the witch-eyes will come for you.
As we grew up, we learned that the witches were real, and they were calledlightbringers. That they were dangerous, and that they wanted us dead. The reality was worse than any nightmare whispered in the dark.
Eres loosens a breath. “LikeIwas the monster.”
I know exactly what he means. Leaning forward, I take in her sleeping expression. She almost looks peaceful, curled up between us. “This isn’t going to end well, Eres.”
For any of us, I would wager. But especially for her.
She’s one of them. I try to focus on that thought, to stop my chest from squeezing, but it’s hard. “She could be a spy. Or an assassin.”
“She could.” Eres is watching her face. “I’d say there’s a strong possibility.”
“But you saved her anyway.”
His gaze doesn’t shift. “I saved her anyway.”
Of course he did. I wouldn’t expect anything else. Sighing, I shift, tugging the girl closer. “Kaelen is going to lose his mind over this.”
Lyra
Iam… not dead.
I keep my breathing steady, my eyes closed, even as the pain pushes in. Staying still, I attempt to assess through the cloud that hovers over my thoughts.
A dull ache radiates from my stomach, but it’s nothing compared to the sharp, searing agony in my hands. I feel my face twitch before I smooth it out.
My hands.
Cindral—
He staked me.
The village. The boy. Tharn. Thick, scarlet blood, spraying across clean snow. It all tumbles in, one after the other as I try to make sense of where I am and why I’m so…warm.
Instead of ice and snow beneath me, I appear to be in some sort of bed. And I’m not alone. The realisation hits, and my muscles lock without warning, tensing up.
Darkwielders.
They found me. And whatever plan my father and Cindral cooked up between them without bothering to involve me appears to have at least been mildly successful, because instead of killing me on the spot, they brought me here.
Wherever here is.
Swallowing, I take in the warmth pressed to my back, the low huff of breathing in my ear. I don’t appear to be wearing any clothes. Listening to the soft sound, I gingerly attempt to flex my fingers.
Bad idea.
My hiss is low, but the breathing stutters. Behind me, and… infrontof me.
Two of them?
“You’re awake.”
At the quiet words, I debate keeping my eyes closed, but I need to see where I am. I let my eyes flutter, feign a dazed expression, a little slackness around my mouth.
The deep blue eyes that meet mine are surprisingly familiar. They crinkle at the edges. “Welcome back.”
I study him. It’s the male from the clearing. His hair is dark, messy, rumpled chaos, sticking out everywhere in a way that would get him disciplined in Solvandyr. The dark fissures tracing his skin that mark him as a Darkwielder travel over his face in elegant marks that continue down his neck and across his bare chest. I tear my eyes away.
