Marcus took her hand and guided her away to the door of the barn. They waited as the flames sizzled and snapped, spreading eagerly across the floor to the wooden walls. The orange-and-red flames quickly scaled the walls, sending thick black smoke up to the opening in the ceiling.
Sage glanced one last time at the book. The leather cover was twisting beneath the heat, the pages charred and blackened.
It was sufficient for her. The book was gone. She hoped it would be enough for Marcus’s cousin. She hoped he would believe that Marcus was dead. She squeezed Marcus’s strong hand.
It was done. She pushed the door open.
A shadow rose before her, a sword glinting in the light of the fire.
Sage’s hand dropped to her pommel and then stopped. The red from the fire behind her cast flickering light over the woman holding the sword.
Sage inhaled.
Behind her, Marcus reached for his weapon.
But Sage couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. She recognized the face before her. The armor. The hair.
“Raven,” she gasped.
