How long was I out? I don’t recall anything after…
I close my eyes and swallow back tears. Gods, I wish the memory of the ravine wasn’t part of me, but it’s branded on my spirit, along with so many other awful images that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
At the thought, two tiny flutters at the back of my chest make my heart skip a beat—two tiny darknesses. Though Hel and Alexus are gone, part of them will always be with me.
When I open my eyes, my tears roll free, and my breath rushes from my lungs like I’ve been kicked in the gut.
I might as well have been.
Recently, I dreamt of Nephele. I saw her screaming, surrounded by flames. She was clinging to Mother, who stood wide-eyed and pale, a spear’s tip protruding from her chest. They reached for me. Crying. Pleading with me to help them.
My mother looked forlorn and lost, but Nephele was angry, her eyes filled with accusation. It was so real that, even now, just the thought of it makes my skin tingle from the memory of fire and sends my heart lurching against my ribs, a reminder of everything I felt the moment I watched Mother’s life leave her body. I’ve feared what might await me when and if I saw my sister again, when I’d have to tell her that I let our mother die.
That time is here.
Across the tent stands a woman, tall and slender, dressed in sealskin trousers and a blood-stained crimson coat. Her hands are bound behindher back, her mouth gagged. An array of witch’s marks, far more colorful and numerous than mine, covers the winter white skin of her hands and neck, even the sides of her face, curling at her temples.
Nephele.
I struggle to get my legs under me, my mind screaming her name.
Rhonin grabs my good arm, and for the first time, actually helps me. He lifts me, setting me firmly on my feet. But when I move toward Nephele and her to me, the Prince of the East comes between us, holding his hands up to stop us.
“Oh, come now. Do you really think I’d let you two have a special bonding moment without anything in return?” He tips his head toward me. “How long has it been for you two sisters, eh? Idosee the resemblance, though you’re a bit like night and day, yes?”
I can’t stop looking at her. She’s so lovely. Long, pale curls, fallen from a loose braid, hang around her fair face. A few lines crinkle her delicate forehead, and she looks beyond exhausted, with purplish bruises shadowing the thin skin beneath her bloodshot eyes.
But she is otherwise unchanged. Her eyes are still like Father’s, light as a spring sky and so wide that as she looks at me, I swear I see to the bottom of her heart.
My sister. Here. A handful of feet away, yet there might as well be eight more years separating us—thanks to the Prince of the East.
It strikes me then. He shouldn’t know that Nephele isanyoneto me, certainly not my kin. We favor, but she’s Father where I’m Mother. My features are darker, and my body has more curves and muscle from working, whereas Nephele has always been more lithe and willowy.
How could the prince know?
He yanks the gag from Nephele’s mouth, but Vexx is there immediately, pressing the tip of a dagger deep into her cheek. “One utterance of Old Elikesh. That’s all it will take for me to cut out your tongue, witch. You’re to speak only when the prince tells you.”
I have a feeling that Alexus has taught her well, and that she doesn’t need her voice to sing magick into existence anymore. But I fear Nephele’s skills won’t see us out of this. If they could, we wouldn’t be here right now.
She’s drained from holding the construct in place for so long. I see the exhaustion all over her.
The prince repeats his question to Nephele. “How long?”
“Eight years.” Her voice is gravelly and ragged from singing magick, her eyes hard as steel as she holds his gaze.
The prince paces a short path between us and slides those insidious eyes at me. “I brought your sister here so I can make you an offer, Raina. Several of my men died thanks to you and your ilk, and several more are severely wounded. We’ve a long journey to the coast. I need as many men at my back as possible should there be surprises along the way. If you want time with your sister, I will allow it”—he glances at Vexx and Rhonin—“with proper supervision. But only if you agree to heal my men and show me what you’re made of.” He gestures to his face. “And there’s me, of course. It’s only right that you clean up after yourself, yes?”
I try to lift my hands, to tell him to crawl into a hole and die, but the rope tying my wrists and ankles together doesn’t have enough slack.
“You have to free her hands, you cretin,” Nephele says.
Vexx digs his blade into her face, and she winces as a shiny drop of blood slips down her cheek.
I move toward her, but Rhonin yanks me back by the laces of my bodice.
The prince stops pacing and faces me. “A simple nod will suffice. Do you agree to my terms?”
I flash a glance at Nephele, who gives me an almost imperceptible nod. I don’t want to be the reason the prince’s wounds heal, and I don’t want to be the reason he and his men live to ride across the Northlands and kill another day. But I need my sister. At least long enough to figure out what in gods’ death we can do to get out of this.
