Because I know that if I allow myself to reach out in this moment . . .
I won’t stop.
FORTY
SAGE
I close my cottage door and sigh, feeling lighter than I have in forever. In spite of everything, he was there. Again. He had my back. I think I’ve totally let myself fall for the guy.
It’s so dumb.
I peel off my dress, wash my face, and pull on a pair of stretch pants with skulls on them and a baggy Nirvana shirt. I smile to myself, thinking of how I felt his breath catch when I kissed his cheek. I climb into bed, curling onto my side, hugging my pillow, and marvel at his steadfastness.
Then my fingers touch something cold.
And I remember.
I pull the glass owl out from under my pillow, and all thoughts of Faelan slip away as I roll onto my back, holding it up, studying it in the bright moonlight that’s coming through the window. My little Fionn.
Thoughts of the evening float away as I run my fingers over the bird’s face, tracing its features, its speckled feathers. And then I grip it in my hand, pressing it to my chest. Thinking of the comfort of a cold mountain keep, the comfort of a king. Knowing I’ll be with him soon.
Very soon.
I would say that our world on this icy mountain has returned to how it was before my surrender, but that would be said only to comfort myself. Because I . . .
I am not the same.
However much he is.
Every evening after supper, he still walks me to my bedroom door, telling me that I am his, and then he leaves me without protest when I push his advances away. As before, he doesn’t force his will. He never touches me without invitation. And I still don’t know if I should give such a thing again.
However much my body longs for it.
Every night after I crawl into bed, I lie wide awake for hours, arguing with myself, contemplating sneaking through the back passage to his room and climbing into his arms where this hunger can be satiated.
I have wished many times that I was another girl, one who could embrace this cage. Then I could settle into the cold in the arms of this beast. But the child of fire in me resists; it yearns for green life and struggles with the idea of giving itself over.
Still, the strangest thoughts come to me now, about him, about the two of us together. As if this were more than a physical hunger I’m feeling. Like how I miss the sound of his whistling when he doesn’t come out with me on my daily ride, or how comforting it is to smell his leathers when he arrives home after a long day in the village.
And how I miss the feel of his arms gripping me tight . . . even though it happened only that one magical time.
The thought has come to me that I could be happy in this life.
I cast it away and remain in between. Forcing my hopes into submission.
Because I will be free of this one day. I will. I’ll return to the green of my wood with Lailoken, and I’ll be home again.
And this will be nothing but an icy memory.
My eyes open slowly as I surface from the dream, the emotions in me still raw, the chill of the snow still lingering in my bones. The sun is shining in soft beams across the bed, the morning light filtering through the gauzy yellow curtains.
I stare at the dust motes in the air and sift through the dream as I emerge from it. So much turmoil and resistance. Fighting the hunger, the yearning. Yearning not to be alone. And I wonder why.
Why am I pushing the king away?
My nerves spark, realizing my mistake.
No—it’s Lily. Not me. I’m not doing anything.
A shiver works through me as I realize how deep I’m getting. The dreams are too vivid right now, lingering in the morning air, lingering inside me.
Even as I try to bury it, it sticks to my bones.
I have to focus on the present. Only the present. I can’t let the dreams, the emotions, sink in too deep and mess with me. No matter how much I want to cling to it. It’s not real.
It’s dreams. Dreams of the dead.
The next few days roll by in a steady rhythm of late-morning “power practice,” as I call it, with Faelan, then afternoon laziness by the pool with Aelia and whichever friend she’s let tag along, ending with dinner with Marius and ditzy Barb.
But in the night, I shift. I become another soul, living in the cold, my best friend a monk, my lover my enemy.
I don’t want to admit it, but with each morning that comes, I’m starting to think that there’s a part of me that is Lily now. I feel her as she sits on the fringes during the daylight, waiting to be set free. I know I should keep her at arm’s length; I should be trying to keep the dreams separate. But I can’t.
Yesterday, I started to ask Faelan where my favorite glass combs had gone. But I don’t have any glass combs. And then I remembered: in my dream the night before, the king had gifted stained-glass combs to Lily and they were missing. She’d asked him if he knew where they were. Just like I almost asked Faelan.
The mistake nagged at me the whole day. I decided I couldn’t keep pretending the dreams were helping. I wasn’t finding out anything new about what happened to the king, or how he died, or why Lily went crazy. I was just letting her play around in my head.
I went looking for Aelia to talk to her about doing the spell, the one I’d walked away from a few days ago. But when I found her, I changed my mind again.
I really should just tell Faelan what I’m feeling, but he’ll worry. And lecture me.
Anyway, he probably knows. He keeps watching me like I might grow horns. I feel like I already have.
I just want to pretend it’ll all be okay. I don’t yearn for Kieran anymore. I don’t care when his gifts come. In fact, I haven’t opened any of the tributes from any of the Houses since my murder party.
Aelia, of course, tells me every day what shows up for me, but I blot the list of gifts out of my head, letting the sound of the pool waterfall muffle her words as much as I can. Apparently, I now have a couple of houses, three cars, and a ton of bags full of things like electronics, soaps, oils, candles, towels, and robes—I could open my own Bed Bath & Beyond about now. I asked her to donate the gifts to a local homeless shelter. What am I going to do with twelve robes, one in every natural fabric known to modern man?
I’ve been invited to several private clubs, VIP rooms, concerts, concertos, plays, sporting events, and even a picnic in Paris by Finbar. I now have box seats at the Met in New York City, season tickets to the Hollywood Bowl, and a regular table at the House of Blues in Vegas.
But I couldn’t care less about any of it. The only thing I feel is the ticking forward of time, shoving me closer and closer to the Emergence. Only two days left. Pressure is building in the house, in Faelan, and in me.
There’s an unspoken shadow over us all with these dreams. Everyone knows they’re affecting me. Marius is the only one who asks me about them, but I’m trying with everything in me to keep them separate, so I usually give half answers.
They all watch me like a doomsday switch is about to go off in my head.
All I want is to get past it and move on. I have no idea what I’ll do when the moment of my Emergence comes, and whenever I try to wrap my mind around it, I just want to get to the after.
This night of destiny can’t come fast enough.
FORTY-ONE
FAELAN
Only two more days. Two more days and she’ll decide. I wish I could say for sure that she’ll choose to stay with her blood House, but I can feel a piece of her holding back, as if it’s waiting. I just wish I knew what she needed.
She hasn’t seen Kieran since the hunting party, and she doesn’t seem to care about it. So that’s a relief. I was sure these dreams would somehow draw the two of them together, but only his gifts arriving every morning say he’s still in the game—there’ve been no personal appearances.
The sun is a quarter of the way across the sky by the time she emerges from her cottage. I’m finishing up my mornin
g swim. I climb out of the pool and grab a towel, hiding a smile as I look at her T-shirt.
It says “A druid is my homey” and has a picture of Aelia’s face on it.
Sage sees me noticing. “My tribute from Lia,” she says with a stiff grin. “Don’t judge, it’s really soft cotton.”
She follows me into my cottage and settles under one of the trees next to the nest as I go into the closet and throw on a T-shirt and dry shorts. When I come back out, she’s staring blankly into the ferns and chewing on her thumbnail.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She lowers her hand to her lap. “Nothing.”
I give her a disbelieving look. She’s been more absentminded the last couple days, and during training she keeps losing focus. It could be stress from the approaching Emergence—we’re all feeling that—but it could also be the dreams. I’ve allowed Marius to take over on that subject—he talks about it with her in the evenings at dinner—but I can see something happening, a distance growing. A part of me is terrified that she’s slowly slipping away.
“You can talk to me about it, Sage.”
She shrugs. “I think I just want to talk about the after-the-day-of-doom stuff. It’ll help me. Like, will I be a high executive? Will I get a plane?” Her snarky smile appears, and the knot in my chest loosens a bit.
“All right.” I wave her into the greenhouse, and we settle in our usual spot under the wisteria. “There are some tests you’ll take after the final ceremony that will help you choose a path. I borrowed the books Aelia used to study for them.”
Sage frowns. “So . . . it’s exactly like being a human. It sounds like college entrance exams. Blech.”
“If college exams are about moving objects with your mind, or making plants grow in seconds.”
She snorts. “Well, I can’t do either of those things. What do you think I’d be good at?”
I’ve actually been considering this quite a bit. It’s my job to make a recommendation at the ceremony, and I knew almost immediately which path would suit her best.
“You’d make a very good tutor and mentor for the younger Otherborn,” I say, watching for her reaction. “Some are brought in at very delicate ages. You could help them feel less alone, to get acclimated in a healthier way, even protect them. It can be a very dangerous time for a newblood. And the long process can be difficult for the more vulnerable.” A reality I know all too well. “You’ve retained your kindness in spite of your difficult childhood. And you have a wildness that draws spirits in and makes them feel safe. It’s a magic all its own.”
She chews on her lip, staring at the ground for several seconds before she looks up at me again. “You really see me like that?”
I hesitate, realizing by the tremble in her voice how much my words mean to her. “Yes,” I say, holding her gaze. “I do.”
She leaves in a bit of a daze, pensive and distant again, so I’m surprised when an hour later she calls me out to join her in the pool, sounding playful. I make excuses for a bit—I’ve been trying to avoid being with her when she’s out there in her bathing suit—but she’s extremely persistent.
Before leaving the cottage, I slide my palm over a cluster of ivy climbing up the wall beside me and steady myself as I pull the buzz of green life into my skin. I need some strength.
I step outside and spot her sliding into the clear water of the pool.
My throat tightens as my eyes take in the sight of her in a white bikini. I’m an idiot. I should’ve known it’d be impossible to pretend she doesn’t affect me.
I have to force myself to keep walking forward and turn my focus to the ground instead of her. But the image of her is squarely under my skin. After only a couple of feedings from me, she’s become a woman. Her curves are supple, her muscles shaped to perfection. The bright copper waves of her hair, grown just past her shoulders now, reflect the sunlight in golden streaks. Her skin is a perfect peach, scattered with freckles, only the scar on her neck from Kieran marring the smooth surface.
It was inevitable that she would blossom once she was able to feed properly and use her powers. I should’ve known that what I saw that first night was because her demi side had been starving for so long. Now she’s exquisite.
Aelia comes down the path through the trees just as I start to back away, heading for my cottage again.
She spots me and points. “Faelan’s here for fun? I didn’t think that was possible.”
Niamh and James trail behind her. James grabs Niamh, picking her up with a hoot and surging forward, leaping into the water as she squeals in protest. Niamh comes up sputtering and scolding as she makes her way back to the edge of the pool.
James gives me a nod while the girls aren’t looking, like he’s making sure it’s all right that he’s around. I nod back. I could not care less if he hangs with Aelia, sleeps with her, even if he’s feeding from her, as long as it’s consensual. The rules against underlings being equals with druids and demis have seemed archaic to me since the industrial revolution.
Niamh climbs out of the water and grabs a towel from one of the chairs, pouting. “You totally messed up my hair, James.”
James leans on the edge and rolls his eyes dramatically. “Oy, pixie, leave it at the gates, will ya. We’re not on show.”
Aelia scoffs, “Silly, James, you’re always on show.”
James just laughs and works his way over to Sage. “Hello, love,” he says, his grin wide, fangs showing. “How’s the ascendance going today?”
“Horrible, as always,” she smirks, sinking into the water.
James turns to me. “You joining the fun, mickey? Or you just gonna loiter?”
“Come on, coach,” Sage teases, splashing me. “Come show us how to breathe underwater.” I want to feel relief at her playfulness, but something about it feels forced.
“Okay, you guys, I have news!” Aelia says, working her way down the pool steps. She holds out her hands, like she’s preparing us all for something big. “So, last night I was at the Dark Circle club, and there was this girl there who’s a shade concubine for Kieran, and she said that our Prince of Shadows hasn’t been seen all week.”
I glance at Sage in time to see her face fall.
“He hasn’t been seen at all?” I ask, not sure I’m buying it.
“Nope. The dark prince is totally missing,” Aelia says, sounding very sure. “No one’s seen him since his freaky party.”
“Why’re you listening to a concubine, Lia?” James asks. “You know they gossip like church ladies at a potluck.”
“Hey,” Niamh says from her chair, offended.
“You know it’s true, dear,” James says.
Aelia continues, “This girl is completely trustworthy. She’s a super-solid part of his House. She said he left that night—the night of the murder party. Since then, he hasn’t popped up anywhere, not even the European compound. And he didn’t go back to New York with Princess Mara.”
“Very mysterious,” James says in a conspiratorial tone.
Sage stays silent and swims over to the far edge. A stone sinks in my gut. She seems concerned about Kieran.
A maid appears down the pathway, looking a bit lost. “Excuse me, mistresses.” She’s holding a black velvet bag out in front of her like she’s a little afraid of it. “A messenger dropped this off for the princess. They say it’s very important. It shouldn’t wait with the other tributes, they say.”
“Who is ‘they’?” Aelia asks her.
The maid just gets a lost look on her face. Whoever they were, they wiped her memory.
I walk over and take the bag from her. “Thank you, Martha.” She scampers away, back to the house.
“Open it, Faelan,” Aelia says, swimming to the edge. She gets more excited than Sage does about this stuff. Sage isn’t even paying attention. She’s still several feet away, staring at the surface of the water.
“We’ll let Sage do it later,” I say. “I’ll put it in her cottage.”
Aeli
a sticks out her bottom lip, but James kisses it, and she seems to forget about presents for a second.
“I can set it inside,” Niamh says, reaching out. I hand the bag to her and she smiles, curling her fingers around it possessively. Pixies. She’s probably hoping it’s something shiny; she’s sure to open it once she’s in the cottage.
She turns and starts to walk away, saying over her shoulder, “I need to get this water out of my hair or it’ll turn purple again. Can I use your bathroom, princess?”
Sage doesn’t answer.
Aelia unhooks her lips from James. “Yoo-hoo, Sage! She’s talking to you.”
“Oh,” Sage says absently. “Sure. Whatever.” Then she swims over to the waterfall and glides behind it, perching on the ledge there. She stares at the water and moves her legs back and forth, her mind lost now, all sense of playfulness evaporated.
And for the hundredth time, I want to slit Kieran’s throat.
FORTY-TWO
SAGE
I listen to the splashing of the water and watch it swirl in small eddies in front of me, lost in a sudden rush of anxiety. As soon as Aelia mentioned that Kieran hasn’t been seen since the party, my gut sank. A very real fear for him bubbled up, and I have no idea what to do with it.
How can I feel any sort of worry for Kieran?
“You good?” Faelan says.
I turn toward his voice. He’s treading water two feet away, hair slicked back. Sunlight bounces off the water, glittering around him, shimmering in his green eyes, the water thickening his lashes.
This is the guy I want. Not Kieran. I should be glad for the dark prince to disappear.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, absently. “It’s all good.”
He squints at me like he’s trying to figure me out. “You sure?” he says. “I could get you something to eat—”
“No,” I say quickly, not wanting him to worry about me. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
I step out of the pool and walk over to grab one of the towels folded on the chair.
“I know something’s wrong, Sage,” he says.
Fire and Bone Page 33