She was charged with killing her Bonded, the king. They claimed that, in her madness, she had unleashed a scourge called the Black Death, and that in the end tens of millions of humans would die because of her. Her folly opened up the doorway for the Church to start its deadliest blood hunt of Otherborn and caused many centuries of bloodshed on both sides, human and Otherborn. It was a time marked by horror. But I’ve never been able to see her as the monster the Cast made her out to be. I’ll always see her as the sad beauty I once admired.
I still remember her delicate fingers taking my dirty hand in hers. I can still close my eyes and feel her energy. It was so distinct. So colorful. It smelled like rain and sunlight and sweet greens. She was so beautiful, so magical.
This demi in front of us right now—Sage—bears no resemblance, in power or in form or in any way, really, to her older sister, Lily.
“He’s not all there,” I remind Aelia. “At least he’s got the right bloodline. It would be worse if he was calling for a water spirit or something.”
“But that’s nuts,” she hisses. “We don’t want him to bring the wrong thing back, do we?”
Lailoken stops muttering under his breath and barks, “Secrets and whispers! No, no, no.”
“We’re worried you’ve got it wrong, sir,” I explain. “She’s not the first daughter, she’s the second. Her name is Sage.”
The frown scrunching his face deepens. “What, what? Not Lilybird, you say?” He looks down at Sage. Then he brushes his dirt-stained fingertips against her hair.
“No,” Aelia says. “Not Lily.”
Lailoken sniffs. “I’m not deaf, you know.” He places his palm over Sage’s eyes and closes his own before he goes back to his mutters like we never interrupted him. I can only hope his spell is correct. I can’t understand everything he’s saying because he’s talking too fast, his words too jumbled.
Aelia rolls her eyes. “Great plan, Faelan. Take her to the wacky man in the woods.” She leans back on her elbows, apparently done caring.
After another several minutes of Aelia and me sitting in silence with Lailoken’s voice humming in the background, the wise man finally pauses and sighs heavily. “Well, well, the spirit lingers. But she must be fed. Now or never, whatever the weather.”
Aelia groans in annoyance. “What in the name of Danu is he talking about now?”
I ignore her and ask the wise man, “Sage’s spirit is anchored again? How can you be sure?” She’s not moving, not even breathing. Her wound is still gaping.
“Oh, she was never gone and done with, not this one,” he says. “Can’t you smell her warmth and roses in the flames? All those breads and hopes are still deep in her gut—I think you got lost coming here. She was fine as rain and sunshine.”
Aelia sits up straight. “What?”
“No,” I say, panic swirling in my chest again. “She’s still dead. Her spirit . . .” I can’t smell her spark at all. And I can’t take her back like this. I can’t leave her broken and lost. Not this girl.
The wise man shakes his head, his odd bird’s nest hat flopping to the side. “She’s all tucked tight in there, safe and sound. The child she is, it’s lovely to have found her at last.”
I stare at Sage’s cold body. What am I missing? Even in hibernation, a fire elemental carries a sense of life, though it’s weak. Heat in the body, color in the skin, a fluttering energy left behind, like dying embers. But Sage is a corpse, her skin now tinged in violet, dark circles rimming her eyes.
“Which one?” Lailoken asks, bringing my attention back to him.
Aelia frowns. “Which what, weirdo?”
I consider warning her away from insulting the powerful man but decide it’s useless. I’m getting annoyed in a grand way myself.
“Which one”—the wise man’s brow goes up—“will feed the princess?”
NINETEEN
FAELAN
He wants us to feed Sage? He knows it’s not safe to feed a demi before she’s learned to control her powers—definitely not a demi who manifests fire.
In normal circumstances, it would be a deadly plan, but with Sage being a corpse, I’m not sure what it means. She would have to link in to her prey; she’d have to initiate the connection to pull life. Aelia and I can’t just pour our energy over her.
The wise man appears to be considering the two of us, like he’s trying to decide whom to toss overboard. “The druid would work, I think,” he finally says. “If she’s gobbled up in a blink, it won’t be much trouble. Useless any day of the week.” He shrugs.
“What a gentleman,” Aelia says.
I’m dead either way because Marius is going to kill me if I bring back a corpse. “I’ll do it,” I say. Obviously, it’s going to be me. I would never put my leader’s daughter in harm’s way, even though, at this stage in the death, it would be less dangerous.
Gods, it’s been more than an hour since Kieran sliced her open and bled her dry.
Aelia looks nervous but she scoots back, opening up room for me to lie beside the demi’s body. I pull off my torque to allow myself to be as open as possible, then I slide off my shirt before settling in the clover. “It’s fine, Lia,” I say. “It’s worth a shot.”
She just shakes her head, biting her lip.
“Ah, good, good, Mr. Winter,” Lailoken says, standing and moving to the table, plucking up one of the bottles. “A little pinch of devil’s bane and thornblood.” He pulls out the cork and sprinkles black dust over my chest. “This should spark the flame.” He smiles down on me like I’m a loaf of bread he’s about to toss in the oven. He motions to Sage. “Now take her hand and place it on your chest.”
“Thornblood will make the connection too strong,” Aelia says, sounding worried now. “Shouldn’t we at least find some wolfsbane for protection? I can form a light ring with it.”
Lailoken scoffs. “Foolishness. Nothing counters thornblood except mapleweed. Typical druid.”
“Whatever, old fart, if you get my friend killed, I’ll turn you into a toad.”
“Unless I make you warty and green first.” Lailoken grins wickedly.
I reach over and pick up Sage’s limp wrist. “Let’s just get it over with.” I place her arm across my chest, pressing her palm down on my sternum with my other hand.
My pulse speeds up, but I brush away the thought of what I’m doing. I don’t think about the danger or the possible uselessness of this whole thing. Because what if nothing happens? Or what if something does? Either way, I’m royally bolloxed.
The chill of Sage’s skin is striking, and I have to focus on not feeling it, not feeling her death, as I turn my head to look at her and say the usual invitation, wondering if she can even hear me. “You may take from me if you need to.”
Everything is still, silent. Even Lailoken’s fingers tapping on the table fade into the background.
“Demi,” I say, “don’t be afraid, take what you need.” I add in a whisper, “It’s okay, Sage.”
Something pricks the center of my chest, shocking me, and I hiss in a breath.
Did she just pull from me? She must have, she—
Pain shoots again, a needle jabbing my skin under her palm. A slight burn fills the spot before spreading out and coating my torso with a hum of warmth.
It’s her. She’s alive. My relief is palpable, a lifting of the million pounds that landed on my back the second I walked into that alley tonight.
I close my eyes and make myself breathe through the growing sting, beginning to let my skin receive the life energy under my back and arms, everywhere I’m touching green.
“It’s working,” I hear Aelia say somewhere in the distance. “Her wounds are healing. She’s going to be okay . . .”
Every part of me is suddenly focused on the touch of a hand on my skin as Sage’s palm begins to twitch. Her fingers flex against me. Then they slide up my chest, slowly, painfully. I clench my teeth against the sting replacing her touch.
Her body shifts closer
. The heat spreads, the stinging becoming a fever that fills my skin, sinking deep in my lungs, sending my heart racing. My pulse thunders in my head until it’s all I hear. It pounds and aches in my skull, and the searing fire growing in me seems to echo each beat in my chest. I can’t see, can’t breathe.
I only feel. Her body at my side, pressing in now, the pain fading into the background.
The spice of her energy fills my nose, and her hand plays at my neck, thumb sliding over my jaw as she turns my face to hers. Her sweet breath hits my cheek, and the rhythm in my chest, the rhythm of my heart, merges with the rhythm of her lungs.
My muscles weaken, my skin blazes, and something inside my mind slips, something in my soul breaks loose, and everything in me wants her lips on mine.
I move to find her, turning my body to match hers. My hands catch her waist, and I slide my palm up her side, smelling blood, smelling her heat. I grip the back of her dress in my fist and pull her into my arms, my mouth tingling to feel her skin, her lips and mine nearly touching as my own energy wraps around us, hers tugging on it, taking it inside herself. And the only thing in my head is how desperately I want to kiss her, and kiss her, and—
I’m yanked back and smacked with a chilled hand. “Snap out of it!” Aelia says. No, she’s not cold, she’s just not as warm as Sage, she’s—
“Sage!” I croak out, opening my clouded eyes, trying to sit up, trying to find her. “Is she all right?” My wits click back into place and I shake my head, clearing it of the muddy energy.
“What were you thinking?”
I can’t see right. Sage is a blur beside me. “Answer me!”
“She’s fine, dumbass. You, however, look like crap.”
“I’m okay,” I say, mostly to reassure myself. “But I need food.”
A heavy blanket is tossed over me. The smell of earth and grass fills my nose as the soothing energy of life filters through my skin. I blink back the burning pain, and my eyes start working again. I lift a hand to touch my chest, feeling the seared skin as it unwinds and smooths out once more, the life around me healing it, and I realize that the blanket is made of growing things, dirt in the weaving having grown emerald sprouts. Sprouts that are slowly curling in on themselves and dying.
“Holy Dagda, Faelan,” Aelia says. She’s tucking the blanket around my lap. “You are such a male—you almost sucked face with her! Seriously. She could’ve melted you to the bone.”
“I’m fine,” I say again.
“Yes, yes,” Lailoken says with a laugh. “Fine indeed, young buck.”
“Oh gods, this is nuts,” Aelia says. “You could’ve been killed.”
“Mr. Winter can contain the flame just fine,” Lailoken says. “It’s been written that way from the beginning. Hasn’t it, Mr. Winter?”
“Stop calling him that!” Aelia growls.
A groan comes from the demi beside me, and we all focus on her again. She grips her head like she’s in pain.
“We need to get her back to the Cottages as soon as possible,” I say.
“You should feed more first,” Aelia says, eyeing me. “While we’re here in the wood.”
The wise man starts clanging his bottles, looking for something. “Pishposh, the boy is stone. His bones are solid as iron.”
“I’m grand, Aelia,” I say. And surprisingly it’s true—or at least mostly true. I’m not hurt or drained as much as I should be. “I can rest later, but we need to get the demi to where she can be guarded better.” I’m relieved Sage is with us, relieved that she’s back, but I want to keep it that way.
She’s gone silent, curled in the fetal position on the dead clover where we were just lying side by side. Her chest gently rises and falls; the skin at her neck is scarred a little from Kieran’s stupidity. But her cheeks are rosy, and she’s peaceful.
My gut tightens, thinking of her body pressed against mine. It was all of ten seconds, but there was something about the moment—something I don’t want to think about—that I can’t have in my life. I clear my throat and reach for my torque, then my shirt, pulling them back on, trying to distract myself. I need to stay focused.
“But!” the wise man says. “You will bring this flame back to me soon.” He sounds surprisingly normal. And while he was irritated by Sage’s presence when we first got here, he now seems to be looking at her with a strangely protective eye. I wonder what’s changed. He picks up one of the bottles and holds it out to me, shaking it in my face. “Give her this in her tea tomorrow morning, yes, yes, and don’t leave her alone when she sleeps. Be ever so very careful with her. It’s what you’ve been called to. And as we know, flames need tending always, to keep them from being snuffed out—or devouring the fields.” He laughs like he finds himself hilarious.
I take the bottle from him and slip it into my pants pocket. “Thank you for your help, sir. Truly.” I squat down beside the sleeping demi and pick her up, cradling her in my arms again as I rise. She actually feels heavier. Or maybe I’m just more drained than I thought.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Aelia asks me.
“Let’s go.” I head for the door, shifting Sage in my arms. She’s definitely heavier, and her arm feels less bony against my chest.
Lailoken opens the door with a wave of his hand. “Toodle-oo!”
As Aelia and I step back out into the clearing, the door slams behind us.
TWENTY
SAGE
Something moves against my arm. My mind surfaces from sleep in a rush, awareness filtering in. The feel of soft pillows under me, the smell of soil, of damp green things—it’s soothing and lovely.
I open my heavy eyelids, but everything is blurry. I can’t see right. Am I still in the alley? No, it smelled like soot and smog there, and nothing was comfortable.
Memories appear like cloudy puzzle pieces: the creatures slinking from the puddles, the dark-haired guy, he . . . he—cut my neck!
I sit up in a rush, hand going to my neck where the strange raven guy was gripping me. Am I in a forest? I’m surrounded by trees. And under my fingertips there’s a thin bumpy line of skin on my neck—a scar?
Faelan told me about a dark prince, and I laughed, I thought it was so funny, that Faelan was crazy, or I was crazy, someone had to be crazy, because guys called the Dark Prince are only in books and movies that nerds like Ziggy talk about. They’re vampires or wizards, and that stuff is . . . well, it’s totally real apparently, so I’m just—holy shit, how can I be okay after what that raven guy did? My blood was on his face. I died! I know I did, I remember—
Something moves beside me again, stopping my tirade of thoughts.
I turn and blink at a shirtless Faelan, who’s lying next to me, his eyes beginning to open. His body is only a foot away. He’s so . . . wow. I must’ve been too panicked yesterday to fully take in all those muscles. And that tan. And, oh my, he has a lot of scars on his chest . . .
He props himself on his elbows, brow furrowed in concern. “Is something wrong?”
I open my mouth, but no words manage to come out. Why am I in bed with him? I look around and realize we’re not in a forest; we’re in his room. I’m in that nest thing where he was naked and snuggly with Aelia’s friend. How did I get here, and why isn’t he wearing a shirt?
I look down at myself, relieved to see I’m wearing a tank top and pajama shorts. But how did I get into them? “Where’s my dress?” I ask stupidly. I should be asking how I’m alive. I should be asking how I got from the alley to here.
He sits up all the way and moves closer. “Your dress had too much blood on it. I had to toss it in the bin.”
“Blood?” I know what he means, but my mind is having trouble processing. I was covered in blood. But I’m still alive.
“Do you remember anything that happened?” He studies me.
His intense green eyes make me shift farther away. Grass tickles my palm as I grip the side of the nest. I shake my head. “I remember a guy—or a raven—he was a raven that tu
rned into a guy? I think he tried to kill me, but . . .” I touch my neck again. “I don’t understand what happened.”
Faelan’s gaze follows my fingers. “You were hurt. I’m sorry about the scarring. The wound was open too long for it to heal properly.”
“How am I not dead right now?” Because I know beyond a doubt I should be. But I don’t even have stitches or bandages. Just a scar?
“As a demi, your spirit anchors to your flesh more firmly than a human’s does. Thankfully, despite your unpredictable nature, your spirit held even after your body gave out, longer than normal. Hopefully, you won’t be dying for a dozen centuries or more.”
I bark out a laugh. And another. But then my throat clogs and tears spring into my eyes.
“You think I’m joking?” he asks.
“I think this whole thing is insane,” I say, my voice cracking. I know I’m about to cry so I turn and scramble over the side of the nest, tumbling into the ferns, attempting to get farther away. I’m going to live for centuries? Me. How does a person let that sink in?
“Whoa, woman, where ya going?”
He jumps down after me, but I back up, hands held out to warn him off. I focus on steadying myself, realizing my legs are weak. The trees around me spin a little.
“You’re okay,” he says. “There’s nothing to get in a tizzy about.”
I shake my head and make myself breathe through the tangle of emotions welling up. “A tizzy? You just keep throwing stuff at me like I know how to swallow it all. This circus is going to have me drooling into my soup and sipping tea with the Mad Hatter in the hydrangeas.” When he just frowns, I add, “You’re making me nuts!”
He studies me cautiously for a few seconds before he finally says, “Okay, look. We’re good to get started on the training, so let’s begin today, going through some preliminary information. You can collect yourself in your room, and then in an hour or so we’ll meet back in the greenhouse to begin. You’ll get clarity. That’s what you’re looking for, right?”
I nod and sniff, pretending I don’t have tears on my cheeks. I’m not even sure why I’m crying. It’s so dumb. And it never does any good, anyway.
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