Like that spell around the bear's neck.
But she would need to be close to work them out, which meant finding another door—a door that would also lead to the bear.
"Just beyond here," she whispered as she put her hand on the cold stone wall.
But the stone wasn't cold. She gasped as its warmth spread under her palm.
Surprised, she backed away, and too late noticed the way the torchlight suddenly moved behind her.
She put her arm up as she turned. A spindly hand grabbed her. The edge of the blade in her sleeve stung as it bit into her.
A pair of perceptive eyes loomed above her, and a smell of heady, over-sweet lilies clamped down on her nose.
"Let me go," she demanded. She tugged her arm, but the movement only pressed the blade in deeper.
"Fletch," she gasped, clenching her hands into fists. "Release me."
Suddenly his face was too close to hers. Molten eyes, a smooth jawline, and a slice of white teeth in a smile that made her stomach churn. He inhaled, his thin nostrils flaring as though smelling a fresh-cooked ham.
The hair on Ember's neck stood on end.
"I can smell them," he said in a raspy voice. "I've smelled you in Arundel's study. What's a pretty girl like you doing running around the dungeon floors? Nasty things are down here. Things that might eat you up."
His tongue moved wetly against the back of his teeth. A glimmer below his neck caught her eye. The key. She could snatch it and run, but the spells were just as strong as when she had first laid eyes on it. Binding, Blinding, and Freezing. Touching it would make her helpless.
The plan, Ember reminded herself. Stick to the plan.
"I was looking for my father's pet," she said, sounding far more cool than she felt. "I was interested in seeing other animals he kept."
Nausea roiled up as his warmth breath washed over her face.
"But I see I've found one of them," she rushed on, and gave her arm a final yank, grinding her teeth against the pain of the knife.
He loosened his grip, impossibly strong given his wiry frame, and stepped back as she bolted down the corridor, taffeta bundled in her arms.
His laugh followed her like a snake through sand.
chapter twelve
Breathless and sweaty, Ember swept through the corridor toward her bedchamber. She kept a hand along one wall to steady the dizziness threatening to pull her down.
This stupid gown is going to kill me.
She would disrobe and take a hot bath to cleanse her skin of Fletch's filth. His floral stench lingered on her skin, and her arm had begun to itch where he had grabbed her. Or perhaps it was the wound from Gregory's knife that made her want to scratch. She would have to return the knife some other time.
She heard a familiar voice just as she rounded the corner, and her heart lifted for a fleeting moment before her eyes found the source.
Gregory, pressing his lady-friend up against the wall, his face buried against her neck.
The woman's green brocade gown crushed against her and she giggled, her pallor flushed with drunkenness. Her hair was no longer fine-spun wheat, but a tousled mass of gold. Pieces of straw nearly the same shade clung to her tresses and gown.
Whatever remaining breath Ember had fled, and she braced herself against a wall. The pain in her chest darkened the edge of her vision.
The woman noticed her through slit eyes, and a smile curled her painted lips. "Gregory," she said, nudging him back. "We have company."
Gregory turned, looking heated and distracted and equally rumpled.
"Ember," he said, red tinging his tanned cheeks. The top buttons of his red tunic were undone, revealing a bit of smooth, firm chest decorated with red lip marks.
Clutching a hand to the irritating stays of her bodice, Ember straightened. "Please, don't let me interrupt," she said with utmost formality. "I'm heading back to my rooms."
"Ah, well don't let us stop you," he said, jerking open the door closest to him. "We were just heading into ours, too—"
"I'm Arietta," the woman said and stepped forward unsteadily. "You're a friend of Gregory's, are you not?"
"Ember. Ember Thackeray." She gave a false smile, wanting nothing more than to be in her own chamber, alone.
"Of course, Lord Arundel's own daughter. A pleasure to meet you. You'll have to forgive my appearance. Gregory was just introducing me to his fine mare."
It amazed Ember that the woman—Arietta—could keep up her politeness when she was so clearly drunk. Or was she just pretending?
"Pigeon is a fine horse," was all Ember could think to say. Imagining the pair of them rolling around in the hay stacks made her feel ill. She herself had done the same with Gregory only last summer. At least they had been drunk off love rather than drink. Or had it been love after all?
"Perhaps we can all go visit Pigeon tomorrow," Gregory said, his tone edged with unease. He guided Arietta by her waist into his room, his rich clothes and the woman on his arm making him look a stranger. Arietta nodded at Ember and was led away willingly, the unsteadiness gone from her movements.
Gregory went in, and started to close the door.
Suddenly his knife was in her hand, and she let it loose.
It thudded into the door, just next to Gregory's head.
He froze, then loosened and muttered something to Arietta. In a whirlwind he stepped out, yanked the knife from the door, shut it, and strode toward her, furry digging into his brow.
"Are you out of your mind?" He asked in a strained whisper as he held up the knife.
"I wouldn't have hit you," Ember replied, pulling herself up to her tallest height, which was within a hair’s breadth of his.
"That's not what I mean. I suspected that it was you at the race, but I didn't know for sure. What were you thinking?"
"I wanted to protect you—"
"Protect me? Damn it, Ember, you were nearly sliced in half by that woman. If you knew who she was, you'd know she's legendary at the races. Don't you think it might seem odd that a lone wolf tried to attack her in the final moments of a race?"
"She suspected nothing," Ember lied, heat scorching her face.
Gregory shook his head, exasperated. "You don't understand. You put me at risk, too. If your father finds out a shifter helped me win the race, he'd question me, or worse."
She hadn’t considered that. "I'm sorry, Gregory, I didn't realize—"
"But you never realize," he said, and ran a hand through his cropped brown hair, dislodging several pieces of hay that drifted down around him. "This is why I can't be with you, Ember. You do whatever you want, without thinking about consequences to those who love you. Instead of protecting you, I'm always protecting myself from you." A short pause, only enough time for Ember to open her mouth for a retort before Gregory hurried on, "And the race was mine to win, not yours."
Ember stared at him, baffled. "You might have been killed!"
"I don't give a damn," Gregory persisted, his face reddening. "I didn't want your help. I never asked for it. The only thing I've ever wanted was to win that race, and you took that from me."
Ember's heart thudded in her chest. "What are you saying?"
Gregory shook his head, anger and hurt pinching his mouth. "Just forget it, Ember." A hand shot through his hair. "I accepted Arundel's offer to be his messenger."
Ember's throat went dry. "What?"
"I'm to be his new messenger, exchanging letters between members of the Council—"
"But you hate Arundel," Ember interrupted. She dug her nails into the tight stays that ran up the sides of her gown, wishing she could tear them out. "You think he won't make you run those horses into the ground? You're setting yourself up to be used, to be his own abusive hand—"
"I would never abuse a horse, Ember," he said, looking offended. "But doing this is the only thing that makes sense to me."
"How does that make sense? My best friend working for a man who would certainly have me imprisoned if he knew wha
t I am—"
"It makes sense to be close to him and to show him that I'm loyal, just like my father has been for decades. He would dismiss rumors about shifters helping me."
But it wasn't logical, not when she knew how Arundel treated his horses, and how seeing the abuse seemed to make Gregory's blood boil.
Ember pressed her lips together, not trusting herself to speak.
Gregory fingered his knife and sighed, and the smell of sweet orange sumbac touched her.
"We're too different, you and I," he said. "I'm a commoner, you're a lord's daughter. You're a shifter and a wizard, and I have no such abilities. You're restless, and I want to settle. I know you can find someone who will suit you better than I."
Ember's throat felt thick. "I can see that you already found someone for yourself." She picked up her gown and turned toward her room.
"I won't reveal you, Ember," he said. "No matter how close I get to the Council."
She glanced back at him, and his gaze reminded her of the distant gray cliffs that trapped Mirror Lake.
She lifted her chin and strode away, ignoring the feeling that she was leaving something unfinished. I was going to tell him about the bear. I was going to tell him about Fletch. He might've understood, might've helped her. But it didn't matter now. Nothing did, except getting her damn dress off.
chapter thirteen
A crowd roared and cold metal kissed Ember's neck. Thick, hot air stuck to her skin.
The iron around her neck yanked her forward, and she opened her eyes as she stumbled.
Thousands of blinding candles shone above hundreds of pairs of laughing eyes. Why were they pointing at her? Some laughed so hard they doubled over, and their guffaws echoed around the hall like the caws of feasting crows.
Another yank, and she fell to her knees. Naked, she realized. Is that why they pointed? The chain attached to her iron noose grew taut, and the man at the end of it made her blood freeze. Arundel shouted at her and grinned; he wanted her to shift into a chicken, or no, a rabbit, to give better chase. The crowd roared, and Arundel's eyes looked feverish.
No, turn into a lion. A beautiful lion. I will cut your throat myself and skin you, and lay on that skin while I fuck my wife into submission.
Instead of shifting, she was running. The floor of the hall turned to dirt and the people morphed into towering trees. He hunted her in broad daylight, and there was nowhere to hide, no weapons to protect herself. She could shift but traps lay everywhere—in the air, hanging from the trees, hidden in logs. Arundel would catch her. His rapid tread closed in behind her.
Suddenly she tripped, and he was on her, his hands wrapping around her throat.
But it wasn't Arundel. It was Salena. Mother, why are you strangling me? Her mother's nails dug into her.
Don't lie to me, Ember. Arundel is your real father. There was no book. Why would you lie about such a thing? I haven't trained you right. I'll just have to start over...
The world whirled into blackness. She wasn't being strangled. But the scent of lilies permeated the air, heady and suffocating, and the stench of foul breath lingered behind it, close enough to touch.
Fletch.
He had come to take her away, down to the dungeon, to chain her in iron and drag her to Arundel.
He knows. He knows what I am.
Body screaming awake, Ember scrambled to the other side of her bed. Shadows filled her room, but she could make out the glass doors, the moon-tinted balcony and the lake beyond it.
The sheets tangled and tugged against her sweaty limbs. She heard a raspy chuckle as the weight of the bed shifted. Panic consumed her.
She grabbed one of her long knives under the mattress just as a cold hand snatched her ankle.
She used that anchor to roll upward and slash blindly at his vague form. Her knife sliced through something, and Fletch barked with laughter. His hand on her ankle tightened.
Without thinking, she stabbed down toward her foot. Her knife met fleshy resistance. Fletch howled. His fingers loosened, and Ember leapt away to heave open a balcony door.
Frigid wind swept in from the Orion Mountains and over the lake to blanket her breath in mist.
She ran across the balcony, feet slapping the cold stones. I need to be quick, quick as a blink. She jumped up to the railing and gripped the thick slab of iron, barely glancing down at the two rows of torches far below. No guards looked up. They shouldn't be able to see her in the dark. She stood and risked a glance behind her.
Fletch limped to the balcony doors. Something shone in his hand—a knife silver with a Freezing spell. Her knife, his spell. His lips curled in a grin, his teeth like rows of sharp bones. He stretched back his arm, and even as he did so she was lunging forward.
The fall curdled her stomach, the length to the ground shortening even before she completely left the railing. She allowed the heaviness to pull at her faster and faster, willed the knife to go sidelong.
It flashed over her left shoulder like lightning.
She melted into dizziness, and in a moment the wind swooped her up and up, past the height of the balcony and far away from the piercing iron spires of Silverglen.
Fletch shouted at the guards below, and they looked up, seeing him point. She knew they couldn't see her. Next to the torches, human eyes were blind to the night air. She rose higher, allowing the silent wing-beats of the owl to calm her heart, and headed for the mountains.
chapter fourteen
All night she flew, knowing she must keep going but unsure of where. North, toward the Orion Mountains. The bulky shadows rose in her night vision like hunched ghosts, and the cold breath of them swept around her wings like the arms of death. Thick gray mist curled in ravines and wound between the rounded peaks like linen.
Ember craned her head to the east, willing the sun to awaken. The fog was beginning to creep into her owl-mind, which was distracting her enough with thoughts of hunting the mice and voles below. She was almost hungry enough to let herself do it. Just this once...
She pressed on, gliding over the rolling foothills covered in dense forests of spear pine and golden spruce. The knolls and hillocks were all a part of Merewood Forest, reserved especially for Arundel's hunting parties. To the east, the forest turned to fields of stumps around the smelter, whose dank iron stench seemed to gather high up in the air no matter where she flew. One of Arundel's mines lay not far north of the smelter and dove into the edge of the mountains. A fair trade with the clan peoples, they had said. The primitives of Orion had set aside their weapons and graciously accepted Arundel's benevolent gift of gold and jewels.
Ember had only ever seen drawings of the Orians, looking hard and quiet with their heavy fur coats, grisly hair and unshaven faces. She had always admired the way they held their weapons in those drawings. With pride, she thought, and certainty, as though their weapon was a limb for them, a part who they were. Not with the angry violence that she expected.
She would be safe deep in the mountains, where Arundel had no claim.
Gradually, the sliver of moon dulled as the eastern sky brightened. She found water flowing through a gorge and followed above it, over rocky cliffs and outcrops and cascading waterfalls, into knobby mountain peaks. She would stay by the water, and where there was water, there was food.
The sun peaked over the horizon, deepening the shadows that pooled in the gorge beneath her.
There will be elk here, and bears, and loping, surly gorrets. And giant ospreys. These miles of mountains, with their cliffs and rivers and deep lakes, were their nesting grounds. The great birds lived here and southwest along the cliffs of Skye Lake. Ember knew of half a dozen places around the Academy where they could be spotted, wheeling along the cliff-sides and diving for fish and squelkin in the deep, frigid water. Skye Lake never froze, and so the ospreys never went hungry.
I might, if I don't eat soon.
She could almost smell the tasty, plump voles that burrowed under the duff below. Without thinking, she dr
opped altitude. The darkness would be better for owl-hunting, and would be good cover from discovery. It would be best to find something before the sun fully rose—
The sharp tang of smoke filled her nostrils, and she wobbled in the air.
A clan, she thought. She shifted to a hawk form, straining to keep her balance against the wind as her stomach rolled. The urge to hunt receded, but she knew it would return soon. The longer she remained in another form, the stronger the animal's instincts and the weaker her own awareness. A dangerous boundary, but one that had grown familiar, and flexible, during her time as Salena's spy.
Aching from beating her wings, she glided in a large circle to get her bearings. In the weak dawn light, a thick column of black smoke rose above a mountaintop to the northwest.
That's no cook-fire.
She aimed for it, lowering her position in the air so that she would come around the side of the mountain like a hawk naturally hunting.
Those Orion peoples are dumb as snails, Finn had once said. Unfortunately for him, Arundel had been in the same room and had heard. He had come over to where they played cards—Ember and Devondra and Finn—before any of them were old enough to attend the Academy, and looked at them each in turn with dark, angry eyes.
Who told you this?
Nan Cleresta told us, Finn had said, wiping his runny nose on a blue-velvet sleeve.
The peoples of Orion are hunters, Arundel told them. They keep to themselves and trade furs and food between clans. Lachians believe they are dumb. I do not. Do you know why?
Finn had looked down, avoiding Arundel's heavy gaze, and Devondra had fiddled with her cards, pretending contemplation.
They aren't dumb, Ember said, because they've held the Orion Mountains for three thousand years.
She would never forget the way Arundel looked at her then, with a flash of surprise and something like pride warming his gaze for a moment before sinking back to his cold, solemn expression.
Very good, Ember. Perhaps you can enlighten your brother on the difficulties of holding the mountains, and how the clans have managed to hold them for so long.
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