I hated appearing ignorant, but I was desperate. I gave the smallest shake of my head, and his lips twisted.
“Aye, well, ‘tis nae surprise yer kind doesnae speak of the pathways, eh? Turn about—I’ll untie ye.”
Untie me? Before I could do more than twist sideways, eager for release, he’d pulled the blade from his boot again and bent over the knots in the ropes holding me trussed. As he worked, he spoke.
“Our world mirrors yers. We live parallel beside ye, aye? There are natural pathways, crossings between the two. My people are sea farers. We long ago found this circle”—he jerked his chin toward the rocky outcropping disappearing behind us—“and make use of it.”
When he straightened, the ropes fell away from my middle, and I nearly groaned in relief. He reached for my wrists and began topick at that knot.
“Damn my brother’s heavy hand,” he muttered with a shake of his head before he continued.
“The pathways are only open for an hour during the height of the full moon. Ye ken what that means?”
This last was said to me as he straightened, still holding my wrists in one of his large hands, unwrapping the rope without looking at it. Wide-eyed, I could only stare back at him.
Pathways?
Mirror worlds?
I’d grown up in the western isles. OfcourseI’d heard the legends of orcs, fierce beasts who raided and carried helpless maidens away. Mothers told stories of them to keep children in line. My father had spoken of battling them years before, but…
They lived in a differentworld? One only accessible at certain times of the month?
Why was I not dismissing this as impossible?
Because you just experienced that mist. You just went through the stone pathway.
The Stormseeker’s expression had softened somewhat as he watched me come to terms with his words. My legs were still bound, but he made no move to untie them yet. Instead, he sat beside me on that bench, the moonlit ocean all around us, and pressed the pad of his thumb against the frantically beating pulse in my wrist.
“What’s yer name, lass?” he asked gently.
I saw no reason to lie, although it took a few tries to get my voice to work.
“R-Rowena.”
When he grinned, his tusks seemed even more pronounced.
“After the Rowan tree. Strong. Flexible.” He nodded once. “A good name for a wee warrior.”
Warrior.
He’d called me that before the people of my village, right before he’d taken me as tribute. Most men saw naught but abomination when they saw me practicing my forms in trews. Most scorned my abilities, my talents.
Of course, most didn’t bear the evidence of my talent in the form of a bloody gash on their shoulder.
Mayhap the Stormseeker sensed the direction of my thoughts, because he squeezed my wrist slightly.
“I am Vrogul, chief of the Battleborn of Islay.”
When he tipped his head haughtily, the moonlight glinted off the rings stacked in his ears and I wondered if they were the sign of his position.
“We’re a small clan, but fierce.”
I forced myself not to glance at the stores and the raw ore they’d stolen from my people. I’d heard him speak of thesix humanswho had died today and wondered if I’d known any of them. Betta’s husband? Merena’s father?
So my voice croaked when I acknowledged his claim.
“Aye.”
