Circle of Fire

by Michelle Zink

  I pull away, looking into Aunt Virginia’s eyes. “I’ll be back soon.” I lower my voice, casting a glance at Sonia, Luisa, and Helene, who wait near the horses. “Please look after everyone, and be watchful of anything untoward.”

  She nods, and I know we are both thinking of Sonia’s betrayal. I lean in to kiss her cheek before making my way toward the others.

  Sonia and Luisa huddle near each other, with Helene just a few inches away. I cannot help but approach them with hesitation as I recall my conversation with Luisa the day I sought Madame Berrier and Alistair Wigan. The resentment still lingers in her eyes, and for one fleeting moment, I question my decision to leave the keys in London.

  But it does not last long. Riding with a group would be too cumbersome. Time is a luxury we do not have, and it would be foolish to allow Helene access to the possible location of the Stone when we have only just become acquainted. It was difficult enough to discover the connection between the ancient cairns at Loughcrew and the prophecy. I’m not about to put that knowledge at risk.

  And then there is the other thing. The thought I push away, forbidding it to take root in the fertile soil of my lingering distrust.

  As much as I think it wise to withhold important information from Helene until we come to know her better, neither do I want to divulge anything crucial to Luisa or Sonia. Even as I acknowledge that it may be wrong, I know without a doubt that I cannot afford to take the chance.

  I come to a stop before them, looking down at my riding boots. Laced at the ends of my trouser-clad legs, they do not seem like they belong to me.

  When I finally look up, I take the coward’s way out and first address Helene. “I’m sorry we’ve not had time to become better acquainted, but you’re in good hands here. I hope you’ll make yourself comfortable. If all goes well, we will be much closer to bringing this all to an end when I return.”

  She nods, her face impassive, as it always seems to be. “I trust you’re doing what you must. Don’t concern yourself with me.”

  I smile at her before turning to Luisa. “I’m… I’m sorry to be traveling without you. I will miss your company. Will you be all right while I’m gone?”

  Her mouth, once set in a hard line, softens. She looks away before turning her gaze back to mine. “Everything is well in hand here, Lia. Do what you must.”

  The defeat in her voice wounds me like nothing else. Luisa has always been an endless source of optimism and humor. It seems the prophecy has taken even that. Either that or it is my doing alone.

  I nod, forcing myself to swallow around the tightening in my throat. We stand awkwardly before each other, and I reach out to take her hand, squeezing it before I turn to Sonia.

  I don’t know how long we stand in silence before Sonia finally speaks. When she does, I am startled by the anger in her voice.

  “Do what needs to be done, Lia. Do it, and end this thing.” She turns, stalking away from me with her arms folded across her body against the cold.

  I stand, stunned into immobility, until Dimitri reaches me. He takes my hand and leads me to the horses. “She is hurt and angry, Lia. It will pass when this is all said and done.”

  His words do not make a dent in my sadness, but I follow him nonetheless.

  Edmund hands me Sargent’s reins, and I reach up to stroke the horse’s nose.

  “I still don’t like the idea of the two of you traveling alone,” Edmund says.

  I smile. “As much as I would welcome your presence, you’re needed here more. It cannot fall to Aunt Virginia alone to care for the other girls and get them to and fro. And with Alice so close…”

  He gestures to the satchel draped over my shoulder. “You have your bow and dagger?”

  I nod, and he turns to Dimitri. “You’ll look out for her.”

  Dimitri’s face is somber as he clasps a hand to Edmund’s shoulder. “With my life, Edmund, as always.”

  Edmund looks at the ground, his shoulders rising in a sigh of defeat. “All right, then. You’d best be going.”

  Dimitri climbs into his horse’s saddle as I lift the satchel over my head so its strap crosses my body. Giving Sargent’s nose one last stroke, I move to his side and place one foot in the stirrup, swinging my leg up and over in one easy motion.

  Dimitri turns his horse, his eyes meeting mine. “Ready?”

  I nod, and we spur the horses to action. I do not look back as we make our way down the street. I am too busy trying to ignore Dimitri’s question, simple though it was, and my own lingering concern that I am not ready at all.

  For the journey to Ireland, or anything that is to come.

  My spirits lighten as we make our way through town. Exhilaration courses through my veins where before there was only worry over the journey ahead. It takes me a moment to place the feeling, and when I do, I cannot help but smile.

  Freedom, I think. I feel free.

  Released from the constraints of my skirts and petticoats, I feel closer to free than I have since leaving Altus. The breeches are not as welcome as the robes of the island, but they are a close second. Summer is two months off, and though there is still a noticeable bite in the air, it is invigorating rather than unpleasant. It will almost certainly be colder once we reach the woods, but even this knowledge cannot dampen my mood as Dimitri and I make our way through the city—first by way of the busier thoroughfares and then by increasingly small, less populated ones.

  It was far easier to prepare for the journey to Ireland than the one to Altus. Dimitri and I discussed our plans at length with Edmund, arranging for supplies and maps in just a few short days. We packed light, carrying everything we need on the flanks of our two horses.

  I pass the morning in a pleasant state of absentminded thought. Dimitri and I make comment of the people on the roads, the carriages and horses, the buildings. The sun is high overhead when I realize the city is well behind us. Roads that were once dusty and crowded have turned to winding lanes through outlying villages, and the air that was ponderous with smoke and scent has become clear and sweet.

  “Are you hungry?” Dimitri says from my left.

  I didn’t notice my hunger before the words were spoken, but now my stomach tightens. I nod.

  He tips his head at the road in front of us. “There’s a farm up ahead. Let’s stop and see if we can purchase something to eat.”

  I do not have to ask why we shouldn’t use the supplies in our packs. The journey to the Loughcrew cairns will take us nearly two weeks, and there will undoubtedly come a time when food and places to purchase it will be scarce. It is only wise to save what we carry as long as possible.

  We walk the horses to the thatched-roof farmhouse, where Dimitri secures bread and cheese from a pretty young wife in exchange for a few pence. She directs us to the barn behind the house, urging us to make use of the buckets of water, and we wash our faces and hands before leading the horses to drink. They slurp noisily as Dimitri walks the length of the barn, looking for a place to sit and take our lunch.

  “Here.” He waves me to the back of the barn. “There’s an empty stall with some hay. It will make a fair enough seat, I think.”

  I smile, both amused and heartened that even here, Dimitri looks after my comfort.

  The stall is dim and touched with shadows, and I sit on the floor, opting to lean back against the bales of hay rather than use them as a seat. After hours in the saddle, it feels good to slump against the straw, scratchy as it is. I don’t even feel self-conscious about my bad manners around Dimitri.

  He sighs, stretching out on his side and supporting himself on one elbow. “This is heaven. I could stay here for days with no one but you and the horses for company.”

  I take a bite of the cheese, marveling at the clean, sharp tang of it in my mouth. “Me and the horses, is it? I suppose you wouldn’t be happy with just me, then?”

  He throws a piece of bread into the air and catches it in his mouth before turning back to me. “You’re wonderful enough, of c
ourse, but sometimes… Well, there’s just nothing like a good horse to keep a man company.”

  “Oh, really?” A smile tugs at the corners of my lips. I toss a small piece of bread at him. “I’ll keep that in mind tonight when we make camp. Perhaps Blackjack can keep you company in the tents.”

  He plucks the bread from the hay near his thigh and tosses it into his mouth. “Perhaps. And I’m happy to give you my blanket if you think you’ll be cold all alone.”

  I laugh aloud. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  His eyes sparkle with mischief for a moment before turning serious. “You’ve no idea how much I love to hear you laugh.”

  Swallowing the bread in my mouth, I look into his eyes. The sun breaks through the roof in places, setting alight shimmering motes of dust as they dance through the air between us.

  “I shall endeavor to laugh more, then, if it pleases you.”

  He crooks a finger in my direction. “Come.”

  I remain in my spot, still teasing. “Why, sir, I’m otherwise engaged with my bread and cheese.”

  He doesn’t answer, but the desire in his eyes speaks the only words I need, and I scoot down next to him a moment later.

  “Lia… Lia…” He traces his fingertip across my brow.

  He does not move, but his gaze draws me toward him until it is I who lean forward, touching my lips to his. I let my mouth linger softly for a moment, the breath moving between us in a whisper.

  A groan escapes from his lips, and I lean forward, kissing him with all the pent-up urgency of the past days and weeks. Days and weeks in which we have been ensconced inside parlors and libraries and eyed by the staff at the Society and Milthorpe Manor.

  He presses me back into the hay. I can hardly breathe as his hands linger just above my body, not quite touching me but close enough that I would swear I can feel his fingers on my skin.

  Reaching up with my arms, I wrap them around his neck, pulling him to me until his body is stretched long and tight against mine.

  “Did you arrange this, Dimitri Markov? So that we could finally be well and truly alone?” My voice is a murmur in his ear, and I feel the goose bumps rise at the back of his neck.

  He kisses his way down to the place where my bare skin disappears beneath the cotton of my shirt. “I would do that and more,” he says, “to have you to myself for a moment.”

  His lips work their way back up my neck until I think I will perish with pleasure. I know we should leave, but I push aside thoughts of anything but this moment. This moment when there is nothing else in the world. No prophecy. No Stone. No Souls.

  Just us. Dimitri and I alone in a world of our own making.

  I give myself over to it, ignoring the voice inside me that whispers: Hold this moment. Your time with him is not long.

  12

  “What causes you to think with such concentration?” I jump at the sound of Dimitri’s voice beside me. He speaks softly, but his words echo in the dark night around us.

  I look up, placing a hand to my chest so that I can feel my runaway heartbeat beneath my fingers. “However do you do that?”

  “What?” He sits down next to me on the fallen log near the fire.

  “That,” I say. “Sneak up on me so quietly.”

  He shrugs. “I didn’t mean to startle you. And you are changing the subject.”

  I laugh softly, my voice an intruder in the deep night. “I’m not changing the subject. I was only thinking about the cairns and wondering if the Stone will really be there.”

  He sighs. “Yes, well, I suppose we won’t know for sure until we arrive and have a look around, but Victor’s discovery is the closest we’ve come to a connection between any of the sites on our list and the prophecy.”

  “Loughcrew.” I murmur the word, sending it out into the darkness like a prayer. “Portal to the Otherworlds.”

  “Yes.” Dimitri’s voice is soft. I hear the hope in it.

  Victor’s skilled research, together with the list of nine possible locations, revealed what weeks of disorganized, hopeful digging on the part of Dimitri and I had not: Loughcrew was once referred to as “the Portal to the Otherworlds.” We cannot be certain it points to our Otherworlds rather than an abstract, mythical idea, but it cannot be ignored.

  Even still, I hesitate to voice my fear aloud. It seems that speaking the words will only give them more credence. I quickly discount the notion. The possibilities are all before us, whether or not we name them.

  “What if it’s not the right place?” I ask.

  He doesn’t say anything right away, and I know he is contemplating an answer that will maintain some semblance of hope.

  In the end, he chooses honesty. “I don’t know. I suppose we’ll have to find the answer if, and when, that comes to pass. But one thing is certain.”

  I turn to look at him. “What is that?”

  “Every step we have taken has had a purpose. Even those that seemed only obstacles at the time led us to something else.” He turns away, speaking to the fire. “Regardless of whether we find the Stone at Loughcrew, it is one more step in our journey to end the prophecy. And with every step we take, we are that much closer to the end.”

  The camp is quiet as I settle into the blankets. Dimitri’s shadow, distorted by the tent and the firelight beyond, is a comfort, though I would prefer his presence beside me. We argued the point for some time—Dimitri insisting on keeping watch while I disputed his ability to make the journey without at least some rest—until we agreed on a solution for the dilemma: Dimitri will stay awake, guarding the camp until first light, after which he will sleep for a short while before we break camp. It means a later start each morning, but even Dimitri must rest eventually, and convincing him to sleep beside me has been futile.

  My body is already stiff from being atop Sargent, and I know it will be days before I am once again accustomed to the rigors of riding for long stretches. It has been many weeks since our trip to Altus, and though I have ridden alone at Whitney Grove, it has only been to the targets to work with my bow.

  Reaching for the adder stone around my neck, I test it for warmth. Attempting to gauge the stone’s remaining strength has become a cruel pastime. I do it even as it becomes increasingly difficult to tell whether the adder stone is, in fact, cooler than it was yesterday, or the day before. Certainly, it is much cooler than it was when I awoke on Altus to feel it burning feverishly at my chest, but the change from day to day is nearly impossible to discern. Yet it does not stop me from trying, as if receiving confirmation of its waning power will somehow prepare me for the time when it will be gone for good.

  Letting go of the stone around my neck, I slip the fingers of my right hand around the medallion on my left. The adder stone is a reminder that I am a Sister. That the light of the Sisters on Altus and the many who have come before them courses through my veins.

  But I cannot ignore the medallion, for it is a part of me, too. It whispers to the pieces of myself I keep hidden, locked away for fear that if anyone were to see them as they really are—to see me as I really am—the fate of the world would never again be trusted in my hands.

  I am conscious that I am dreaming even as I sleep. I stand in a circle, the warmth of others’ hands in each of my own. The figures on either side of me are robed, their hoods pulled forward to hide all but the shadowy planes of their faces.

  Strange words rise from my throat. Both fear and exhilaration race through my body, and my own robe billows about my legs as a hot wind blows from the center of the circle. I am forced to stop my chant as something tugs at the core of my body, wrenching itself free as if it has been long hidden, long quiet, long sleeping. Crying out, I drop the hands of those next to me even as someone calls to me from very far away.

  “Don’t break the circle.”

  But I do. Overcome with my own fear and pain, I break the circle. I stumble into the center of it and see the hands join behind me, merging the figures together as one.

&nbs
p; As if I were never there at all.

  The tugging continues until I feel as if I will be pulled in two—as if I am being pulled apart from the inside out. I fall to the ground, and the black sky, shimmering with ageless stars, unfolds above in the moment before something clamps my wrist. Turning to my side, I lift my hand to see the mark.

  The serpent.

  It writhes and twists, searing deeper into my skin until I feel as if it melts away the flesh at my wrist completely.

  I cry out for it to stop, but it doesn’t. It burns and burns and burns.

  “Lia! Wake up, Lia.”

  I open my eyes to the voice and find Dimitri looming above me in the tent.

  “You were crying out in your sleep.” He smooths the hair back from my brow.

  The fingers of my right hand hold my left wrist in a viselike grip, and I lift it to my eyes, trying to make out the mark in the little illumination the moon provides inside the tent. It is no deeper. No darker. I imagine I feel the residual burning from my dream but do not trust myself enough to give the idea merit.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my racing heart before answering Dimitri. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” He scowls. “Lia, you don’t need to apologize. Ever.”

  I have a flash of the circle in my dream, the robed figures, my own voice speaking unfamiliar words. “I had a nightmare.”

  His face softens, and he lowers himself to the ground, stretching his body out beside mine and taking me into his arms until my head is pressed to his chest.

  “Tell me,” he says. “Tell me your nightmares.”

  The silence between us is a weight on my heart, and I am reminded of another instance, another time when I was urged to speak of my fears. Of the things growing wild and dark in the fortress of my consciousness. Alice is right; we have both made decisions that have informed the places in which we find ourselves now. James once gave me the opportunity—more than once, in fact—to tell him what was happening to me.