Fire and Bone

by Rachel A. Marks

  “She was Bonded to the king for several hundred years.”

  “Seriously? The scrolls only went to the first year in her slave marriage.”

  “Some believe they were madly in love.”

  “And then she killed him? That’s even worse.” She stands and shuffles over to the kitchen, then sets her cup down. “I want to sympathize with her, you know. It feels like I’m condemning myself when I judge her, like I could turn into a psychopathic murderer myself.”

  “I doubt that.” But then I remember the Queen Lily I knew as a boy, how gentle she was, how kind to me. It was impossible to believe she was capable of what she did too.

  “You barely know me,” she says, walking over to her bedroom door. “But we’ll worry about Homicidal Sage after I’m clean and coffeed. You check with Aelia about the dream thing—God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

  She slips into the other room, and I sit for a minute, listening to the shower turn on, staring at the scroll, half rolled out on the coffee table. I lean over to see what part she was reading when she fell asleep. My pulse picks up, and a vision of Kieran and Sage under the tree last night pops into my head as I read:

  And so eventually she succumbed to him. In the season of Samhain, the settling began. It wasn’t clear what broke her, but what was clear was that she had given in fully. And once her power and his began to mingle within their Bond, the hope we had for our salvation instead became our doom.

  THIRTY-ONE

  SAGE

  “Daddy won’t like this, Faelan,” Aelia says, folding her arms across her chest. “A dream spell can totally backfire. She could get stuck in there.”

  At first I wasn’t really on board with this idea of Faelan’s—I don’t trust Aelia and don’t want her help with anything. But then I realized I was being stubborn. If I can get this Kieran weirdness off the table, then all I have to think about is learning to control my fire. And that’ll free me from this mental prison I’ve suddenly found myself in. Whatever Aelia does or doesn’t do to me in the meantime won’t matter anymore. I only have ten more days until the Emergence; I’m going to use every second of it to get free of this world—and learn how to live free without endangering myself or anyone else—before the hammer falls.

  “In spite of your distracting obsession with fashion, Aelia,” Faelan says, “you’re an excellent druid. Even better than your sisters. I know you can do this and make it work.”

  Her features soften. “You’re just bribing me with flattery.”

  “He is,” I say, my voice tired. “But we need your help. I’ll be honest, I don’t like you, and I don’t believe in you one bit. So, how ’bout you prove me wrong.”

  Faelan closes his eyes, a pained look on his face.

  But Aelia straightens and gives me a nod, her teal eyes sparkling. “Challenge accepted, bitch.”

  By late afternoon they have me lying down in Faelan’s nest while Aelia makes her potion in his kitchenette. The air smells like salad dressing and snappy greens.

  Aelia seems to be thriving on being in charge. She’s been ordering Faelan around for the last half hour, telling him what ingredients she needs, reading out loud from her spellbook in some other language.

  “So,” Aelia says loudly from the kitchen, “your part is pretty self-explanatory, Sage. You drink the potion and go to sleep. The important thing will be making sure your dreamworld is kept partially in the here and now so you don’t float away and turn into Rapunzel.”

  “You’re worried I’ll grow super-long hair?” I ask, pretty sure that’s not the faerie tale she’s thinking of.

  “I meant the sleeping one,” she says, annoyed.

  “That’s Sleeping Beauty,” I say dryly, then mutter, “Really not instilling confidence.”

  She just humphs and continues with whatever she’s doing.

  “You’re not going to let that happen,” Faelan says from somewhere down below, “are you, Aelia?”

  “Nope,” she says. “Because we’re going to use a tether.”

  “You’re planning on tying me to the bed now?” I ask.

  “Nope.” Her tone grows a mischievous edge. “I’m going to link your consciousness to Faelan’s.”

  The snark evaporates from my tongue. I sit up, and Faelan and I say in unison, “What?”

  I glance over at him from my perch in the nest. He’s leaning on a tree branch near the kitchenette. He doesn’t appear as worried as I feel. “What’s that even mean?” I ask.

  “It means I’ll go into the dream with you,” Faelan says, his voice tense. He doesn’t look at me. “But I’ll only be observing, so I can pull you out if it gets too deep.”

  The idea of Faelan joining me in a dream sends a wave of vulnerability through me. What if I dream about him? Or worse, Kieran?

  Heat fills my cheeks. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “It’ll be fun!” Aelia says. It’s like she can tell there’s a possibility it’ll all end in my personal humiliation.

  “Can’t I just go in without a tether or whatever?”

  “Nope,” Aelia says, sounding joyous.

  Faelan stays quiet, maybe sensing my unease, knowing full well why I’m not thrilled with him joining me in dreamland.

  “I’m almost ready,” Aelia announces. “Get your sexy butt up there, Faelan. The tether has to touch the subject during the spell.”

  He runs a hand through his hair, pausing before moving to comply. My heart pounds as he climbs up and over the edge. After he settles in to lie beside me, we both just stare up at the vines and branches that coat the ceiling. He clears his throat and shifts a little so his hip isn’t brushing mine. “Sorry,” he mutters.

  “This is a bad idea,” I whisper.

  “I know.”

  “All cozy up there?” Aelia asks from below.

  “So why are we doing it?” I ask through my teeth.

  “You already decided we need to dig deeper—this is the best way I can see to do it,” he says. “I’m your protector; it’s my task to keep you from being lost. It might show us something, it might not, but I think it’s worth a shot. It’s your call, though, since this is your mind we’ll be riffling through.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, biting back a grumble. He’s right, yet again. Maybe we won’t see anything helpful, but it’s worth it if we can. And a little embarrassment with Faelan isn’t going to kill me. It’s not as if this thing I feel between us can ever really go anywhere.

  I ignore the pang in my chest when the thought comes. Because it sucks, but it’s true. This can’t go anywhere, whatever it is or isn’t. No matter how attracted I am to him. Nothing in my world lasts. And I really don’t want him to be another item on my long list of broken things.

  Aelia appears over the edge of the nest, bowl in her hand. She sets it down beside me, the red liquid sloshing. “Three big gulps each, alternating, don’t skimp.” She disappears over the side again.

  Faelan and I sit up, looking down at the bowl.

  “Once I lock in,” Aelia says, “I won’t feel what you guys feel, but I should see glimpses of imagery if it works right. You can explain anything I miss when you reemerge—oh, and you should remember the dream really clearly once you’re conscious again. I’m going to begin the chanting for the casting as soon as you each take your first drink. So tell me when.”

  I pick up the bowl, cradling it in both hands. My pulse thunders in my head, my nerves raw. All I want is to get away from this crazy. But it looks like the only way to do that is to walk right through it.

  “Bottoms up,” I mumble. And I take the first big swig.

  The bitter taste of something like raw beets and the tang of vinegar mingle in my mouth. My stomach rises, but I manage to swallow it all. I gag as I pass the bowl over.

  Faelan takes his drink and Aelia starts her chanting. We pass it back and forth, and by the third gulp things are becoming a green blur, the nest tipping under me, my heartbeat a slow whooshing in my head. I
lie back. And the warmth of Faelan settles in beside me.

  We turn to face each other, and his slow breath brushes my face. We blink in unison for a few seconds, sinking into the moment.

  My eyes slide closed, his fingers gliding down my arm to settle on my wrist. As everything goes still.

  And we drift into sleep.

  Three days have passed, and the king still hasn’t woken from hibernation. His raven, Bran, perches on the headboard, and his wolf is curled at the foot of the bed, both guarding their master. I sit close by, either beside the king’s bed or near the fire, warring with myself, seeing my chance to run. But for some unfathomable reason, I’m unable to make myself leave his side as he sleeps.

  His shade, Eric, a large Norseman who came in with the first invasions and died in battle, stays with me at all times, never leaving me alone with his master. He insists that the king hasn’t ever been down this long after a healing, but he also mentioned that the king’s feedings have decreased these last three months, so perhaps he’s just weakened.

  “Why has the king cut back?” I ask.

  Eric merely looks at me.

  “Shouldn’t he have been paired with a shade for hibernation then?” I ask, a helplessness weaving through me. I’m not sure how the children of the Morrígan pair for hibernation, but my guess is it’s bloody. I can’t think how else he’ll rejuvenate if he’s alone and hungry, though.

  Eric shifts his feet, looking uncomfortable.

  “Speak, fool!” I bark.

  The raven echoes my annoyance with a screech.

  Eric clears his throat. “He wouldn’t wish for me to speak of it with you, mistress.”

  “So you’ll watch him sleep as eternity passes us by? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “My king is trying to please you,” he says, as if he’s accusing me of something. “His desire for you consumes him. He starves himself, believing he can learn to control his hunger, his power, more effectively. So that when you become his in truth, he won’t feed from you or harm you in any way.”

  My pulse quickens. “What?”

  I look over to the king, his hands folded over his chest, skin gray, lips violet, as if he were carved from solid death. He’s denying himself so that he won’t accidentally harm me? The idea doesn’t fit with what I know of him, of his cruelty. It doesn’t match the monster I faced during the Bonding ceremony.

  “He wishes to please you,” Eric says again.

  “Well, he shouldn’t,” I mutter, rising to my feet and walking over to the hearth. I pull a pinch of lavender from the pouch tied to my skirts and toss it into the flames. It sizzles for a moment, the smoke lightening. “Mother Goddess, hear me,” I say to the flames. “My Bonded sleeps and cannot be woken. Please give me guidance. How can I help him?”

  The logs shift and sizzle immediately, as if my mother knows the urgency I feel. But when the words come, my heart sinks. Surrender . . . the flames whisper again, drawing out the sound with a hiss. The fire born within you shall bring rebirth. Surrender, child. Do not delay.

  I turn away, turmoil brewing in my gut. I hardly know what that means now. How can I surrender to a force that’s asleep?

  “What did she answer?” Eric asks.

  “Nothing,” I say. “She said nothing.” I walk away from the hearth and return to the bedside. “I need you to send a message. I need you to call for the monk Lailoken to attend me. Tell him his ward is in need of him.”

  Eric gives me a frustrated look, but then he reluctantly bows his head, saying, “If I must, mistress.” He slips out of the room, leaving me alone for the first time in days.

  I stare down at my king and wonder what the mother goddess could possibly want from me. To surrender to this beast? Truly? The image of him placing his hand on Fionn’s breast to heal him surfaces again. It’s the reason he’s in this bed, silent. Helpless. He did that to himself to save a foolish girl’s bird.

  Lailoken arrives at the keep as evening falls. Eric begrudgingly lets me know of his presence in the gallery, but then stands by the door, resuming his position of guard.

  “Bring him up,” I say.

  He looks back and forth between his master lying in the bed and me, as if the king could give an order for him to stop listening to me.

  “Please, Eric,” I add, attempting to put strength behind the words. I’m tired from lack of sleep, weakened from lack of food. I haven’t truly fed for months. I’m practically human right now. Eric could deny me and have me locked in my rooms if he wanted. Of the two of us, he’s the stronger at this point.

  “He is a Christian monk,” Eric says, bitterness on his tongue. He flexes his wide shoulders as if to intimidate me. “He’d see me damned to his hell.”

  “He understands the old ways and respects the goddess.”

  “Both of them?”

  “Are we going to debate religion or seek help where it can be found?”

  He seems to consider and then miraculously mutters, “Very well, mistress,” turning to walk out. He returns with Lailoken in his grasp. The usually tidy old man is tousled from head to toe like he’s been searched for weapons. His dark woolen robes are torn at the hem, and his cross is missing from his belt. There is a smudge of blood on his chin, his lip swelling.

  Eric drags him forward and tosses him to the floor in a heap before the hearth.

  I rush to the monk’s side, praying none of his bones were broken. “What have you done?” I snap at Eric. I help Lailoken into my chair and turn on the shade. “You dare to touch my watcher? I should have you tossed in the dungeon. Foolish leech!”

  Eric resumes his place as guard and stares at me, daring me to act.

  Lailoken waves a hand. “It’s all very well, Lily.” He dabs his lip with his sleeve. “I’m still in one piece. No harm done.”

  “You’re bleeding,” I say, still glaring a hole through Eric. The shade scowls right back.

  “It’s nothing,” Lailoken says. He takes my hand, patting it between his. “Now, tell my why you’ve called me here.”

  I reluctantly pull my gaze from the Norseman and focus on my friend. I kneel in front of him and study the cut on his lip, anger boiling up. I needed an ally and he came. Even though he likely knew this would be the consequence. I was a fool to think he’d be treated well by the king’s men. There’s a reason he stays in the caves.

  He makes a small sound of pain as he shifts to face the bed. “Is your king ill? What’s happened, child?”

  “He brought Fionn’s spirit back, and this is the result. Is he being punished? What can I do?”

  Lailoken frowns and leans forward, studying the still form of my Bonded. Ice crystals are beginning to grow slowly around the king’s mouth and at his temples now.

  “Have you called on your mother?” Lailoken asks.

  I nod.

  “Well?”

  “She said the same as before.” I glance at Eric.

  Lailoken furrows his brow, concern flickering over his features. “She did, did she?”

  “Yes, but it’s impossible now . . . Why do you look so glum? I don’t understand.”

  “It seems obvious to me, child.”

  “What?”

  He scoots closer, whispering, “She wishes for you to allow him to feed.”

  My pulse skips. “On me?”

  He gives me a dubious look.

  I rise to my feet. “I can’t. I won’t.” Panic fills me. I thought she wanted me to allow him into my bed, not my spirit. “This whole thing is madness.”

  He releases a tired sigh. “I will pray, then.”

  Eric steps forward. “What is all this whispering? What goes on?”

  “Nothing,” I say. How can I let the king feed from me? He could consume me altogether, leave nothing.

  Of course, in that case, I’d finally be free.

  I look back to his still form. I am grateful for what he did, how he healed my Fionn. But it doesn’t change what he is, what his power could do to me. My choice appears
to be to let him languish or to sacrifice myself. My inclination leans toward the former. What good will it do anyone to have both high royal children of the two great goddesses become useless?

  But something deep inside won’t allow me to just let this go. The same force that has kept me at his bedside these last three nights is tugging at me, urging me to give in. It draws me to him. It makes me yearn for the most terrifying things.

  “You are considering,” Lailoken says, reading me as he always does.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think your mother will protect you, child,” he says.

  “What?” Eric asks. “What are you considering?”

  I meet his eyes. “I wonder if I should attempt to feed myself to him.”

  Eric’s body stiffens. “You would do such a thing?”

  “I wouldn’t want him to suffer,” I say, surprised that I mean it. “I would do what I can.” And I am trying to be obedient. I am. I don’t wish to hurt anyone else. Not again. “Sitting here isn’t doing any good.”

  “He wouldn’t wish for you to be harmed,” Eric says, but he watches his master with concern, like he’s considering helping me, anyway. He doesn’t care for me, but he does care about the king.

  I decide to play that to my advantage. “We’ll tell him that I forced you. Your king won’t have to know you helped me.”

  Eric studies the stone floor, his brow creased in concern. But then he nods. “What do you need?”

  “I need you to ensure my friend is given food and supplies, then safely escort him back to his cave,” I say. “You’ll leave me here alone with the king and not return until one of us walks through that door.”

  “How do I know you’re not planning to feed from him yourself and sap him further?” he asks.

  I hold his gaze, hoping he’ll see the truth in my eyes. “Because I’d rather die than feed from this beast.”

  He blinks like I struck him, but he gives another nod, then waves Lailoken forward. “Come, monk. I’ll escort you myself. No harm will come to you.”

  Lailoken takes my hand in his again, gripping me tight. “I fear for you, daughter.”