I raised my eyebrows at her.
“Are there no normal people in this University?”
I glanced over at Ariel, who was crouched in front of her chickens, eyeing Diana murderously, the terrified chickens glued to her ankles. Then I looked over at Wynter, who was hiding under her wings, and finally at Diana’s glowing eyes. And then there was me, the magic-free Black Witch look-alike.
Laughter at the sheer absurdity of it all bubbled up inside me. “I don’t know about the whole University, Diana, but there are definitely no normal people in this room.”
Diana stared at me for a moment, one eyebrow arched as if mildly affronted. But I caught Wynter’s eye, and she gave me a small, tentative smile.
“I’m going out!” Diana abruptly announced with a dissatisfied huff.
“Where?” I asked.
“To find some rabbits!” she snapped. “Since you are all so protective of these chickens!”
* * *
“What did she do next?” Aislinn asks, enthralled despite her dark mood.
“She came back about an hour later with a rabbit, proceeded to strip naked and sat glowering by the fireplace eating it.”
Aislinn swallows, mortified. “Naked?”
“Naked,” I confirm, matter-of-factly. “I finally had a chance to speak to Rafe about her, too. He stopped by my room earlier, looking for her.”
“What did he say?”
“He thought the story about her moving in is pretty funny. He thinks everything’s funny. I told him that I’m worried about how much time he’s been spending with Diana. I mean, she’s the daughter of an alpha, and our people aren’t on the best terms with each other.” I hesitate before continuing.
“Go on,” Aislinn prods.
“I told him I didn’t want to see him do something incredibly dangerous...for love.” I glance sidelong at Aislinn, watching for her reaction.
“And what did he say?” she asks, her voice now muted.
“Oh, you know. Typical Rafe. He told me not to worry so much—that he’d be careful. But then he laughed and said that if he was going to do something incredibly dangerous, he really couldn’t think of a better reason to.”
“That’s not very encouraging, is it?” Aislinn says, looking away uncomfortably.
I follow Aislinn’s gaze down the long, sloping field before us, the wilds just beyond.
In the distance a lone figure catches my attention. It takes a moment for me to recognize who it is.
Yvan, walking toward the forest at a fast clip.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen him heading into the wilds. I’ve spotted him a number of times from the North Tower window, striding purposefully toward the forest, always curiously alone.
I watch Yvan’s long, powerful stride and think about how things between us have continued to change. His overt hostility is gone. I catch him watching me in both the kitchen and Mathematics now. His expression is often difficult to read, and he quickly looks away as soon as I catch his eye. Against my better judgment, I continue to do a fair bit of discreet watching, too. It’s thrilling to look at him; he’s so absurdly handsome.
And I can’t stop thinking about the mystery of him—how fast and strong he was when going up against Damion Bane. Unnaturally so. And I notice, more and more, how he’s able to pick up heavy things around the kitchen as though they weigh nothing. Just like Jarod.
I dwell on other things, as well.
How he always leaves the top button of his shirt undone, the shadows of the kitchen playing over his elegant neck and throat. The sinuous grace of his movements, never a clumsy, false step, his reflexes razor-sharp. The sharp line of his jaw. The perfect bow of his upper lip, his mouth so distractingly sensual.
A warm flush rises in my cheeks just thinking about it.
“Where does he go?” I wonder as I watch him, thinking out loud.
Aislinn turns to me. “Where does who go?”
“Yvan Guriel. He’s always going off into the woods like Rafe, but not hunting. He never carries anything with him. He just goes. It’s like he’s Lupine or something.”
“So follow him,” Aislinn says despondently.
“That’s bold advice,” I laugh.
Aislinn shrugs listlessly.
I get up and brush dried leaves off my tunic.
“Where are you going?” Aislinn asks.
“I’m taking your advice,” I tell her. “I’m going to follow him.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Rescue
“Why are you following me, Elloren?” Yvan’s tone is exasperated, but not angry. He doesn’t bother to turn around.
My face grows hot at being discovered, and from the ridiculous thrill of hearing his deep voice say my name. “I’m curious about you,” I reply, my tone self-conscious and stilted.
“About what, exactly?” he asks, not slowing, not looking back.
About so many things. “About why you’re always going off into the woods. I’m wondering if you’re secretly Lupine.”
He stops abruptly, and I stop, too, a nervous rush of energy coupled with my efforts to keep up making my heart race in my chest.
He puts his hands on his hips and looks down as if collecting himself, and then turns to me, his emerald gaze disconcerting.
My thoughts scatter like marbles, overcome by his severe beauty.
Our eyes lock tight, the woods quieting around us, save for the dry rustling of the remaining autumn leaves and intermittent birdsong. The silence between us grows charged, vibrating with suppressed emotion, an unsettling heat taking hold deep inside me. I search his eyes and wonder if he feels it, too.
“All right, then,” he finally says, his voice low, his eyes darkening, as if with challenge. “Try to keep up.”
* * *
“Where’s the University’s border?” I ask after what seems like an eternity of hiking.
He pauses and turns to me, brow furrowed in question.
My breath hitches in my throat. It would be easier to talk to his back. I stare at him for a split second like a complete idiot, distracted by the way a shaft of sunlight illuminates his handsome face.
He cocks one perfectly arched brow, his expression hardening with what seems like discomfited annoyance. Like he can read my thoughts.
“It’s dangerous for me...to cross the University border,” I testily clarify.
The furrow of his brow deepens. “Why?”
“There’s an Icaral trying to kill me.”
His eyes light with surprise.
“It thinks I’m the next Black Witch,” I try to explain. “Of course, I’m not. I’ve no magic at all, but it doesn’t know that.”
Yvan’s face darkens. “You look exactly like Her, Elloren.”
I bristle, stung by the accusation in his tone. Hurt by it. “Really, Yvan?” I snap, my traitorous voice breaking. “I had absolutely no idea.”
His eyes widen a fraction, then he gives me a close look as if taking my measure.
I inwardly slump, the impenetrable wall between us laid bare. I suddenly and fiercely wish I could be on the other side of it. Somewhere I could truly belong.
If only I looked like Iris.
I immediately regret the thought. I harshly remind myself that I’m not a Kelt. And I can’t be having these thoughts about a Kelt. He shouldn’t be so focused on me, either. It’s a stretch for Yvan and me to even be friends, and it would be impossible for us to be anything more. But I suddenly wish with surprising force that we could at least be friends.
There’s frustration and hurt in my eyes, and I’m too exhausted to hide it.
Yvan swallows and blinks at me, his expression losing its edge.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he says
with firm certainty, like it’s an unassailable fact.
Warmth spreads through me, some of the anxiety melting from my shoulders. I take a deep breath and nod, believing him and bolstered by his steadiness. Somehow, I know I’ll be safe with him.
Yvan stands there for a moment longer, considering. “Did the Vu Trin magic the border? To keep the Icaral out?”
“They put some type of protective ward along Verpacia’s western border, and an even stronger ward around the University’s border.” I gesture around loosely with my hand. “The Icaral escaped from the sanitorium, so I guess it’s ward-marked.”
Yvan frowns and spends a long moment studying me through narrowed eyes. “I’m going well past the border.”
Fear slashes through me, and I see the Valgard Icarals’ hideous faces in the back of my mind. I force the image away, grit my teeth and decide to be brave.
“You said you’ll protect me,” I say grimly. And I know you’re stronger and faster than a broken Icaral. “I’ll take my chances.”
* * *
After what seems like another hour, we come to the northwestern edge of the Verpacian Spine.
Yvan circles a tree near a jutting behemoth of Spine stone then, bends to lift a tangle of brush that covers the entrance to an underground tunnel. He steps inside and turns to me. “Coming?”
“Where? What is this?”
“A way into Gardneria.” He points up toward the vertical mountain of stone and gives me a wry look. “Unless you want to go over the Spine, that is.”
I frown and follow him through the thin brush and down into a hidden, cavernous tunnel as he fishes some Elfin lumenstone from his pocket to light our way.
I wonder how on Erthia he found this tunnel. And how many people know about it?
We travel through a series of caves, not much to see but the dripping of water and the occasional resting bat, all of it cast in the lumenstone’s green glow. We ascend through more brush, pushing through a veil of dry branches to the outside.
I wordlessly follow him on. Soon the forest starts to slope upward. I struggle to keep up with his fast clip, a sharp cramp in my side. Sounds ahead begin to assert themselves. Commands being shouted. Horses. And something strange, something that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end—a low-pitched shriek that sets the forest floor vibrating.
Yvan pauses, then turns to me and holds a finger to his lips in unspoken warning. He motions for me to stay still, then climbs swiftly up a steep hill before us.
I watch him, amazed by his speed and silent ability to fluidly wind around the trees without even needing to grasp onto anything for balance.
He’s now at the top of the wooded hill, crouched down behind some thick brush and peering over it. He motions for me to follow.
I labor up, skidding a few times on the dry leaves, grabbing onto small trees for leverage. Breathing hard, I finally catch up with him. I gasp when I see what lies ahead.
A vast Gardnerian military base stretches out over the entire valley. It’s surrounded by the wilds and framed by the imposing Spine and the Caledonian mountain range. Huge blocks of Gardnerian soldiers move in formation, a cacophony of commands ringing out. They’re surrounded by a city of black military tents, wooden barracks and Spine-stone structures cut into the imposing rock.
And there are dragons.
Scores of them. Moving in formation. Gardnerian soldiers astride them, whips in hand.
I fall back as close to twenty dragons rise into the sky with one unified shriek, my hands flying up to cover my ears. The dragons fly in formation behind a lead dragon.
Without warning, they soar up and swoop directly toward us.
I hit the ground as Yvan pulls me back, and the dragons zoom in close, then arc away toward the middle of the valley.
My heart pounds, and I feel light-headed. I’ve seen artists’ renderings of military dragons, like dignified horses with wings. But these dragons are terrifying—black as night, with emaciated bodies that hint at their underlying skeletons. And their wings—jagged, jutting things with sharp feathers that resemble dull blades.
“Oh, Sweet Ancient One,” I breathe, an icy chill coursing down my spine. “Do they breathe fire?”
Yvan frowns and shakes his head. “No. They lose the ability when they’re broken. But as you can see, they can still fly. And they’re strong, with sharp teeth and large talons.”
“Are they getting ready to attack the Keltic military?”
“And anyone else in their path. Just like last time. Villages. Families. You won’t hear about that, of course. You’ll hear about one glorious military victory after another.” He grimaces. “You won’t read about whole families being torn to pieces by soulless dragons.”
I imagine one of those creatures landing in a village. It’s too terrible to fathom.
“Can’t anyone stop this?” I ask him, horrified.
He gives a tight shake to his head. “The Resistance is no match for the Gardnerian Guard. The most they can do is slow them down. Get as many people out as they can.” His expression turns bitter. “I imagine,” he says, his voice thick with disgust, “when the inevitable happens, you’ll be enjoying a party somewhere, celebrating your victory over the Evil Ones.”
His words sting. I’m genuinely hurt by them. “You’re so...you’re wrong about me.” I defend myself, grasping for words. “You don’t know anything about me. I’m living with two chickens, did you know that? Do you have any idea how messy two chickens are?”
Yvan glares at me, furious. “They’re called Icarals, not chickens!”
“What?” I’m momentarily thrown, but quickly figure out where the confusion lies. “I’m not talking about Ariel and Wynter. I’m talking about Ariel’s pets. It used to be just one chicken; now it’s two. So please, stop judging me so harshly. Have you ever spent any time with Ariel Haven? I should be given some type of medal for living with her!”
“Yes, Icarals are such vile, disgusting creatures,” he snipes.
“Actually,” I counter, “Wynter’s quite pleasant, now that she’s stopped acting so spooky, and Ariel’s not quite as homicidal as she used to be. I know I look a lot like my grandmother, but I’m really not what you think I am, and neither are my brothers, for that matter.”
An unfriendly grin plays at the corners of Yvan’s mouth. “Yes, your brother Trystan does present a bit of a dilemma for your illustrious family, doesn’t he?”
A cold dread twists itself around me as all of my bravado evaporates. “Trystan’s a good person,” I say, my voice low. “Please...please don’t make trouble for him.”
The anger in Yvan’s face dissipates as he takes in how deeply his words have affected me. “I won’t,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically kind. He studies me for a long moment. “Come on,” he says, then abruptly gets up as if deciding on a spur-of-the-moment course of action. He glides down the hill and turns to wait for me at its base.
I follow him into denser forest, thick with evergreens and brush. When we reach a small ridge, Yvan crouches down, then motions for me to follow.
There are cages up ahead, just around the ridge—a great number of them scattered throughout the woods, their bars black and curving.
All of them holding dragons.
I swallow nervously as we creep by the cages. The sight of the dragons’ horrible faces startles me—thin drool falling from long mouths, lips pulled back to reveal killing teeth. But worst of all...
Their eyes. Milky opaque and soulless. Like the Icarals in Valgard.
Were these dragons tortured like those Icarals in Valgard were? Turned into broken monsters?
The dragons watch me pass, and I feel like I’m being watched by demons.
Yvan grabs my arm and pulls me behind the back wall of a cage.
Two Gardnerian soldiers pass, chatting amiably. Yvan fishes a watch out of his pocket and glances at it as their voices fade. “The changing of the guard,” he whispers.
Heart racing, I follow him around a small hillock to an isolated cage that’s surrounded by a wide swath of charred forest.
It holds a single dragon, but it might as well be a completely different creature, for how much it resembles the others.
It’s black, but not a dull tar black. Each scale shimmers like an opal. And its wings aren’t rancid and jagged, but strong and sleek, the feathers stiff and shiny like polished obsidian. The dragon paces back and forth on the far side of the cage, its movements strong and fluid as we walk up to the bars.
The dragon stops, slowly swivels its muscular head and sets its emerald green eyes on me.
I stare back at the dragon, frozen in place.
Suddenly, the dragon lunges toward me at incredible speed. Yvan thrusts me back and throws himself in front of me.
I fall backward as the dragon crashes against the cage’s bars, sharp talons thrust through the gaps around Yvan. The dragon and Yvan stare at each other for a long moment, both of them stock-still as if facing each other down.
“It...it tried to kill me!” I stammer, my breath coming in great gasps.
“She,” he corrects.
He cannot honestly be arguing semantics. “Okay, she,” I breathlessly amend. “She seems like she wants to kill me!”
“She won’t hurt you,” Yvan says, his eyes locked on the dragon’s as if he’s convincing the dragon that this is true instead of attempting to reassure me.
The dragon snorts derisively, falls back then fluidly turns and stalks to the other side of the cage. She shoots Yvan a look of misery, draws herself down and turns away. I notice that her body is covered with bloody lash marks.
“She seems like she understands what we’re saying.” I gulp as I find my bearings.
The corner of Yvan’s mouth twitches. “Dragons are...very observant.”
The Black Witch Page 40