Warek’s chest swells, and his face reddens. Earlier, he’d told me that he would insist Helena stay back. But he doesn’t get a chance to argue the point, because Finn and Joran duck inside the tent, rumpled and windblown, surprising us all.
“Me four.” A muscle quivers in Finn’s jaw as he grits his teeth, as though speaking to me in a civil manner is the most colossal of efforts. He swallows so hard the knob in his throat visibly moves. “I offer my sword, my bow, my hunting and tracking skills too.” He glances between Hel and Raina. “I can’t let either of you go through this without me. I hope you can tolerate me.”
Raina stares at him for a moment, expression filled with concern, hurt, and uncertainty. She turns her gaze on me and sends a feeling along the bond, like a question, tugging my mind for an answer. When I nod that it’s all right with me for Finn to join us, she inclines her head toward her friend, an acceptance of his offer, as though his traveling with us is a decision she and I had to make. Not just one or the other.
I only hope I don’t regret agreeing to it.
“I’ve tolerated you for almost nineteen years,” Helena says. “I think I can handle this.” She smiles and crosses the tent, embracing her brother. Warek eases, the pressure inside him visibly releasing, though worry still creases his forehead. Two of his three remaining children are headed into harm’s way. Without him, it seems.
Helena lets go of Finn and cocks her hip, glaring at Joran. “What about you, asshole? You’re awfully quiet for a change. You in?”
Muscled arms crossed beneath his thick chest and silvery brows curled inward, Joran tilts his head like a dog listening for a high-pitched whistle. “Yes, I am in.” He cuts a look at me. “A pack of white wolves couldn’t keep me from this adventure.”
Mena stands, her back crooked, and gestures for me to join her. When I do, she takes my hand in hers and opens my palm toward the sky. With a curious touch, she runs a finger over the lines crossing my hand. After long moments, she lifts her head and looks up at me, her aged eyes wider and glassy as she studies my face. That look makes my spine tingle.
“Unfailing,” she whispers, so low that I’m sure only I can hear. “Forever unfailing.” Before I can ask what she means, she touches my face, then motions for everyone else to draw closer. “Come, come,” she orders. “All of you. Form a circle. A prayer before you leave.”
No one says a word. They do as she says.
“Now stretch out a single hand. Everyone.”
We obey, though some of us more reluctantly as we realize what Mena intends. Slowly, we place our hands one atop another, our arms like the spokes of a wagon wheel, an act I would never have imagined happening with these six people a month ago.
Mena begins chanting to the Ancient Ones. Her words take on melody, flowing into a lovely song. In minutes, as the wind blows stronger and stronger, her magick washes over us.
Not just a prayer. A blessing. A protection.
When she finishes, we leave the meeting tent to gather our belongings and horses, braced for the long night ahead. As a crash of thunder rumbles over the mountains, the sound like ten legions of horses racing through the sky, it isn’t lost on me that, although we go our separate ways, we stepped into the brewing storm together.
III
BEGINNINGS
17
FLEURIE
The Eastern Territories
City of Quezira
Min-Thuret Temple, Dungeon
* * *
Even the most raging misery can be bliss.
I sit inside my newest prison, on the edge of a soft bed, staring at my rot-ravaged legs. Bronwyn, the healer, kneels before me, my bandages in her grasp as she inspects the progress.
The burning pain of healing lives in a constant swath of red misery over my still-distorted vision. But even without Bronwyn’s reports, I can see well enough in the torchlight to know that my legs are improved today. Slivers of white bone are still visible in places, as is the glistening pink and red of reforming sinew, but there’s more skin now. Its edges are crusted and blackened around the remaining open wounds. But I have skin. Everywhere. Intact and smooth as cream.
I can’t stay upright for long, so Bronwyn reapplies her stinging ointments and replaces my bandages before helping me lie back down on my side. It takes some effort to find a position that doesn’t make me wish I could scream.
“You’ll be walking in a matter of days, Fleurie,” Bronwyn says, her voice as gentle as her touch. “And the prince has agreed to let me take you outside a little at a time once your skin has renewed completely. Sunlight and fresh air will be good for you.”
Sunlight. Fresh air.
I caught a glimpse of blue sky when the prince’s guard carried me from the wagon to the entrance leading under the temple. Though I knew more darkness and captivity awaited, that moment had been a holy experience, seeing the light of day after such an age. I can’t fathom basking in the light, but how I long for that simple freedom.
