Fire and Bone

by Rachel A. Marks

  He stays silent, rolling close, kissing my lips delicately. His hair brushes at my cheek, his fingers caressing my jaw.

  I remain still, unsure, searching his features as he moves away.

  So many questions are gathered in my head, too many doubts, fears.

  I barely know what to feel.

  “My sun,” he whispers, kissing the tip of my nose, “my fire. Don’t be afraid.”

  “You’re well?” I ask, thinking of my desperation to bring him back only a few hours ago and how I took from him. How I haven’t taken for so long, and never from someone so full of rich power.

  “I am well.” His thumb slides over my collarbone. “But I hunger for more.” His eyes meet mine. “Do you?”

  The memory of his icy energy filling me, coating my insides as we made love, as I fed, sends a shiver through me. Of course I wish for more. My skin aches with longing at the thought. But I shake my head, needing control right now. Needing to understand what’s happened.

  My whole world shifted in a moment. I need my feet under me again to make sense of it all.

  “I would have a bath,” I say, sitting up. “And perhaps some quail eggs.” I move to the edge of the bed, but his fingers trap my wrist, stopping me.

  “Why do you run, my love?” he asks. “Am I still so repulsive to you?”

  “I wish to be alone,” I say, trying to keep the tremble from my voice.

  He releases my wrist, and a traitorous part of me aches with the loss.

  But I shove it aside and gather my clothes, clutching them to my chest as I slip from the room.

  THIRTY-SIX

  SAGE

  I open my eyes to an unfamiliar world. Then the sound of the waterfall drifts into the room, and I realize this is reality. I rise slowly, uneasy, an odd feeling of disassociation hovering over me. The sensation of the king’s grip on my wrist still lingers, the conflict inside, wanting something I despise. But it was just a dream.

  I touch the bedspread, making sure the soft yellow cotton is real.

  Sunlight fills the room. I wonder what time it is.

  I slide from bed, my muscles protesting as I walk into the front room. The clock on the microwave says it’s ten. Faelan should’ve come to get me by now. But I’m not complaining. I make myself some breakfast, oatmeal and a banana, and then wander into the living room and sit on the couch. I eat the warm oats and stare down at the glass owl next to the black envelope on the coffee table.

  I know Kieran isn’t the king, and I know I’m not Lily, but all of this is seriously messing with my head. I have this tangle of emotions coiling in me, and I have no idea what to do with it. Since I’m not going to run, I’ll have to walk right into it and hope I survive.

  A knock sounds on the door.

  “Come in,” I say, setting the oatmeal down. I snatch up the owl and hide it in the pocket of my pajama pants.

  Why did I just do that?

  Before I can take it back out, Faelan comes in. He studies me as he steps into the living room. “How did you sleep?”

  “Fine.”

  He hesitates, but then asks, “Dreams?”

  I shrug. I don’t want to talk about it with him, not right now.

  He takes the hint and moves to the couch, looking down at the coffee table. He picks up the smaller scroll, turning it in his hand. “I asked Aelia to help us with this spell after lunch. We can do some training until then.”

  I keep quiet, unsure how to feel, and take my oatmeal bowl into the kitchen.

  “Also,” he says, his voice hesitant, “there’s a gathering tonight for the House of Morrígan that you were invited to.”

  I set the bowl in the sink with a clang. “Are you kidding? No way.”

  “You know that I don’t want you to be around Kieran, but it would be good for you to mingle with others, test your will. Marius would want you to go.”

  “Which I couldn’t care less about.”

  He nods, not arguing. “So, are you up for practice?”

  All I want to do is sit around in my pajamas and disappear into a book, pretending there’s nothing going on with me. As if I didn’t feel like I barely know where I belong, or who I am right now.

  “Sure,” I say. “Just give me a second.”

  “Wear a bathing suit.”

  I go into my room and shut the door. As soon as it clicks behind me, I pull the owl from my pocket. My thumb slides over the smooth surface and my head aches.

  I move to the bed and slip it under my pillow. Then I go to get dressed.

  Practice, as he calls it, turns out to be more like swim training. First he makes me do a million laps. Then he has me tread water as he yells from the edge of the pool, reciting the names of the Houses and their leaders, like I don’t already know.

  I realize that my knowledge has increased, and I wonder if it’s because of the dreams. I don’t say that, though. I let him talk and repeat things back to him, until he finally lets me stand in the shallow end.

  “Why don’t you have to sweat?” I ask, trying to catch my breath.

  “I’m the boss.” He smirks. “I tell, you do.”

  “Is that right?” I walk to the edge of the pool, my hands on my hips. I notice him glance at my body, but then his eyes quickly shift to my nose. “Seems very totalitarian.”

  “Welcome to the Otherworld.”

  Eventually he’s in the water with me, and we’re competing to see how long we can hold our breath. But then he surprises me, dragging me down to the deep end and showing me how he breathes underwater. Cheater. I marvel as I watch his chest rise and fall, the pool water rushing in and out of his lungs like it’s nothing, but I have to swim to the surface, my own lungs aching.

  “The best way to learn is by force,” he says. “It’s not natural the first time.”

  “News flash.” I cough as we move to sit on the steps. “It’s never natural.”

  “I could help you,” he says, like he thinks I might want to try. He settles in next to me.

  “Uh, no.” I release a nervous laugh.

  “One of my brother’s concubines taught me when I was fourteen,” he says, and I find myself wondering if she taught him other things too. But I’m not sure why that matters.

  “What was her name?” I find myself asking. I know nothing about him. I feel the need to fill in the blanks.

  “Genevieve,” he says, recalling easily. The memory makes his gaze go distant with what looks like sadness. “She was kind to me when I first came into my brothers’ House. Things were difficult for me.”

  I study his profile, fascinated by his sudden openness. “Why?”

  He shakes his head, wiping water from his face. “I didn’t . . . fit. I was very young. And I missed my mother terribly.”

  I wait as he works through something, and I know. “She died?”

  He nods. And his eyes meet mine. “The river took her,” he whispers.

  A sharp pain pierces my throat. I start to reach out to him, to put my hand on his arm, but I stop myself.

  He slowly shifts to face me, leaning closer like he’s going to whisper a secret. My heart thunders in my chest, as I wonder what he’s going to say.

  The sound of approaching footsteps breaks into the odd moment, and I find myself exhaling deeply.

  Aelia’s voice comes down the pathway from the house. “Do you guys want to do the spell now?” she calls.

  Faelan moves away, putting a few feet between us as she comes through the trees.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  FAELAN

  Aelia gets everything set up in the living room in the main house for the new spell. The freshly mopped marble floor glistens. She had the servants rearrange the couches to make more space and created her circle on the floor out of a mixture of salt and chalk dust, rose petals sprinkled around the rim for an extra guard. One of the side tables is set up as an altar, and she’s arranged bird bones and marlstones in a lunar pattern for the gravity of the spell to hold, all around a rye candle
to center the energy more effectively.

  Aelia may be a flake in most things, but in her magic a spark of genius shines through.

  She has the small scroll laid out on the couch, the tiny Gaelic script covering every inch of the vellum. She refers to it, and then motions to me. “You can’t be in the area of the spell, Faelan. Your energy will muck with the weaving. Go stand over there.” She points to the French doors near the kitchen.

  I do as she says, standing in a spot where I can still watch everything that happens in case something goes wrong.

  Aelia arranges Sage at the center of the circle and asks her to focus on the memories, to think of the last remnant of what she saw and hold it in her mind. She reads over the scroll before moving to light the candle.

  She takes a match out of the box. “Close your eyes and imagine the last moment where you experienced a memory,” she says to Sage. “Be a part of it again, and repeat what I say in your head.”

  Sage closes her eyes and takes in a shaking breath. Her brow pinches like she’s in pain.

  “Okay, I’ll begin.” Aelia strikes the match, flame flaring to life. She whispers in Gaelic: “This bond must tear. All threads snapped, frayed, severed, upon the transfer of light. Let the weaving come undone once this claiming is complete.” She lowers the match to the candle.

  “Wait!” Sage says, her voice full of fear.

  Aelia moves the match away from the wick. “What? What’s wrong?”

  Sage shakes her head. “I can’t do this.”

  I step forward. “What are you saying?”

  “I can’t do this.” She turns to me, looking lost. “I don’t know what I’m feeling. I just know this is wrong. I can’t.”

  Aelia waves the match in the air to put it out and turns to me. “I think the memories have already threaded too deep.”

  No, that can’t be right. “It’s too soon for her to be that far gone.”

  “She’s clearly protecting them,” Aelia says, motioning to Sage.

  “No, she’s not,” I snap.

  Sage steps from the circle. “Yes, I am. And don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

  I run a hand through my hair, trying to figure out what’s going on. Yesterday all she wanted was to get away from this. “But, Sage, you can’t be serious—”

  “I can, Faelan. And I am.”

  “She sure seems serious,” Aelia adds, not being helpful at all.

  “You’re getting too wrapped up in it,” I say, urgency filling me. “You’re just confused—the memories can trick you. They merge emotions and personalities. It’s very dangerous.”

  “No kidding,” she says. “As if I don’t know that.”

  “Why not be free of them then?” I ask.

  She folds her arms across her chest. “Look, I get how recalling all these vivid memories, or whatever, could screw with my head. That’s become very clear to me. But there’s something about what’s happening that feels right. It’s a part of me—I can’t explain it.” She starts to pace, the slap of her flip-flops the only sound in the room. Aelia and I watch her for several seconds until she finally continues. “I need to know everything. I can’t reject information. I’m a part of this story.”

  “She’s making sense,” Aelia says.

  But to me it sounds like Kieran’s manipulation is finally sinking in, and the blood memories are taking hold. This can only go one way if she lets it in and allows it to become a part of her. Aelia has no idea the damage this could do to our House if Sage ends up turning to the Morrígan.

  I meet her pleading gaze, knowing she’s completely wrong in her thinking. But how do I convince her? Until this moment, I’ve never wished to be like my brothers, but I could use a little of Finbar’s conniving spirit right now.

  As it is, I can only hold in my fury and speak the truth.

  “It’s a mistake not to do the spell,” I say. “You’re wrong, Sage.”

  She just shakes her head, determined.

  Tension looms in the air as Aelia cleans things up. Sage helps her, believing she’s right in her decision not to do the spell. I move the couches back, then walk out, having said my piece. Once I’m back at my cottage, I hesitate at the door, wondering if I should even stay here right now—my emotions are far too raw. I’m more angry than I’ve been in a long time. I’m going to do something foolish if I leave, though. And I can’t abandon her.

  I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that I don’t hear her come up behind me until she says, “I need to stop running, Faelan. From everything.”

  I release a breath and rub my face. Then I turn to her.

  She’s a few feet away, cautious. “I’m tired of being afraid of everything,” she says, her voice wavering. “My whole life, I’ve always thought I was so tough, but really I’m a coward. I only look for an out, a way to escape. I never face anything.” Her eyes glisten in the sunlight. “I need to face this.”

  I want to shake her. She’s so far from a coward, she has no idea.

  “Don’t be angry with me,” she says.

  “I’m not sure I can watch you fall, Sage,” I whisper, my voice nearly breaking.

  She blinks.

  I step closer, reaching out to brush a copper strand of hair from her eyes. “I care about you.” I let the words sink in, into me, into her. And then I say, “Whatever you choose, promise me you’ll be careful.”

  She nods, tears filling her eyes.

  I turn away and shut myself in my cottage.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  SAGE

  My mind races back and forth, back and forth, trying to figure out what happened when Aelia was doing that spell. As soon as she started speaking in the strange language, I couldn’t get out of that circle fast enough.

  Okay, if I’m being honest with myself, from the second Marius handed me the scroll, I felt odd about the spell. Still, it was the right thing, the safest thing. And I wanted to be free of it.

  I did.

  But now . . . out of nowhere . . . I’m unsure about pushing these memories away. I think something shifted inside me last night when I held that glass owl. I want to understand what it is.

  Which terrifies me. Because what if Faelan’s right? What if I really am being tricked?

  We still don’t know who put these memories inside me, or why. What if it was Kieran? What if it’s supposed to make me choose something that could destroy me?

  That doesn’t feel true, though.

  All I have to go on right now is my gut. And for the first time in my life, I don’t want to run away. To me, that means something. And if I’m going to chase this down, I just need to go for it. No more hiding. From now on, I walk into the fire—literally—I don’t back away from it.

  Which means that, as much as it pains me, I need to go to that dumb party of Kieran’s tonight. If I’m not going to leave this place, then I need to find out where I belong.

  I leave my cottage and find Aelia in her room. I plop down on her bed, hug one of her narcissistic pillows, and ask if she can help me find something to wear. You’d think I asked her to be my wedding planner for my marriage to Channing Tatum or something, with all the clapping and squealing that bursts forth.

  She drags me into her closet and starts flinging dresses around. “You can’t fall back on your baggy-shirt-grunge-girl theme tonight,” she says. “This is serious if you want to make Kieran sweat.”

  “I don’t want to make Kieran do anything,” I say. Except maybe leave me alone.

  “Oh, come on, the game is half the fun.” She pulls out a dress made of nothing and, fortunately, tosses it aside. “You make him think he has a chance so that when you crush him and choose the House of Brighid, it’s that much more yummy.”

  “I don’t play games, Aelia. I just want to learn as much as I can about this world.”

  “Oh, honey.” She clucks her tongue. “Lesson one: this world is all about the games.”

  No kidding. I’m not up for it yet, though. “Well, for tonight
I’m only going to observe the lunacy.”

  She snorts out a laugh. “You know this party is for you, right?”

  “What?”

  “Kieran is throwing this little soiree for you, girl.” She tosses a dress at me and I catch it.

  I don’t bother to see what it looks like. I’m now second-guessing everything, my determination flittering away. “No, no, no.”

  “Yes, yes, yes.” She tosses shoes at my feet: bright red heels.

  I think I’m going to throw up. “Oh, God.”

  “You better get used to it. You’re a hot commodity.”

  I groan.

  “Don’t worry, you’re going to kill it.” She goes to a drawer and pulls out a long strand of glittering diamonds. “They won’t know what hit ’em.”

  Within an hour, the three of us are in the back of a limo. Faelan barely looks at me as we make our way to Kieran’s house in the hills. Apparently, this is just one of his California houses.

  Faelan’s expression darkens as Aelia goes on about how many properties Kieran and his sister own all over the world. This morning, Faelan acted like he wanted me to come to this thing, but I can tell he’s still angry about this afternoon—angry about anything to do with Kieran. And I don’t blame him. I don’t care how many houses Kieran has, he’s still . . . Kieran.

  When we arrive, a valet opens the limo door. I try to get Faelan’s attention before we go inside, but Aelia hooks her arm in mine and pulls me away, heading for the sprawling house. Well, more like mansion.

  It’s absolutely stunning. Tall lamps light the yard, casting flickering shadows as the sun disappears into the hills behind us. A cobblestone walkway weaves through mossy ground cover, leading to the entrance, all framed with a rose-covered trellis.

  The house itself is a stone beast with ivy climbing up the face and sleeping morning glories trailing along the edges. The only hints that we didn’t step from the limo into the nineteenth century are the two large bouncers flanking the huge oak door.

  Faelan walks behind us, silent, as Aelia talks my ear off about how the house was brought here from France and had been owned by an English duke or something.