And then we can resume our plans for bringing the Crown to his knees.
“Brother,” Seth says, his horse dancing across the road to get close to mine. “I’ve realized something rather interesting about our new Pentad.”
I offer him my best spit-it-out-or-I-will-hit-you face.
“You broke the all-male, all-female tournament rule,” he says.
Kiss him – Thane rumbles, because Seth’s right.
But, simply because Thane has volunteered his opinion, I slap Seth up the back of the head.
“Hey, what was that for?” Seth demands.
“Thane told me to do it,” I answer.
“Thane!”
Thane laughs through my vocals, saying, “I told him to kiss you.”
“Ew, I’d rather the slap,” Seth says.
Thunder cracks again, the clouds split wide open, and the storm descends on us once more.
It will slow us, but nothing will stop us.
Eighteen Paces
“Get down,” Roarke orders, dismounting and drawing his sword at the same time.
I swing clumsily from my saddle, stumbling but not letting that slow me from wrestling my cloak off and pulling one of Killian’s blades out of my bag. It takes longer than it should, because I’m too busy searching the dark windows of the Potion Master’s cottage for whatever danger has pushed Roarke into warrior mode. And I’m working with one arm – my other is broken, splinted, and strapped to my chest, and it’s a serious pain in my ass.
“Keep behind me,” Roarke says, grabbing his horse’s reins. He guides the animal, having it walk just ahead of him. Shielding us both.
“What is it?” I hiss.
“I don’t know yet.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I smell the desire to do harm. It’s heavy, and it’s watching us.”
Of course he smells something – we can’t chuckin’ see anything. The sun set hours ago, and the moon has no hope of peeking out from behind the heavy clouds. It’s not raining here yet, but it is somewhere, and, our luck, the storm is heading this way.
I take my gelding’s reins and follow the Seed of Allure, my only companion. Which is for a very good reason, but it scares the crap out of me, because normally it takes all four of the Elorsin brothers to keep my mortal ass in one piece. Adopted brothers, but a deadly team just the same. I prefer not being in pieces – although the way Roarke is stalking forward, I feel like being torn to pieces could be an impending fate right now.
We’re five days into our limited window of Release Seal time and being constantly attacked is really slowing us down. Two days, give or take, until my guys will be fighting a magical urge to ride back to the White Castle. We’re playing on borrowed time, but I guess that doesn’t matter if we’re dead in the next few minutes.
His feet are steady, all confidence and calculation, and I hurry to keep up. I wish I could look everywhere at once because there’s danger – Roarke knows it – but I can’t chuckin’ find it. There’s nothing obvious on the narrow veranda. No one by the stream or on the ominous black boulders just visible beyond the building. Not even movement from the breeze. But there has to be something, because nothing is hardly going to get Roarke’s attention.
And there are so many shadows.
Too many.
Danger was to be expected. With Roarke and I moving through the forest alone – I’m surprised we made it this far before we found trouble. Like the Seeds that have been slowly escaping – or being released – from Tanakan Prison and trying to hunt us down. Pax, Seth, and Killian went to investigate that, while we rode to Potion Master Eydis and, hopefully, answers.
Instead, we’ve found trouble.
What’s it going to be this time? A rogue ShatterSeed like the bandit who was trying to hide in the ochre caves, or a TruthSeed like the one that had no effect on me in Lackshir? Asanta – still trying to kill me so she can claim Seth? Or this Kyra that they’re all so nervous about? The only gap in our long list of threats is the spot once held by BeastSeeds, Sabers who can control animals, including Pax’s wolf while he’s being pig-headed and primitive. But what else is out there?
Roarke’s feet are light on the ground; they don’t even leave a print in the dead grass. His sword is at his side – fingers flicking against the hilt, making the thing twirl in his grip and reflect the almost non-existent light.
He takes a deep breath, feeling or smelling for something, then fixes his gaze on the stream. “This way,” he whispers, walking toward the narrow path along the edge of the water.
I’ve got no choice. The magical Chaos-messed-with-my-life bubble that I’m trapped in means I have to follow Roarke wherever he goes. Even if he’s hunting for danger.
Which he is.
He leaves his horse behind, and I step away from my gelding, dropping the reins too.
The only sounds are from the stream, with little red fish jumping and making light explode over the surface, and the pebbles on the path that crunch smooth stones against smooth stone under my steps.
Roarke is so quiet – I need to work on that. The air grows heavy with decay and rot.
We round the bend, and my world narrows to the twisted and broken body of a woman draped over a boulder. Her long white hair hangs limp and stark against the pitch black stone. Her white robes are soaked down the chest in blood that’s dried out and hardened around a gaping wound. The hole, the way the body is stretched and strewn – it looks like someone ripped her heart out.
Her rounded face, smooth cheeks, and thin lips are frozen in fear, and they look far too familiar. Someone I know familiar – but like from a memory too old to properly recall – and the darkness can’t hide the horror in her eyes. Bile rises in my throat as I clench my blade in
