“Something metal.” Her lips had moved, she realized. Had she said that? She hadn’t meant to say anything. But that was her voice.
Ciaran grabbed an iron fire poker from the opposite side of the room and set it gently in Orla’s hand.
Her magic flared inside her, tingling beneath her skin.
No, she couldn’t use magic around the aesran.
Stop!
Why wasn’t her body obeying?
Her hands moved—still on their own—shaping the fire poker, first pressing it into a ball, and then stretching it into a dagger, the edges thin and sharp. To her horror, she lifted the blade, pressing the edges against her own throat, feeling the cold metal against her soft skin.
Stop! Please!
“Mo Aesran,” Ciaran said warily. “The resistance is an ever-growing threat. The ministry will need all the elixirs they can get. Let me take her.”
The dagger fell away, and Orla’s hand tossed it across the room. Suddenly, the force lifted, and Orla’s control returned.
With a gasp of terror, she threw herself from the chair and ran.
The guard swiftly moved in front of the door, blocking her exit. He was close enough that the dark blue rings in his eyes were glaringly obvious. The guard was a listener.
Nothing about any of this made any sense, and she wanted, more than she had ever wanted anything, to be back in her crowded home with her family.
She turned back to the table. “You said I’m free to go.”
“My ring,” the aesran said, not to Orla, but to Ciaran. It was the first time she’d spoken, and her voice caressed the air like silk.
Orla pulled at the ring, the tips of her fingers aching from the icy chill of it. Why wouldn’t it come off?
“I can’t. I’m sorry. Please,Mo Aesran. I never hurt nobody. Don’t send me back to prison. I swear I’ll never steal again.”
“Let me,” Ciaran said calmly, offering Orla his hand. He led her back to the table, and when he pressed her hand flat against the wooden surface, she frowned, confused.
She tried to tug free, but he held her hand firmly in place.
Orla looked up at the aesran, tears welling in her eyes. “Please, let me go!”
Ciaran drew a blade.
The bird inside her chest was frantic now, pounding painfully against her ribs. She squeezed her eyes shut.
White hot pain seared through her hand, and the scream that tore from her chest was unrecognizable.
She yanked free, staring in shock as crimson blood flowed freely down her wrist in a warm, sticky stream.
The ring was gone, but so was her finger.
“Take her,” the aesran said with a dismissive wave. “Sebastian, get someone to clean this mess.”
Orla’s vision blurred as stars flickered in her vision. Strong hands clasped tightly on her arms, dragging her from the room.
Behind her, the aesran added, “And send a guard to retrieve my son. It’s time we had a long overdue conversation.”
A strange chill dragged August from sleep, and he pushed up to his elbows with a groan, expecting to see an anchored lurking in the cottage’s shadows. Instead, he found a swirling void; the veil torn open, just inches from where he slept.
His heart stuttered as he scrambled backward, the arm of the chaise lounge digging into his back.
