And we needed information from him—about what was going on with the Circle, and what threats we faced in the Therador we’d returned to.
I risked a glance to my right, back toward the town. The lingering fires lit up the great fallen tree with hellish, dancing light that was as red as the blood that I knew flowed beneath it.
There’d been fire onthatnight, too. Lighting up the dark sky with red and orange and raining sparks down on me.
I couldn’t feel its heat where I huddled in the dirt, but I could feel the burn of those falling embers.
Feel the smoke invading my lungs with every breath, sinking down into my body.Choking me.
She was dead by then. A cold corpse beside me.
But her voice was still in my skull, in my bones. Determined to haunt me.
I gritted my teeth, chasing those memories away. They’d been worse since we’d come back. Like they were trying to plug the void where my power had been. Distractions helped—like playing delicious little games with Marigold, or losing myself in the sweet taste of her—but only temporarily. The memories always seeped forward again when my blood cooled once more.
The return of that voice was almost worse than the absence of my power. And I intended to do whatever it took to ensure that neither would grieve me for much longer. To keep myself from the grip of madness for as long as possible and restore that missing piece of me.
And it started with Mordren.
The moment had come, and I paused only long enough to clear my mind for the task ahead before disappearing among the trees.
I’d spent years learning to move swiftly and silently. Years perfecting the art of sneaking through the shadows, fading into the spaces of consciousness that people ignored.
The wild oak was just ahead. The broken branch Talon had mentioned had split away from the trunk about ten feet off the ground, creating a natural arch as it fell.
Beneath it, waiting in the shadows, was a tall, dark figure that I recognized instantly as Mordren.
My fingers tightened on my dagger. And I moved.
He was ten paces away.
Six paces.
Three paces.
I thrust my dagger into his shoulder from behind, pushing the blade forward to pin him to the side of the tree.
And he disappeared.
I jumped back, just as a dark chuckle drifted down from the tree above.
An illusion—the dark figure beneath the tree had never been real. The real Mordren was standing above me, poised atop the fallen branch right next to where the bulk of it had splintered away from the tree.
Reckless.I should have seen the illusion. But I’d been too eager, too hungry for Mordren’s blood.
And I’d underestimated him. The Mordren I remembered wasn’t devious enough to lay a trap.
But that was definitely Mordren towering above me, distinctive even when half-buried in shadows. He still stood at least a head taller than his slender frame should have allowed. Still wore that ridiculous robe with the wide, angular shoulders.
And he still had eyes that burned yellow-green in the dark. Like a cat’s. Almost an exact match to those belonging to that ridiculous feline that had always been at his side ten years ago. Hopefully that wretched creature was in a better place now.
“Radven,” he said, his voice coiling like smoke. “It’s been too long.”
“And yet you still hide from me like a coward.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flicker of movement that had to be my brothers, but they would hang back until I gave the signal.
And I wanted a better understanding of this situation first.
Above me, Mordren gave another chuckle.
