Lara.
Unbloodied.
Unhurt.
His gaze shot behind her to her attacker, standing back beside the man in the red bandanna, their hands uncurled and empty at their sides. The younger man’s shirt was ripped at neck and shoulder, exposing his tattoos.
The tightness in Iestyn’s chest relaxed a notch.
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“Come on.” Her smile encouraged him. “Stand up.”
He didn’t stand. Couldn’t. But he sat back on his heels, clutching the knife, adrenaline and something unnamed, foreign, stil burning in his blood.
Lara gestured to the men behind her, performing introductions like a nice child at a party. “These are Fremont and Max, flyers out of . . . Where did you say you were from?”
The man in the bandanna, Fremont, wiped blood from his mouth, casting a wary look at the roofline. Crows perched in a solemn black line against the sky, like priests at an execution. “We didn’t say.”
Awkward pause.
Lara cleared her throat. “And the man you’re sitting on is Soldier.”
The young guy rubbed the tattoo on his neck and then the bruise rising on his jaw. Iestyn observed his battered face with satisfaction. Too bad Lara hadn’t broken his neck.
“Where are you from?” the young man asked.
“Rockhaven,” Laura said.
A grunt from the ground. “I thought I recognized the work.”
Iestyn blinked down at the man he’d been trying to kil a minute ago. His ears rang. His hands trembled. He shook his head slightly, to clear it. “What . . . work?”
The man cal ed Soldier pul ed on the neck of his T-shirt, exposing a white scar circling his throat and a square purple burn mark just under his col arbone. “The glass. I wore a heth once. Took me by surprise, seeing one on you.” His smile was sharp as glass. “Or you wouldn’t have thrown me.”
Iestyn’s simmering rage flared, quick and hot. “Don’t bet on it.”
Lara touched his shoulder, in warning. Reassurance.
“Soldier saw the birds and thought we were Guardians sent 1 9 0
V i r g i n i a K a n t r a
to bring them in. But now that we know we’re in the same boat—”
“How do we know?” Iestyn interrupted. “We don’t know anything about them.”
“You’ve seen Soldier’s neck. And Max wears the runes,”
Lara said. “I saw them when I, um . . .”
“Kicked me in the head and tore my shirt,” Tattoos said dryly. He grinned, which made him look even younger and much more handsome.
The young man turned his head, revealing the blue quartered circle inked into his neck. “The tet for luck.” He pushed up his right sleeve. “The taw for protection.” He rol ed back his left, where a simple circle adorned his inner wrist. “The ayin for sight.”
“Fat lot of good that did us,” Fremont muttered. “You thought they were demons.”
Max flushed. “I said they could be. There is a taint.”
“It’s this one,” Soldier said. “He’s not one of us.”
“He’s selkie,” Lara said. “One of the children of the sea.”
“Where’s his sealskin, then?” Fremont asked.
Irritation ignited in Iestyn, running along his veins like a match set to paper. They knew him. They knew what he was. But they were talking about him as if he were deaf or stupid. As if he wasn’t there.
“Lost,” he growled.
Soldier met his gaze. Held it. The flyer’s eyes were faded blue, like worn denim. “Convenient.”
“Not for him,” Lara snapped.
Her quick defense delighted him. Her hand stil rested on his shoulder, her little finger barely brushing the back of his neck above the col ar of his shirt, that smal touch of skin to skin soothing and inflaming him.
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“We’re trying to find his people,” she continued, “so they can help him.”
“Going to World’s End, are you?” Fremont asked.
Iestyn went very stil . His pulse pounded in his head like the sea. World’s End.
