“Gathering kindling, but he should be back by now.”
“He wasn’t south. I would’ve crossed paths with him.” With nervous energy rolling off her, she sits again. “I think a storm is coming. There’s no thunder out there, but there’s lightning. It could get dangerous, and we need him.”
The lightning. I forgot.
Grabbing Mother’s dish, I hurry outside, returning with a bowl of snow, nestling the vessel in the last of the fading embers. Quickly, I summon the powers ofFulmanesh, and in a matter of minutes, I have a bowl of snowmelt. Again, I prick my finger and stir my blood into the warm water.“Nahmthalahsh. Show me Alexus.”
Hel watches in wonder as the water swirls and slows, and a picture condenses on the violet surface.
Alexus. Unconscious. Face swollen and bleeding. He’s being dragged by the neck of the gambeson through the ravine by a mountain of a man wearing bronze leathers—a man with flaming hair.
Hel gasps. “That’s Rhonin.”
A cold sweat breaks on my brow, and my heart kicks in my chest. I blink, praying this vision is wrong.
More men follow with weapons slung over their shoulders. They wear prideful smiles like poachers after a kill. I can’t tell which waythey’re moving, but it must be north—like Hel said—because the ravine looks different from what I remember.
“Eastlanders,”I tell her, my fear and worry morphing into fury.“They have him.”I stand, not sure what I’m about to do, but a cyclone of rage brews inside me.
Hel’s eyes glimmer, not with tears but with the promise of a fight. “Well, they aren’t going to keep him, now are they?” She collects her hatchet, my blade, and Alexus’s sword. “Put your boots on, get your cloak, and ask your sister for any help she can provide. We’re going hunting for Eastlanders.”
Iwake to the crushing impact of a boot striking my ribs.
The kicking eventually ceases, and a gasping cough erupts from my chest, blasting blood and snow into the wind. I’m lying several yards from a fire where a few dozen men sit laughing, watching, and cheering. I’ve been stripped of my gambeson, my tunic wet and freezing to my skin. I can’t see out of my right eye, my throat feels like two hands are clenching it, and my body aches like someone rolled me off the cliffs and let me crash at the bottom of the ravine.
Deep inside me, Neri rages in his cage, rattling my bones.
Another swift kick—this time to my stomach—followed by a stomp to the bend of my knee, sends fresh, hot pain radiating everywhere, enough that the misery nearly sends me back into unconsciousness. Still, I cling to awareness—with desperation.
Raina. She’s alone, and shewillsearch for me.
I cannot let that happen.
“Finally coming to,” a deep voice says.
A booted foot nudges my side until I’m forced to roll over, collapsing on my back. I cry out. My leg is damaged, my knee possiblybroken, and my body is weighed down. Above me, that same red sky looms while flurries swirl and descend.
A figure leans over me, obstructing the view. I blink away snow and tears to see him.
“You really should’ve killed me when you had the chance.” A cruel smile simmers on his lips.
I close my eyes and clamp them tight, if only to memorize the merciless regret coursing through me. I knew he was important—by his armor, his flag, his horse.
And still, I didn’t take the time to destroy him.
That long, braided gray hair holds the sparse remains of war paint, the vermilion lacquer washed away by snow. His armor is gone, but he wears the bronze leathers of his men and the stench of death.
When he squats beside me, I instinctively reach for the God Knife. Again, my body doesn’t move like I will it to, my hands awkward, my movements constricted.
“Looking for this?” He holds up my weapon, twisting his wrist as he scrutinizes the blade. He cuts a sidelong look at me with eyes the color of a snowstorm. “I dare you to try to take it from me. I’m not supposed to kill you until after I have the God Knifeandthe woman, but seeing what you did to my men, I’m feeling rather ruthless.”
“If you saw what I can do,” I grit out, spitting blood at his feet, “then you should be terrified right now.”
He tosses his head back and laughs. “There’s nothing to fear. You’re bound, Collector.”
I feel it then, the cold weight wrapped around my neck, my wrists, my ankles. I drag a heavy hand up to touch my throat and trail my fingertips over the short length of iron there, pressing into my gullet. Tight cuffs cut into my wrists and ankles, linked together by chains.
Neri isn’t raging. He’s in misery thanks to the iron.
