Fire and Bone

by Rachel A. Marks

  I wait, expectantly. Still, I’m shocked when the embers shift, sparks rising up in a rush.

  Surrender to him, the fire whispers, drawing out the sound with the sizzle of wood. The fire born within you shall bring rebirth. Surrender, child.

  And then it fades. I listen intently but nothing else comes. I couldn’t have heard correctly, though. She can’t mean for me to give in to this. She’d wish for me to fight, to escape.

  No, I couldn’t have heard right.

  My stomach roils and I stand, wandering over to the cage where my new owl sits with watchful eyes. The bird hoots at my approach and ruffles its feathers. “Are you feeling smothered in there, little one?” I ask, understanding what it is to be caged. I open the latch and reach in, urging the bird onto my hand. “You should come with me to dinner tonight. Perhaps then I’ll have someone to talk to. The king barely says two words to me.”

  It flaps its immature wings and hobbles its way over to perch on my wrist. My heart settles, looking into its wide black eyes. It baffles me that the king would give me a gift of such vulnerability and innocence.

  I consider the words from the fire, but they don’t make any sense. I can’t understand why the goddess would wish for me to accept the darkness into myself. She must know that the king is far stronger than me. He’ll take me over. I’ll lose myself. Could she truly want to see my heart destroyed? Perhaps I should speak to Lailoken and see what his thoughts are. I’ll have to tell him of the child, but I think that would give me relief. I’ll go now, before dinner. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I’m planning to show him the bird.

  I settle the owl on the arm of my chair, then pull the cord for my ladies to come in. The three winter pixies enter, immediately getting to work dressing me for the evening, their thin fingers chilly against my skin. I ask to wear my sturdy boots and my good furs. None of them comment or ask why; they merely nod, their icy cheeks sparkling in the firelight. Once they’re done tying up my unwieldy hair, tucking the orange curls into the gold netting, they silently slip out, as if they were never here.

  The owl wobbles back onto my wrist, and I lift my hand, urging him to perch on my shoulder. He grips the fur of my cloak with his talons and nestles into the crook of my neck.

  “What should I name you, sweet one?” I ask. “You look like a Fionn. How does that sound?” The bird clicks its beak.

  I leave my rooms and walk down the hallway, through the gallery, and down the back staircase. I’ll go through the kitchens and find the owl a piece of meat. This isn’t my usual time to visit Lailoken, but I’m sure he’ll be in his cave. As a monk, he spends his time focused on the solitary activities of prayer and reading, which keep his old legs weak and his eyes dim.

  The goddess never seemed to approve of him, perhaps because he’s a human. Most of the underlings sneer at my dependence on him, a Christian monk, which is why he never comes to the keep. But when I was orphaned as a girl, he raised me as if he was my father. I asked him once if he was my human father. He claimed that he’d never been with a woman in that way. Then he kissed my head and said he loved me as much as any natural daughter.

  “I see you’re enjoying my gift.” A deep voice echoes up from the bottom of the staircase. “He suits you.”

  I pause on the stone and spot my Bonded looking up at me. His thick gray furs cover him like a cloak, a dusting of snow still on his broad shoulders. His raven, Bran, flies in the window and perches on the sill, tipping his head, giving the fledgling a curious look.

  “I was taking him for a walk,” I say.

  “A storm is moving in.” The king unhooks his heavy furs from his leathers and drops them to the floor. His shade servant, Eric, appears, picking them up and taking them away as the king starts up the stairs toward me.

  My muscles clench instinctually, but I tell myself there’s no running.

  “The gates are being closed,” he says. “You were off to your monk, no doubt?” I’m surprised—there’s no anger or disapproval in his voice.

  “Yes,” I say, my pulse picking up speed as he comes closer. “I was going to show him the bird.”

  His height matches mine even though he’s two steps down, his shoulders nearly blocking the passage. His black leathers are muddy, and there’s blood on the side of his neck. I realize he must’ve gone on his hunt early, feeling the storm coming in.

  A glint of satisfaction lights his eyes. “I’m glad you’re pleased. You can show the old man the bird tomorrow, once the winds calm. I will have a servant clear the path for you.”

  “Thank you,” I say, wondering why he’s helping me visit Lailoken. I assumed he felt the same way about my friend as everyone else in this place does.

  He keeps his gaze locked on mine and continues his slow approach, up one step, then the last. When he’s on an even level with me he pauses, looking me over closely. His breath emerges in a quick mist as he leans close and kisses my cheek with his chilled lips. Then he whispers against my skin, “I’m truly sorry about the babe.”

  My pulse stutters. Before I ask how he knew, he’s moved past, already disappearing into the shadows above, leaving me alone in the passage to wonder.

  SEVENTEEN

  FAELAN

  I catch Aelia’s scent in the air first, then Sage’s, as I approach the building. The smell of the fire demi’s energy is strong, her power like a shimmering trail I can’t quite catch. I follow it toward the main entrance, where humans stand among several shades, all in line along the wall. There’s a selkie chatting with the bouncer at the door, distracting him as she sucks on a lollipop. A thin pixie boy slips past them into the club. I see a whisper of something in the air near the selkie, a thread of gold; I think that’s a remnant of Sage’s energy, but—

  “Faelan?” says a shocked female voice. “Is that really you?” My frayed nerves spark, and I don’t want to turn. I can’t be hearing right. No way. The goddess wouldn’t do that to me, not tonight. My head is already bollocks; I need to find Sage, I—

  A soft touch on my arm makes me look. “Astrid,” I say as my eyes fall on her. After more than three centuries without seeing her, my breath still catches: her regal stance, the smooth, milky skin of her bare shoulders, her perfect alfar features, the delicate way her brow lifts in surprise as she looks me over.

  I’m suddenly filled with the memory of us sleeping too long under the old willow tree—and then not sleeping—the day before my brother adopted her as a ward. My gods, Astrid. What the bloody hell is she doing here? She’s not wearing her usual hunter gear of gambeson and tight leathers, and her bow and quiver aren’t perched on her back, but she’s exactly the same, with her ridiculously long golden braid.

  “You’re in LA?” she asks, shock in her voice. She knows how much I’ve always hated cities—and that was before concrete and high-rises.

  “I’m doing a job for Marius,” I say. There’s so much I want to ask her. But I blink and wake myself back up. I can’t stand here. I can’t waste time.

  I glance around again, looking for that selkie I spotted a second ago with Sage’s energy trailing nearby. My guess is they were standing near each other. Maybe Sage spoke with her. I don’t see the selkie now, though.

  “Shite,” I bite out.

  Astrid follows my line of sight. “You’re looking for someone?”

  “I have to go,” I say, beginning to walk away.

  She grabs my arm, strong as ever. “Wait, how long are you here for? I want to talk to you, Faelan. It’s been so long.”

  “You could’ve talked to me three hundred years ago, Astrid.” I focus on not noticing how familiar her touch feels. “But you chose to stay with my brother, remember?”

  She flinches and releases me. “Faelan . . .”

  We had decided to leave that summer—both of us. To break our House vow and swear fealty to Brighid instead of Cernunnos, who I’d been serving since my Emergence. In the end, though, she betrayed me, telling my brother Finbar of our plans. They attempted to keep
my loyalty by locking me away for a few years, but I broke out. Knowing Astrid, she’s thinking, What are a few chains between old lovers?

  I want to stand here and stare at her stunning features, to tell her she was the only girl I ever loved and explain how she crushed me with her betrayal. Instead, I say, “I’ll see you in another three hundred years. Send Finbar and Duncan my love.” And I walk away. I can feel her pain follow me as I go, and it makes my throat ache.

  Until I sense another distinctly powerful presence: Kieran.

  My teeth clench. I pull a fresh leaf from my pocket and follow the dark energy of the Morrígan blood, past the line of patrons along the front of the club, to the alley. I rub the green life between my fingers as I come around the corner. The leaf’s energy soaks into my hand in delicate threads, the life letting me see into the shadows at the far end, letting me recognize the dark prince—

  Recognize Aelia crouched over a body at his feet.

  And the blood pooling underneath the body.

  Details register in a flash: an angry Aelia, her eyes glowing as she scolds Kieran; her hand gripping a still form on the ground; a figure with red hair, wearing a pink dress that’s soaked red at the chest, an upturned palm lined in red scrapes. And that smirk on Kieran’s face.

  Rage courses through me, and I lunge at him with a growl. “What’ve you done?”

  The prince shifts, leaving me grabbing for smoke. He appears at my side and points at Sage, saying with a sneer, “My, my, she has you keyed in like the dog you are, doesn’t she?”

  But I’m too focused on all the blood, on Sage’s cut flesh, her glassy eyes. Dead? No, it can’t be. But she’s definitely fading. My gods . . .

  I kneel at her side and gently pull her into my arms. Her head lolls against my shoulder. “Gods and bones . . . Sage . . . please hear me.” I shouldn’t have left her with Aelia. I never should’ve taken my eyes off her.

  “Calm down,” Kieran says. “She’ll come back to us.”

  Aelia stands in a rush. “And if she doesn’t, dumbass?”

  “Then she’s not worthy of the title Daughter of Fire. Perhaps she’s been created from faulty blood, and I saved the Penta two weeks of unnecessary turmoil vying for her affection. Her energy was very odd; something isn’t right inside her. Isn’t it better to know now?”

  I glare at him. “If she dies from your hand—”

  “If she does, then she wasn’t a true daughter,” he says, his voice tight.

  His sure words jar me. Fresh rage sparks in my gut. “I’ll tear your head from your shoulders for this, you bloody stuck-up shit.”

  “Empty threats,” Kieran bites out. “You rejected your royal blood like a fool, and now you wish to come at me? To take on the role of protector to the second daughter of Brighid? But you believe I’m the prideful one.”

  Aelia grips my arm. “Faelan, heal her. Come on!”

  “He can’t,” Kieran says, a smirk relighting in his metallic eyes. “He gave up that right, didn’t you, bastard?”

  “Fuck you, Kieran,” I snap. “Just use your power to pull her spirit from the brink before it slips away.”

  He looks me over. “And in return you will . . . what exactly? Wash my car? You’re useless.”

  “Just do it!” Aelia screeches.

  I give up trying to convince him to reverse her fall. He could simply hold her spirit here, but he won’t. And her flesh isn’t healing, which means her spirit will slip away soon. I have to get her help. Quickly.

  I tuck her into my chest, whispering into her ear, “Fight this, Sage. I’ve seen your power. Come back and melt his face off for what he did to you, or I will. And then we’ll both be dead. Come on, Daughter of Fire. Come back. Come back to me.” My voice falters, and I realize I’m panicked about more than Marius’s reaction. I have no idea if it’s because of seeing Astrid or if it’s because I’m freshly emerged from hibernation. But I’m raw. I’m actually feeling sorrow for the demi. As if I know her. As if I was a soul who cared for anything other than serving my goddess.

  “We need to be very sure she’s a true daughter,” Kieran says. Disappointment threads through his words. “And this is a bad sign. A true blood wouldn’t have allowed me to harm them at all. She would’ve eviscerated me for touching her, and loved it.”

  “She thinks she’s human,” I say, flabbergasted. “She doesn’t understand yet. It was too soon to force this.” I lift her from the ground. Kieran is ten times more powerful than me since I left my House, but I need to make it clear that I’m not going to let go easily. He better stay out of my way and let me take her.

  “You’re a faithless one, aren’t you, bastard?” he says. “Truth doesn’t need time. It merely is.”

  “What the hell are you babbling about?” Aelia asks. “You couldn’t have just stabbed her in the gut or something? It takes less than three minutes to bleed out from a severed artery, and you want her to heal herself that fast when she’s never done it before?”

  Kieran stares down at Aelia. “I will not take a false blood claim as my Bonded.”

  “She isn’t yours to Bond with,” I say through my teeth. “That covenant between our Houses died with your brother.”

  “Then whose is she?” he asks, obviously sure I’m about as much of a threat as a gnat he can swat away. “You believe she’s yours?”

  I shift her weight in my arms, cradling her tighter to my chest. “No,” I say, determination filling me as I start to walk from the alley. “I’m her guard and her shield. You, on the other hand, are no one to her now. And if I have anything to say about it, that’s the way it’ll stay.”

  Aelia trails after me, keeping close as we walk back to where I parked. I nestle Sage in the passenger seat and try to decide where to take her for help. There’s only one soul I know who can meddle with spirits besides Kieran.

  Aelia is horribly nervous, but I can’t tell if it’s fear of her father or fear for Sage.

  “Go tell the driver you’re riding with me,” I say, and she obeys without her usual snarky comeback.

  I get behind the wheel and start the car. Next to me, Sage is soaked in blood, pale as moonlight. And her neck, the flesh is . . . “Don’t worry,” I say, hoping she can hear me. “This is getting fixed. Right now.”

  Aelia slides into the back seat and slams the door, the blue mist of her energy trailing behind her, showing her fear. “I can’t believe this. Kieran is such an asshole.”

  I look at her in the rearview mirror, then pull out onto the road. “What the fuck were you thinking bringing the demi out in the open before the tribunal tomorrow?”

  “I wanted to show off the goods a little. It’s going to be embarrassing for my father if no one shows up. I was only going to stay for an hour, and I was keeping an eye on her. It’s not my fault she ran off like that.”

  I shake my head. Sometimes I forget that she’s basically just a flighty youth. “There is a way to go about this, Aelia. She needed to be sealed with a protector before running around LA.”

  “Oh, come on, Faelan, you know that’s all just semantics. You already sealed that deal when you saved her in the fire.”

  “I didn’t save her. I was keeping your father’s property from burning down.”

  “And what, exactly, are you doing now, then?”

  Very good question. “Aelia, if I can’t bring her back, we’re both fucked. The Cast will have us sequestered. We could end up in the Pit while Kieran gets off scot-free because of his godsdamn rank. We’ll be seen as the no-name bastards who lost an heir. It won’t just be brushed aside.” But it’s not just fear of the Cast that I’m feeling. Seeing Sage like this—I’m shaken. I can’t deny it. I actually give a shit about her. And it annoys the hell out of me.

  “Daddy wouldn’t let anything happen to me,” Aelia says, pouting.

  “I’ve worked with your father nearly half a millennium. I think I’d know what he’s capable of better than you.”

  “Whatever, you love being his
lapdog.” She folds her arms across her chest and leans back with a groan. “Where are we going, anyway?”

  “Caledonia.”

  She barks out a laugh. “Scotland? Are you serious? Nothing safe lives there.”

  “I’m not looking for safe.”

  We pull off the freeway and head down a side road. The cemetery is rolling hills on our left, an endless sea of green grass and white tombstones. Its morbid nature makes it oddly perfect for this moment. And I’m fairly sure it’s the closest passageway. We don’t have time to go to the one in Malibu.

  I’ll never understand why humans bury their dead, thinking it helps a soul that’s already long gone from the empty husk. The reality is that dead flesh soils the spirit of the earth, the rot of decay seeping into the energy of root and grass and tree. It takes decades for the spirit to renew itself. But all that decay and death in one place also cracks a window in time and space. I appreciate how past cultures did things, especially the ones who laid their dead in caves. It makes the travel doors much more powerful and easier to utilize, like the catacombs in Paris: the bones of over six million souls below the city create a sizable doorway that’s become well traveled. This is no Paris gateway, but it should work with only three of us going through. I hope.

  “I’m really not up for this,” Aelia says as we pull up the drive through the fields of the dead. “I don’t have the right shoes.”

  I ignore her and keep driving deeper into the property. The Audi’s headlights are the only light now as we come around a turn, and I finally spot the road marker for the crypt up ahead. I’ve only been here once, about fifty years ago. At the time, the small stone structure was tucked back in the trees at the base of a hill. I can’t see it from here, but I recall it being only a few dozen yards from the road.