Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

ELODIE

With Wren on the way to the village Elodie went to the upper floor to look out over the trees, to sit with the soft breeze coming through the open window carrying the distant scent of the sea from so far away. Light, she missed the sea…

It seemed like a lifetime ago since Elodie had last seen the light glinting off the waves. Since she'd arrived at the tower in the midst of the Cellandre Forest and had finally found peace and sanctuary.

She had made it her own. A home for her and the tiny child she brought with her.

She had gone so far as to make a bargain with the old magic in the forest.

She opened the chest she kept locked, hidden up here, and stared at the fragmentary remains of that old, forgotten life. And sank into her memories. Those things she kept shut away from everyday life. And from Wren.

It held almost all the things she had managed to take with her on that fateful night. All of her dearest treasures. All but one.

Elodie opened the chest only when she was certain Wren would not appear. The girl had a way of moving in almost complete silence, even as an infant. She would appear from the shadows, her dark eyes always alert and watchful. There were so many things Elodie didn't want to have to tell her, not yet. Perhaps not ever.

She loved Wren so much, but the past… the past was dangerous. Secrets needed to be kept. And one would lead to another, and another. Letting one loose would bring all the lies tumbling down.

The locket nestled in the palm of her hand, a golden disc marked with the flames of the Aurum. It had been a gift, a cherished and special gift, and the day he gave it to her was supposed to be the happiest of her life. That was what everyone said anyway. But Roland… Roland had understood. He had always understood. There was no chance of joy in her marriage. There never had been a chance. No matter what she had hoped for.

Elodie bowed her head over it, stroked the surface with her fingertips and slowly, torturing herself with every movement, she opened it.

His face gazed back at her. The portrait was perfect, even in miniature. It captured everything about him, the light in his dark eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth and his ever unruly hair. She'd painted it herself. So long ago. She'd poured her love into every brushstroke. The locket was just to hold it. The portrait was the treasure.

Her eyes burned with tears, and she closed the locket again. All the same she kept it clenched in her hand and tried to control her emotions. And failed.

It didn't matter. The pain never really faded. She'd spent more years away from him than she had with him. Her whole adult life. And the pain never faded.

But once upon a time he had been her every joy, her dearest friend, her secret love.

Until her actual life made that impossible. Because that was always going to happen. She'd been a fool to think otherwise. They had both been fools. But oh, it had been nice to dream, if just for a little while.

She'd only been a girl herself. And now… well, it wasn't like she was ancient. She wasn't even forty.

Elodie never willingly drew attention to herself. She knew better than that. The wrong word to the wrong person, the wrong connection… everything would fall apart.

She'd have to do something about Pol Turner. She had been telling herself that for some time but she'd hoped his marriage would sort him out. More fool her. It just made him even more vindictive. He wanted far more than he was ever going to get out of life, thought himself entitled by his strength, good looks and frankly only adequate skills. He thought he could have a wife and child on one hand, and… what? A hedge witch as a plaything. No, never. Especially not her Wren.

Farringdale wasn't far enough away for her, and the sooner they left the better.

Roland would have beaten him black and blue as a lesson. No, Roland would never have let the self-aggrandising little prick get anywhere near the girl. Elodie should have been more like him. If Roland had been here… One look was all it would take. Her Paladin, her champion, her knight-at-arms, her… her friend. And her lover. He'd know what to do.

She had been as smitten with Roland as Wren was with Pol, once upon a time.

Holy light, she'd been a fool.

Her tears felt hot against her skin and she carefully kissed the locket, ready to put it away again, to seal up her past and close it all back up in the chest. Hidden, safe, but never forgotten. Not by her.

A sudden sensation like a thin blade digging deep in her sternum jolted Elodie's attention to the here and now.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

The wards she had long ago woven through the forest were a part of her and she knew the moment they were breached. The old magic warned her. Pushing back from the chest, she got to her feet and made for the window. All around her the trees were still. Nothing was within sight of the tower. She checked the other quadrants, a window at each side, but there was nothing at all. The forest stretched out around her in all directions and?—

A thin line of smoke streaked the sky to the north. Cursing, she grabbed the telescope and swung it around to get a better view. Thirbridge, it had to be. There was nothing else in that direction until the border, which meant…

Elodie heaved in a breath and turned back to the table in the middle of the chamber. The old clay dish in the middle didn't look like anything, the kind of thing to serve a communal meal or fill with fruit, perhaps. She took the water jug and poured the contents into the bowl, filling it right up to the edge. Leaning on the table, her arms braced to support her, she stared into it and forced her mind to clear. To go elsewhere, to the wards, to the edge of the trees, to Wren…

Her heart slammed against the inside of her chest as the water swirled and her own face stared back, frustration marking lines on her brow.

‘Show me!' she said, impatient and afraid.

For a moment the world resisted and she pushed harder. Magic was second nature to her and always had been. It wove around her, threaded through her life. It would do what she wanted. It had to.

She closed her eyes and pictured the great flames of the Aurum, tried to clear the image of the devastation the last time she had stood before them – the smears of blood on the marble floor and the great white stones of the circle, the viscera, the broken bodies – and see it once again in its purest form. It was a risk, reaching out to it like that, but the Aurum never denied her.

That was her sin. Denying the Aurum. Turning her back on it, and on her predestined life. Running away.

But it was always there, just beyond her waking mind, no matter how far she ran, no matter how many walls she raised in her mind. Even if she didn't want to admit it. Didn't want to let it in. But she had no choice. The Aurum stirred for her, blinked to wakefulness, just for a moment.

‘Show me,' she said again in othertongue, a command, and it responded.

The water glowed with sudden light, golden and bright, rippling like molten metal. And in it she saw?—

Fire leaped from house to house, doors barred from the outside, screams, desperate terrible wails, men cut down in the square, blood pooling, the flash of blades in the sunlight, warhorses trampling faces she knew until no one could hope to ever know them again…

No, this couldn't be happening. There should have been more warning. There should have been something.

Where was Wren? She had to find Wren.

The images in the bowl swept across the forest and she saw more horsemen. The one in the lead pulled off his helmet and white-blond hair fell free.

Elodie's heart jerked like a fish on a line. It couldn't be. Not here. Not now. She pushed herself back so sharply that she almost upturned the bowl. But that face was unmistakable. He'd grown, filled out. The boy she had known had become a man. Still beautiful, of course, all that line were. But also cruel, haughty and relentless. She knew them all too well. The line of Sidon.

‘Light curse you, Leander,' she hissed, as if he could hear her. In the water, he looked up at the sky as if perhaps he could. He had a sense of magic, like a hunting dog sniffing out prey. He lifted his head to the sun, as if searching for her. He'd been a child when she last saw him but he had grown into a man as handsome as his uncle. And from the glint in those cold eyes, just as heartless.

This was bad. Beyond bad.

Why was he here? It couldn't be her, she'd been too careful. She'd done everything she could to shield herself and Wren.

But their enemies were here anyway.

She had to find Wren first. One last chance then and she'd have to pray Leander didn't sense her. Or worse, sense Wren.

She'd have to be quick. And then… then she'd have to run. They both would. But only if she could find Wren first and warn her. They could regroup and she'd open a path through the light to somewhere else. Anywhere else. Somewhere safe.

She couldn't leave Asteroth, but it was a big country. There were many hidden places like this. She just needed to find the right one.

Once more she focused on the glowing water and bent her mind to the girl, to her little bird, to the exclusion of all else. To hell with caution. This was an emergency.

And this time she found her. On the Elenwye ridge, with a telescope to her eye, her mouth twisting in alarm as the poor girl realised that Thirbridge and everything she knew was gone, that her life here was over, that the thing Elodie had always warned of had come to pass and there was nothing she could do.

Elodie's heart ached for her, though she'd never show it. She knew that feeling, remembered its sting far too keenly. To feel it again, when she'd thought they were safe?—

Curse it, they had been safe here for so long, close to the border, but not too close. Far from the Aurum and its knights but not too far. Certainly not within the range of the witchhunters of Sidonia. Until now.

What could have brought them across the border? That was an act of war, a breach of the accords drawn up at the end of the war when the Pact was agreed. Heads would roll for it. Literally. She could name some of them. There had been hostages exchanged and guarantees made. What would make Leander risk this? And why would Alessander allow it?

Wren scrambled back in shock, perhaps feeling the touch of Elodie's consciousness or perhaps just in horror at what she was seeing, and someone caught her, taking the telescope from her shaking hands, speaking to her in a way that calmed her.

Elodie let out another string of curses as she saw the man with Wren and recognised him. Not him, not really, but his eyes.

Bluer than blue, bright as a cloudless summer sky. The kind that laughed and sang with joy, that could make a girl believe anything. Believe in love, believe in possibilities, in a future. The kind that lied as easily as blinking. The eyes of a traitor. The worst kind of traitor. Dear light, they were everywhere. Closing in on her.

‘Don't listen to him, little bird,' she whispered, forcing power into the words, reaching out across the space between them to make them fly to Wren's mind on the wind. ‘Don't trust him. Run, my love. You know what to do. You have to run. We both do.'

Wren frowned, her eyes narrowing. Elodie saw her mouth form a question and the man with her shook his head. Of course he did. He wouldn't want her to hear, to receive a warning at all. Shadows coiled around them, shadows that blocked her voice from reaching Wren.

Was it already too late? Was that which should never be awakened already stirring? Was her Wren already lost?

No, not after all these years. She wasn't having it. And if Wren couldn't hear, if the dark powers were stopping her, Elodie would just have to find another way to warn her.

At least Wren knew what to do. They had always discussed this, what to do in the case of danger, or attack. What to do if they needed to run.

But first she had to buy Wren time. She needed to get Leander's attention. Because, of all people, the crown prince of Ilanthus could not be allowed to get anywhere near Wren.

Elodie slammed her hands down on the table and the bowl jumped, water and light spilling everywhere.

This time she reached out not with a breeze but with a hurricane, and her voice was a roar within it. The othertongue wasn't just a song. It was a scream.

‘ All right, you bastard. It's me you're looking for and we have old scores to settle, you and I. After Evander, after everything. Come and get me. '