I’m expecting him to say something, but as soon as I’m seated he snaps back into his speed and starts zipping about the space again.
Clearly he doesn’t like the sound of fifteen. Neither do I.
The information repeats itself in my mind, five or six more times before I can move on to the next thought. Math is not my strongest skill, but generally when one counts backwards, the end result is always zero.
If it has been slowly shrinking this whole time,why is it suddenly speeding up now that we’re at Eydis’?
Eydis – the dead woman still out there on the rocks, with her blood running over the stone in the shape of a creature with talons and raised wings.
And Roarke’s too busy to answer my questions or provide me with a distraction from my thoughts. If I could step into someone else's bubble right now it would be Seth’s. Damn how I miss the way he wipes the deep and dark from my mind. I need a Seth hug, but what I have is a lonely view into the black night.
I can’t see the body in the dark, which eases the tension in my chest just a little. Does nothing for the dull ache in my head or the turmoil in my heart. Those two things stay right where they are while my gaze skims over the trees settling on the biggest. The thing seems to have its roots wrapping around boulders and sprawling down the side of the mountain. I’m thinking that’s why she built her house here, and why this level of the house is facing this particular direction. Because of that impressive tree. The thing almost touches the sky, and in the flashes of light, the branches reach out and hug the night.
I prop a cushion between me and the window frame and slip one of the darts out of the cuff on my ankle. I’m hoping twirling it will distract me from the continuously replaying memory of Roarke’s lips against mine, but all it does is bore a hole into the window frame as the light show continues over the tree and the night wears on.
The lightning charges the air, making the hair on my arms stand on end and sending little jolts of excitement through me. It’s akin to Pax’s power, but not quite the same.
We’re practically at the border. Then the trees stop, and bare land tumbles to the horizon. Past a dim light way out there.
One sole light, from the one sole Manor crazy enough to exist near the Enchanted Forest.
I press my eyes closed, refusing to open them again. The glass is cool against my temple, and I try to focus on that as my mind grows heavy and my breathing shallow.
The world moves, and I land with an oomph on the floor – followed by loud groans and numbness radiating from my ass to my back. The numbness is at least better than the bone-deep ache that erupts in my arm. Broken arms, even those strapped to your chest, don’t like it when the person they’re attached to is dropped to the floor. I only manage to hiss in one breath before Roarke’s rushing to my side and snapping out of his unnatural Saber speed.
“Kitten, sorry.”
Seth would have laughed, and Killian would have made some comment about me needing to stay alert even when I’m sleeping, but Roarke actually looks embarrassed. He pulls me to my feet with my back to the window. It’s daylight, but heavily filtered through storm clouds. Gray, gloomy, and highlighted by the occasional flash of lightning.
“Tell me what’s out there,” I request, pointing over my shoulder.
He looks past me, his head tilting a little to the side. Then understanding smooths his features, and his gaze falls back to mine.
“Yes,” he says softly. “But it’s a long way away, and he can’t get to you. He could never get past me.”
I sigh heavily. Lord Martin’s estate.
Lord Martin may not be able to get to me, but I can’t get to them either. Jake, Cook, Alfie and Bella, and everyone else. They were my family for a very long time, and while trying to survive in this almost-fantasy world made it easy to push my homesickness away – that doesn’t remove it altogether. It would be so much easier if I just felt free, but I know they’re back there – they’re not free. So a part of me isn’t either.
“You really trashed this place,” I say, pulling my mind back to the present.
Sometime while I was sleeping, he went from one workbench to three, and everything he didn’t need has been piled up on the remaining bench and the floor. There’s a lot of crap on the floor.
Roarke looks around the room and rubs the back of his neck. When he turns back to me, something on the floor catches his attention. Scooping down, he picks up the black file that I found during the night.
“I thought you’d given up,” he says. “But this is the right file.”
He flips it open, taking the two sheets of paper out and discarding the folder.
“What are they?” I ask.
“This is the recipe. It’s a common recipe:
A feather each from a night owl and a hummingbird.
Two drops from the Truth Spring, one collected at dawn and one collected at dusk.
A leaf from the top of the redwood tree and one from the ground.
A red hair from the gilded possum and one from a dead hole-mole.
And a pinch of blood from the mischievous son.
This other one is a letter…” He trails off, his voice losing its strength.
Silence. His beautiful dark gaze is locked onto a word at the bottom of the page.
“Roarke,” I say, resting my hand on the page so he has to stop and look up at me. “Read it out loud.”
He clears his throat, and I slide my hand out of the way.
“Eydis. Please avail yourself to the task of creating the following: I require
