Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

FINN

Finn knew what he was, knotted with muscle and scarred, bruised from the beating he'd taken, but Wren didn't hesitate to explore him all night and his skin shivered with delight. Her fingertips were so soft, so gentle, and yet eternally demanding. Her hair tangled around him, holding him down until he was helpless before her. And he did not care.

She wasn't afraid, not of anything. She was fire and shadows, all the wonders of the magical world. Everything made sense with her in his arms. Finally. As if he had found some missing part of himself, something he needed to cling to forever.

Was it the effects of magic?

If it was, would he care?

What if you don't want this? she had asked him, giving him the moment he needed to turn away, to refuse her, to grasp the last thread of sanity available to him.

But not want it? He lived for it.

She'd said she wanted him too, but now his doubts rose again. What if this was too much for her, if his need had been too great? What if he had gone too fast or too far?

But Wren didn't seem to care.

And the light helped him. It was too easy to fall into her, her golden illuminations drowning him in delirious pleasure. Far too easy to give himself up in every way. And he never wanted to come back.

‘You could never be a monster,' she had said in calm and solemn tones. ‘You're mine. I want you. All of you.'

He desperately wanted to believe that, in the still of the night, her fingertips playing with the dusting of dark hair that ran down his middle.

Finn let himself fall into her again and again. All of him, body and soul. More times than he would have thought possible. There was nothing else he could do.

If it was an enchantment, what did it matter? It was everything he had ever dreamed of and he had no defence to counter it. If it was magic it had ensnared them both. She was everything. That was all he needed to know. She was darkness and light, hope and fear, pleasure and a longing so deep it was the twin of pain. He was lost in her and he couldn't bring himself to fight that, let alone care.

They lay entwined together as if they had always been this way.

Finn rolled on his back and Wren pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to his heart. Strands of her hair teased his skin like silken threads, binding him to her. It still clung to his wrists, wrapping around them like bracelets or manacles, marking him as hers, keeping him close to her. It ought to make him afraid, he thought absently. But it was a comfort instead.

But Finn knew he'd have to leave long before the dawn. If he was found here with her, Roland would probably have his hide.

That hadn't occurred to him before, and even now the thought was a distant thing.

You're mine . Those words had reverberated through him, words of power, of another kind of magic that meant something deep and eternal. He could feel the truth of it written on his bones, coiled up right at the core of him. Wren was his, and he was hers – that was all that mattered. Even if only for now.

Her breath softened as she drifted to sleep. He found himself just listening to her, matching his inhalation to hers, their heartbeats in time with each other.

He must have slept as well because, when he opened his eyes again, a figure stood over them both.

It wore a dark cloak and the hood was pulled up, but the moonlight coming through the open window opposite them framed it perfectly. Warily, Finn reached out for his weapon. Which wasn't there.

It was probably tangled up with his clothes on the floor, useless to him right now. Idiot. He should have known better. He always kept a blade to hand.

His movement woke Wren. She blinked as she half rose from his chest on one elbow. Her hair slid away from his skin, releasing him. Then she froze, staring at the same figure. At least he wasn't seeing things. That had to be positive, didn't it?

It was a woman, he realised. She reached up one slender, elegant hand, and let the hood fall down to reveal her face.

If Finn hadn't had Wren beside him he might have said she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Golden hair framed truly stunning features. Her skin had a warmth and vitality, was smooth of lines or wrinkles and her eyes were blue, bright with intelligence. She held her head very high, her neck long and elegant. When he narrowed his eyes he could see the traces of magic glittering at her fingertips.

‘Elodie?' Wren murmured sleepily. ‘What are you?—?'

Finn's breath caught in his throat as if lodged there like a block of ice.

Elodie. Or rather Queen Aeryn… Enchantress, chosen of the Aurum, Queen of Asteroth… who had fled her throne and had hidden Wren away, stealing her birthright and forsaking her own.

Finn rolled out of the bed and grabbed the knife from the floor, bringing it up between them.

‘Really?' Elodie said as if speaking to a troublesome child.

‘I won't let you hurt her.'

She gave a brief and unladylike snort of laughter. ‘And why would I hurt her? You, on the other hand… Oh, you I am going to hurt very much indeed. How dare you, spawn of Sidon? How dare you lay hands on her?'

The magic at her fingertips sparked with her anger.

‘No!' Wren cried out. Her bare arms slid around his torso, her body flush against his. ‘No, you can't. Don't touch him.'

Elodie scowled, ignoring Finn completely now.

‘I don't know how you got yourself here and into this sorry predicament Wren, but I swear by the light itself if you don't let go of that boy I am going to?—'

‘Going to what? I did what you said. I ran. I got this far and I was heading for the Seven Sisters. I promise.'

Elodie flinched back, unexpectedly. ‘The Seven Sisters? Why on earth would you go there?'

‘You told me to.'

‘I most certainly did not. You'd have to be an idiot to go there. Especially now. Who's been whispering in your ear? This Ilanthian bastard?'

Finn narrowed his eyes. Always the same insults, over and over again.

‘No,' Wren protested, truly confused now. ‘No, it was the book. Your book. Your writing. You said to come south.'

Finn tried to ease back, to put more distance between them and Elodie. Wren wasn't making sense. There hadn't been anything in the book, had there? What was she talking about?

‘I did no such thing. We had a plan, Wren. We always had a plan. Take to the deepest parts of the forest and wait. Why didn't you do that? You could have died. You could have been captured. And now we have to get out of here before Roland drags you off to the capital.'

She took a step forward and Finn moved to match her, still blocking Wren. He was knight-trained, a warrior and a killer all his life. Even with just his knife and his bare hands, he would be able to take out this slender woman. He had to protect Wren.

‘Don't come any closer,' he warned her. ‘The Grandmaster will want to talk to you.'

Her face froze for a moment, a mask of something like pain or grief. And then the scowl was back, deeper than ever.

‘Oh, I'm sure he will, but that's not going to happen. Not now or ever.'

With the merest flick of her wrist, she threw something at him. Sparkling dust billowed around his face. He tried to jerk backwards, but it was too late. It filled his mouth and nose. In a moment it was inside him, inhaled on a gasp of surprise, scratching its way down his throat. Like sand in his eyes. He tried to wave it away with his free hand but it clung to him and everything blurred.

Wren… he needed to protect her. He needed… The world turned fuzzy and indistinct.

‘Finn?' Wren said, trying to hold on to his suddenly failing body, her touch his only comfort. ‘What have you done, Elodie? What's wrong with him?'

His legs lost their strength and folded beneath him.

No, this couldn't be happening. He had one job. Her. She was all that mattered. Wren was all… He hit the ground hard, the knife tumbling from his suddenly limp grasp. The room around him turned indistinct and their voices muffled.

Vaguely, he was aware of Wren trying to shake him awake, of Elodie picking up the knife in her oh-so-elegant hand. She fixed all her attention on Wren, ignoring him completely. Why would she? He was no threat to her now.

‘Wren,' she said firmly, a maternal voice that was not to be argued with. ‘Come here, little bird. Do as you're told and, I promise, I'll make it quick.'

Then everything slid to darkness.