Forgotten Sea

She shivered. A dangerous game, with high stakes and an unpredictable playmate.

Warm, warmer . . .

A thick oak raised its arms over the backyard, obscuring the star-strewn sky. She stepped into the mottled light, her gaze scanning the dappled ground, the silvered plants, the velvet shadows. Against the foundation, the door to the storm cel ar yawned open, a gaping black hole.

HOT.

The knife burned in her pocket. The air left her lungs.

There. Sprawled across the stone threshold, one arm reaching for the wooden door as if to shut it behind him.

His hair was bleached, his skin pale in the moonlight. The bandage on his forehead was dark with blood.

Justin lifted his head and met her gaze, his eyes nearly black in the shadows, burning with intensity. “Help . . . me.”

She inhaled through her teeth. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Like a fox, bloodied and desperate, run to earth under the farmer’s house.

5 6

V i r g i n i a K a n t r a

Incredibly, he smiled. Or was that a distortion of the moonlight? “No,” he whispered agreement.

She took a cautious step forward, keeping her ankles out of reach. “You need to go back to the infirmary.”

“Can’t . . . breathe.”

“It’s the heth.”

He stared at her dumbly.

“Cutting off your air.” He must be very strong—or stubborn

—to have overcome both Zayin’s binding and Miriam’s sleep spel .

It was clear, however, that he’d reached the end of his rope.

Literal y. His breath wheezed alarmingly. His head sank back to the ground. His body was cut in two by the shadow of the cel ar, his legs disappearing down the stairs.

He turned his face to watch her, eyes open, unmoving, like a wounded animal.

She bit her lip. There was no way she could undo the Master Guardian’s heth. She didn’t have the power. Or the nerve.

But she couldn’t stand idly by and watch him choke. Not if she could help him.

“Here.” She knelt in the long grass beside his head, feeling his thin breath warm and moist against her bare knee.

Cautiously, she touched his throat, tested the leather thong.

It didn’t feel tight. The bead, black and smooth as onyx, was almost invisible in the dark. She gave an experimental tug, and her fingers stung as if she’d grabbed a thistle in the garden. Ouch. She jerked her hand away.

She drew a slow breath. Now what?

In her mind, she could hear Simon’s calm, lecturing voice as he addressed the fundamental powers class.

“Magic is a matter of discernment, will, and grace. Before you attempt to use your gift, you must understand what should be; what can be; what must be.”

F o r g o t t e n s e a 57

What should be . . .

She was already on her knees. Ignoring the bead, she gripped the cord between two fingers and her thumb.

Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and focused on the knot.

Imagined it loosening, softening, sliding . . .

She felt a faint vibration in her fingertips, a lurch in her stomach. Opening her eyes, she peered hopeful y at Justin.

His widened gaze met hers. His mouth opened soundlessly, like a fish gasping for air. Like a man dying.

Oh, skies. She had to do something.

What can be . . .

Air, she thought frantical y. That was her element, wasn’t it?

If she couldn’t break the heth’s power, she would at least give him air.

She flung herself on him, rol ed him to his back. With one hand, she tilted his head, pinched his nose. The other she slapped to his chest. His throat arched. His mouth gaped.

Drawing a deep breath, she leaned forward and opened her mouth over his.