Chapter 6

Ursula’s chest unclenched a little when Kester shoved the sword back into its sheath. He slammed the boot shut, turning to climb the slope. “Come, my dear. You’ve got work to do up the hill.”

He trudged toward the bank, and she was left with only the sound of the wind rushing across the snow. She glanced one last time at the distant lights twinkling in the night. If she ran in an all-out sprint, she could be sitting before a fireplace in five minutes. But she’d never make it. Kester would hunt her down like the ewe he’d so casually disemboweled.

Dread wrapped its fingers around her heart as she climbed up the slope. I have to get out of here. Her best bet would be to convince Kester she was stupid, and then disarm him when he least expected it. In fact, given his condescending tone, there was a good chance he already thought she was an idiot.

If she could get the sword from him, she stood a chance. She was skilled with a sword, even if she had no idea how she’d learned. When she’d been discovered in the church, she had no memories beyond her name. But even though she had no idea who she was, the doctors who’d treated her had explained that she still had something called “procedural memory.” She remembered how to walk, cut up her food, and speak English. She couldn’t type, which meant she’d never learned, but as soon as she saw a piano, she’d been struck by a certainty that she knew what sounds her fingers would make on its keys. She just had no memory of how she’d learned to play in the first place.

When she thought of sword fighting, it was the same. She could imagine herself wielding a blade with precision, each thrust and parry as familiar to her as the movements of walking. As she envisioned herself fighting, a little of the terror seeped out of her chest, and she smiled to herself. In all likelihood, Kester was not counting on her expertise in this area. At least F.U. had done something right for her.

The berm was more slippery than she’d expected, and near the apex she had to scramble on her hands and knees so as not to slide down its side. On the flattened hilltop, she straightened, shielding her eyes as a strong gust of wind whipped snow into her face.

When she’d wiped the snow from her eyes, she found herself standing beside an enormous grey rock, its rough-hewn surface crusted with ice. Two more stones rose from the ground on either side, and if she strained her eyes, she could see the dim edges of more boulders curving off into the darkness.

Kester gripped his sheathed sword. He nodded at one of the rocks. “What do you think of the ringstones?”

She turned to gape at him. Is he seriously making small talk? And what sort of opinion was she supposed to have on rocks?

“They’re big.” She kept her eyes on the weapon that swung by his hips. “But why are we here?”

“A trial can only be conducted in a place of ancient magic.” With the sword tucked under one arm, he led her further into the stone circle. As they walked, another ring of giant stones came into view.

She took a deep breath. How, exactly, was she going to distract him long enough to get that sword? He’d nearly lured her into his trap through the power of suggestion, but that really wasn’t part of her skill set. Especially not when she was stuffed into a grey parka, half freezing to death.

Then again, men could be simple-minded creatures.

Kester turned to her. “We need to be within the inner circle.”

She shivered, gazing out over the dark and empty fields. If she could move in close enough to kiss him, she could ram her elbow into his Adam’s apple. He’d drop the sword immediately. And yet, a voice in the back of her mind urged her to follow him.

Maybe, if she survived whatever the hell was about to happen, she could learn the truth about herself, about where she’d come from. If she killed him, she’d be stuck in the darkness forever. There was also the fact that she didn’t particularly want to drive a sword through someone’s heart, even if he was a psychopath. She’d have to see how this played out before she did anything drastic.

They reached the second circle of stones. Crusted in ice, the monoliths towered over Ursula. Her heart pounded.

His green eyes flashed like storm clouds in the dark. “Wait here a moment.”

Cold fear inched up her spine. A few feet from her, Kester pulled the sword from its sheath. Puffs of frozen breath drifted from his mouth as he whispered over the weapon. When he finished, a glowing orb appeared, hovering above his head and illuminating a small patch of snowy grass in the center of the stones. The word magic rang again in her head, and her body thrummed with a dark thrill. It’s real.

Gripping the sword in both hands, Kester raised it above his head, blade pointing toward the earth.

“O’ shadow stalker.” His voice was firm. “A thane awaits a trial.” He stabbed the frozen earth with the blade.

Ursula’s stomach clenched. What the hell is a shadow stalker? And, is this thane supposed to be me?

The wind died, and a deathly, unnatural silence enveloped them. The orb’s flickering glow revealed nothing beyond the stones. In the icy air, each intake of breath froze Ursula’s throat.

A snowflake fell on her eyelash and she blinked. Had something shifted in the darkness just beyond the inner stones? The hair rose on the nape of her neck.

She whipped her head around, sensing an unseen danger. “Kester, what?—”

He lifted a silencing finger, still holding the sword’s hilt. As he raised his eyes, he seemed to search the stones. “Moor fiend, reveal yourself.” His grip tightened on the pommel of the sword.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, and time seemed to stretch out as she waited.

Between the stones, she could make out a faint outline—tall and hunched, and nearly as large as the rocks themselves. Her breath caught in her throat. What is that?

Kester beckoned Ursula to come closer. “Shadow stalker, I have brought you a thane to battle.”

Her mouth went dry, her spine stiff with fear, but she stepped toward Kester. I can do this—whatever this is. I know how to use a sword.

He looked at her, one hand still on his sword. “You wouldn’t sign the pact,” he said in his velvety voice. “This is the third option. If you defeat the wight, you’ll become a servant of Emerazel, like I am. You can repay your debt that way.”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “I don’t really want to do that either. Can’t I just go back to my flat?—”

“Ursula,” he interrupted. “You must decide now. Either sign the contract or defeat the monster. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to reap your soul. I don’t particularly want to do that. It means you’ll die now.”

From just beyond the stones, a guttural growl rumbled. A shiver snaked up Ursula’s spine. She had a feeling that whatever was out there wanted her soul, too. She gritted her teeth, nodding. Shadow stalker it is.

With his eyes locked on hers, Kester released the sword, stepping away. Ursula tried to steady her breathing, stepping toward it.

She inhaled deeply, yanking the sword from the frozen earth. Lighter than I thought.

Kester stepped away. “The wight will enter the circle when the light dims. You must defeat him.”

As she gripped the sword in both hands, she took a tentative swing. The blade moved easily through the air, and she nearly smiled at the sensation, relief flooding her for the first time tonight. Somehow the sword felt like an extension of her body, like one of her own limbs. F.U. must have swung a sword a thousand times before.

Kester chanted a spell, and as the air crackled with electricity, fur sprouted from his body. He lurched over, bones cracking; with a deep growl, he transformed into a hound. For a moment, he studied her, green eyes flashing, before bounding from the circle.

Above her, the orb began to dim.