Seraphina passed her knapsack off to Sir Arkwright. “Where is Father Perero?” she asked, her attention shifting to her godmother. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded faraway—far too calm for the question.
Of course, she already knew where the Shepherd was: out there in the city.
Duchess Edith flinched and tossed the last of the paperwork into the fireplace. “He was at the cathedral when last I saw him, but—”
“We need him,” she said, cutting gently across her godmother’s protest before it could form. There was no time. She knew that. But she would not abandon the capital without her Shepherd.
Arath would not spare him.
Alyx screeched, flapping her wings once before settling back into place in her drape about Seraphina’s shoulders.
Silence fell across her study in the wake of the usuru’s cry.
Her godparents exchanged a look.
Lord Tiberius stalked closer, a snarl on his lips. “We do not have time to rescue some old Shepherd, Sera. Coreto wants tokillyou. The Arathians want tokillyou.”
“I will go,” a voice sounded from the doorway. Sir Tristan.
Olivia appeared beside him in the next moment, her features tense. “No,” her friend whispered, grabbing the knight’s arm.
Tristan gently extracted himself from her grip. “The Shepherd took care of me when I was…” His mouth worked. “Asleep. I owe him this much.” His tone gentled when he glanced aside at Olivia and promised, “I will be right back.”
Unbidden, Aldric’s face flashed through her mind.
His deep voice rumbled through her soul.
“I will do my best to survive.”
Seraphina jerked her gaze away, her eyes falling to her left hand instead—to the wedding ring hidden there.
Some madness took her. Before she could question what she was doing, she peeled off her gloves, letting the cold air bite at her exposed fingers as she revealed the emerald to the light.
Within the glow cast by the fire, the jewel glinted darkly—just as her Crow’s eye always did in her vision when he looked up at her and begged her to run.
Her vision.
She kept hoping it would come over her. That, for once, it might show her more than doom. That it might show her what to do.
But there was nothing. The world did not melt away into that nightmarish land of black sand. The scent of ash and blood did not fill her nose. For the first time since Oracle Tsukiko had first cursed her with it, her vision was absent.
The Lord was silent.
Somewhere beyond the barricaded door, a shout went up. A crash.
They were running out of time. She finally had to run, just as the Aldric within her vision always urged her to do.
Voices washed around her—familiar, urgent, all blurring into one.
Olivia murmuring, “Hurry, Dacre. The passage is through the wardrobe. When you reach an intersection, take every right until you reach the stables.”
Duke Percival cutting in, “Wait, Olivia! I must speak with you.”
Lord Tiberius insisting, “We have to leave. Now.”
“Darling?” Duchess Edith whispered, her voice closer than the others.
Seraphina twitched herself out of her daze and lifted her eyes to stare into her godmother’s latest worried expression. “I am fine,” she repeated, sounding like a colorful Arathian bird that can only mimic human speech.
