“And then?”
“Then we figure out our next move.”
She nods, but her hand tightens on mine before letting go. “I want to be a part of it. Whatever we do next, Ineedto be a part of it, Cairn. I can’t sit here and?—”
“You will be. When you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now.”
“No, you’re not.” I hold up a hand before she can argue. “None of us are where we should be yet. But wewill. And when that time comes, I’ll need you at my side. Sorest. That’s an order.”
“Yes, Eldráfn.” The softness in her voice is so familiar, soher, that the ever-present knot of tension in my chest loosens slightly.
The hollow is quiet around me when I step outside. I lift my head to the sun, letting my eyes close for a second, and reach down for where that single thread faintly tugs me east.
It’s no stronger, the distance between us hasn’t changed, but there’s a difference to it … a resonance that makes my heart pound, as I search deeper.
Multiple threads. Two, maybe three, tangled together.Close enough that their signatures blur at the ends. There are more of my warriors out there. Alive andfree. Near each other, possibly together.
My heart pounds harder. If they are free, if they have never been collared, then maybe …
I want to go to them. The urge is so strong my feet are already turning east before I catch myself, my thoughts are on the verge of summoning Selveryn so I can ride until I find them.
But I can’t leave yet. The fae here need protection. Vel and Therin will never agree to me leaving without them, and we can’t abandon the hollow without defense. The mage who escaped will have reported to someone by now. For all I know, human soldiers are already on their way to the Dell.
But soon. Once more fae have recovered enough to fight. Then I will ride east.
I turn back toward my shelter. I can feel her presence at the edge of my awareness, thewrongnessof the bond I created by accident. It’s a connection that shouldn’t exist, and I need to deal with it. I need to find answers for why it is not what it’s supposed to be.
She’s standing near the back wall, as far from the entrance as she can get, her back pressed against the surface, hands flat against it at her sides. She’s been crying. The tracks on her cheeks and the redness of her eyes give it away. But she’s staring at me, chin lifted in defiance and an expression on her face that’s trying very hard to be brave.
It’s failing.
I cross to the chair and sit, settling back into it, and rest my hands on the arms.
“Come here.”
She doesn’t move, fingers pressing harder against the wall behind her.
“I’m not going to ask twice.”
“Good. Because I’m not a dog. I don’t come when called.” Her bravery sends a rare spark of amusement through me.
“No. You’re not a dog.”
I’m out of the chair and across the space between us in three strides. She tries to bolt, a desperate sideways lunge toward the entrance, but I’m faster than she is. My hand closes around her arm, and I spin her, slamming her back against the wall hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs.
Her hands come up, hitting my chest, my arms, anything she can reach. I catch both her wrists in one hand and pin them above her head, my other hand presses flat against her sternum, pinning her in place.
“Let me go! Get off me! Get?—”
I lean close, my mouth near her ear. “Be still.”
She doesn’t listen. Of course she doesn’t. She keeps fighting against my hold, twisting and turning, trying to release her hands. Her breath comes in short, panicked gasps. I let her exhaust herself. It doesn’t take long. And eventually, her struggles weaken, then stop. She slumps back against the wall, chest heaving, wrists still pinned above her head.
“Are you finished?”
She doesn’t answer, glaring at me, eyes bright with unshed tears.
