Chapter 19

Epona’s ears twitched back and forth—aware of Sorcha’s uneasy mood. Daylight had changed nothing at all. She was still the vessel, and he was still the Wolf, a creature of the empire. What had happened between them could mean nothing, though it had changed everything. The path they were on, set by a madman, was inescapable.

Sorcha had woken to find Adrian gone from the tent, and she’d lain awake in the nest of furs listening to the Black Tomeis as they broke down camp and prepared for a long day in the saddle. She’d heard his voice long before he entered the tent, and she’d known how he would handle the situation. He hadn’t disappointed her, though a small part had hoped for something else. But what could there be? What could he offer her? There was nothing.

He’d handed her a bowl of gelatinous, cooling porridge, holding her gaze for a long moment before giving her a single nod. As if their fate had been decided already. She supposed it had been.

Now they were riding toward the next location on the map. Her hand strayed to her shoulder that had depicted where the last relic had been found, and she wondered how long it would take before they reached the next one. Sorcha couldn’t remember a time when her skin had been her own. It had always belonged to the temple. Over the years, tattoos had bloomed across her skin like flowers and vines. She had no idea how it would feel not to be the vessel.

Still, they hadn’t found the relic in the temple ruins where they’d faced the werewolves. That tattoo was still on her skin. Maybe it always would be. It wasn’t the only one though. She’d hidden the tattoo on her hip from the Mapmaker as well. And there were many more relics—some in well-known temples and others hidden but never added to her flesh. They hadn’t had time to continue the map once the Citadel had been besieged.

How would this impact the coming resurrection? Sorcha had no idea. Anger flared through her as the questions circled and built upon each other. There were so many and no way at all to get any answers.

Again, her thoughts returned to Kahina Kira. What had happened to her? One evening she’d been in the temple and the next morning gone. No one had seen her come or go. No one believed she would have gone to Prince Eine. Maybe Kira had found some secret place where she could make the final choice of her life in peace.

When—not if—Sorcha resurrected the Saint, she would see Kira again. Then Sorcha could ask about what had happened. And she could ask about the tattoos. She would ask every single question she’d ever lain awake at night considering. Soon she would meet the Saint. His voice in her head would finally have form and shape, ring crystal clear through the air. Maybe he would answer all her questions.

Sorcha glanced at Adrian, heat touching her cheeks, pooling in her lower belly. He didn’t look at her, but she knew he felt it too—he was as aware of her as she was of him.

The men were riding far ahead or behind them today. Revenant led a group scouting the overgrown road they traveled, and Domenico and the others brought up the rear to make sure nothing surprised them.

Each day, they ventured farther south. Away from the Empire of the White Snake and the lands it was so greedily consuming. Away from the fallen city she loved. Now they were crossing into the fallen cities and civilizations of the south. The roads they traveled, once grand, were now covered in vegetation of all kinds—ancient trees, thorny brush, a late fall wildflowers now frostbitten from the cold nights.

She’d read enough history to know those cities and kingdoms had squabbled over land and water rights—greedy fingers stretching and grasping for what wasn’t theirs. It had happened hundreds of years ago, and out of that chaos, the Saint had been born. He came from a time of political upheaval. A god in the form of a man, walking among the mortals with a promise of peace and plenty.

But the Saint had been betrayed. A trusted member of the order had cut him down, and the Saint’s death shook the entire world. Then he’d been reborn. The golden skeleton of the Crimson Cult had walked the earth until he’d chosen to rest. There had been so much war, and as hard as he’d tried to unite the kingdoms, it had been impossible. He’d left them, promising to return if he was truly needed, and his remains had been broken up and hidden.

It was strange to realize she would be seeing all these places for herself. Locations that many of the members of Aureum Sanctus had never seen. Would anything recognizable remain? She’d read so many histories of the continent as a child. The great cities of Hadad, Cilo, and Takhmaspa had sounded rich and vibrant. Each one much larger than the Golden Citadel, which she’d never thought possible. The Citadel had seemed to be its own planet when she was small.

But soon, they would cross out of the places known so well by the living to those places left to the dead.

* * *

At night, he lay awake, listening to her breathe and thinking about his past and everything that had come before—everything that had yet to happen. He had never had a future before, never desired anything other than the path he walked. Battle and blood. Death and another city to take. He lived for this life. But now, he could live for her instead.

The Tomeis watched them closely, observing with mouths pressed thin, swift glances. Revenant always stared with his hooded eyes—attention sharp as knives. They felt the change. Feared it. If Adrian displeased Prince Eine, they would all pay the price.

Adrian couldn’t abandon them to that. He couldn’t choose a woman over the men he’d fought beside and sworn to protect. They’d walked through hell, expanding the Empire of the White Snake, and survived it all because of each other.

Kisses in the dark didn’t change the way the world worked.

* * *

“I’m going with you this time,” Adrian said.

A narrow, rocky track led down into a mile-wide sinkhole before them. All around the landscape was jagged groupings of boulders scattered throughout shoulder-high thin scrub in shades of olive and sage. Sharp grasses clung to the sandy soil, and small, orange-striped lizards and soft brown rodents scurried from hiding place to hiding place. When anyone touched the plants, they gave off an astringent, sharp scent that reminded Sorcha of medicine. Mountains rose in the distance—faintly blue and topped with snow—stoic and patient. Soon enough, they would be riding into them.

The sinkhole brimmed with bare winter trees—trunks and branches reaching for the sky—the canopy even with the surrounding landscape. The variety was so at odds with the surroundings, as if a giant had picked a hole in the earth and planted a forest from a lushly distant location.

Domenico and Thompson had been scouting ahead when they came across it—shouting with surprise and triumph. Now the horses were unsaddled and resting, and the men were gathering wood for a small campfire. Everyone was grateful for a moment to stop and cook a hot meal. Adrian stood with his back to Sorcha, working to untangle a knot on his saddlebag.

“You can’t,” Sorcha said.

He didn’t respond. Sorcha glanced at the others, avoiding Revenant’s ever-present hateful glare.

“What if they won’t give it to me because you’re there?” Sorcha kept her voice low, working to keep all emotion from it. But her frustration crept in, coloring each word, evident in the sharp angles of her body. She felt prickly and stretched all over at the thought of Adrian being beside her as she retrieved the relic.

“Then you can try again after we get back.”

“What if this is the only chance we get?”

“There are other relics to find.”

Sorcha gestured to herself—her flesh, the map.

“There are others,” Adrian insisted.

She knew he was right. But, it made her uneasy to have him come with her. It would show the men how their relationship had changed. Not that they needed any more proof. To them, Adrian had changed the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

“That way,” Thompson said, indicating the direction roughly to their left. “Down into the valley as near as I can tell.”

“You can’t give me any more than that?” Adrian asked, nodding at the map.

“Respectfully, sir.” Thompson cleared his throat, his brows going up. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll stand by it now. This map makes very little sense. I’ve compared it with a map created ten years ago and one created over a hundred years ago, so I can only make an educated guess.”

Domenico cleared his throat. “It’s not only about the topography. There are magical elements at play.”

“I understand the limitations,” Adrian said with a nod. “I’m still asking.”

“Then my answer stands,” Thompson said, gesturing at the sunken wood. “It appears to be that way.”

Adrian nodded, waving at Sorcha to join him by Nox. “Leave Epona here. Nox will take us down into the valley.”

“That’s not necessary,” Sorcha said. “I can ride my own horse.”

“If something goes wrong, I don’t want to lose two horses. Epona is not a war horse.” Adrian nodded to Revenant—a silent command to keep watch. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

* * *

The air grew warmer as they followed the steep track down. It curved along the bare rock wall in a spiral, looping the perimeter several times. The sinkhole was deeper than it appeared at first, the bare trees larger. Sorcha strained to catch any sound that might mean they’d be coming face to face with someone—or something—protecting the relic. But there was nothing unusual. Only the rustle and movement of normal, living things.

Sorcha fought to keep herself from melting into Adrian as they rode. He was so warm and solid behind her, his strong arms wrapped around her as he kept a loose hold on the reins. Comforting despite everything. Every nerve in her body screamed for him. Touch me.Kiss me. Take me. But he’d made the choice for both of them.

“Stop here,” Sorcha said when they reached the bottom. “We should walk.”

“Should we?”

Adrian’s voice was low, his mouth brushing her ear as he spoke. She turned slightly and closed her eyes, feeling the stubble on his cheek against her own. Sucking in a breath full of cool woods and warm man, she sighed and whispered, “Adrian.”

“Let me help you down,” he said, pulling away.

In a smooth motion, he dismounted and turned to help her out of the saddle. She leaned down, placing her hands on his shoulders, their faces close as he reached for her waist. He didn’t move, remaining in place as she slid down along the length of his body; hip and shoulder, hand and arm. She was careful not to look at him, but the pull was unbearable. He was a mixture of sweetness and pain itching across her skin, lodging in her throat. His large hands held her carefully, gently helping her down and making sure she had her balance before letting her go.

Sorcha looked back the way they’d come. It seemed so much farther up—as if Nox and the path had worked some kind of magic to get them here more quickly. The path continued into the trees, urging them to follow, to discover what might be found at the end.

Winter trees arched overhead, and Nox picked his way through drifts of brown and red leaves behind them. Adrian didn’t speak, focused on their surroundings, one hand on his sword. She listened to her heartbeat, so aware of the man beside her. He was a distraction she couldn’t afford to have. But she was grateful he was here.

“Cold?” he asked.

“What?”

“You shivered. Are you cold?”

Sorcha glanced at him, but his focus was elsewhere. “No. I was remembering something.”

“The cave.”

It wasn’t a question. She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. Poor comfort, but she’d take it.

“There,” Adrian stopped, pointing ahead to a shadow between the trees. “See it?”

“Yes, that’s where we’re going.”

* * *

A pair of monumental stone hands rose out of the leaves, the fingers coming together to create a pointed arch. They were as tall as the tallest tree and the color of old blood flecked with hints of clear, bright rubies. They glittered under the overcast sky as if lit from within. But the forest beyond the arch was vibrant—a summer place in a winter wood. A place outside their own.

“Are the hands alive?” Adrian asked.

“I don’t know,” Sorcha said, nudging dry leaves aside with her foot to see what lay beneath—moist dark earth flecked with tiny rubies. Kneeling, she picked one up and held it out. “It’s faceted as if it’s been worked by a jeweler. It’s not a raw stone.”

Adrian held out a hand, and Sorcha dropped the stone into his black-gloved palm.

He inspected it, rolling it around thoughtfully—a line between his brows, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “It reminds me of blood.”

“Don’t people usually say that about rubies?”

“I’ve never seen rubies like these.” Adrian held it out for her to take. “Have you?”

Sorcha shook her head and took the stone back, rolling it between her hands. It warmed with her touch, the color richer and deeper than any other stone she’d ever seen. It was as if blood had crystalized into this impossibly beautiful stone. It wasn’t like the rubies she’d worn in the temple or those gifted to her by Prince Eine. These were something else.

Closing her eyes, Sorcha waited. It didn’t take long. From beyond the arched hands, a voice rustled—like the leaves, like the sudden wind through the trees, like a temple chant heard at the gates of the Citadel when she was late for services. The Saint. He was here. Or a piece of him was.

“We go through,” she said. “The relic is ahead.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because I can feel it,” Sorcha said, turning to him. She placed a hand flat against his chest, feeling him breathe, his heart beat. He covered it with one of his, staring into her eyes. “Nox should stay here though.”

They remained frozen, unwilling to break the connection. But the voice was growing. No words. No sense. Only the incessant murmur. Was it aware of the other relics above them? Could the Saint feel himself coming together?

“Are you afraid?” he asked, his fingers tightening a fraction.

“Does it matter if I am?” Sorcha smiled bitterly.

She stepped back and ran a soothing hand down Nox’s neck. The horse turned to her, ears pricked forward. With a smile she held out a hand and he nuzzled her palm, snorting softly. They’d come along way from their first meeting. Maybe it had been her stern voice warning him not to bite her. Or the apples. That might have been the making of their friendship.

Sorcha turned to Adrian, her shoulders set. “I go forward no matter what comes next. Are you?”

Adrian shook his head, one hand casually laid on the hilt of his sword, the other still covering the spot her hand had rested. “I’m not afraid to follow you.”

* * *

Heat engulfed Sorcha as they passed through the stone hands. It reminded her of the moment they’d crossed into the Silvas—crossing into an unknown, into a place with only tenuous connections to the world she inhabited. Vibrant green and blue surrounded them now, birdsong broke the silence. Behind them, bare trees and an overcast sky waited. Which was reality? The place she’d come from, or this one?

“Where do we go from here?” Adrian asked.

We. As if it were that simple. And from here? Sorcha couldn’t tell him. She only knew that the relic was here, and if they kept going, they’d find it.

“I’m not sure,” she said, searching the trees, waiting to feel that familiar pull. “This place is different from the others.”

“Different enough that you won’t bleed for it?” he asked dryly.

The comment surprised her, and she threw him a look. Adrian wore that face—careful and expressionless—and she was finally beginning to understand it. She didn’t respond, waiting to see if he would offer more. To her surprise, he did.

“Don’t they want him back?”

They. Monsters and villains from the stories. Myths and legends given flesh and bone—brought out of hiding with the promise the Saint would bring about a new age. He would return them to light, a place in the sun, as soon as he walked the earth again.

“I think some do.”

“Do you?” Adrian asked.

Sorcha stopped, chest tightening. All the destruction and rebirth the Saint would bring—the world washed clean. And the price of it all would be her blood. Her life. Her hopes and dreams for a future she could no longer see clearly. She lifted one shoulder, refusing to commit to an answer out lout—not wanting to leave room for more questions.

Ahead, the trees opened to a meadow, waist-high lacy white flowers with splashes of delicate purple and sharp yellow scattered throughout. A bird sang as it spiraled higher, the sound piercing her heart. A breeze ruffled the grasses, flowerheads bobbing, and in the distance, a femur sat on a flat black stone flecked with sparkling rubies.

Adrian started forward, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Wait,” she said, grabbing his arm and coming to stand beside him.

With the contact came a rush of emotion. It flooded her, taking her by surprise, coursing through her like a storm surge—unstoppable, consuming.

I want you to touch me. I want your hands on me. I want you to hold onto me so tightly that I forget my name, I forget your past. Let’s remake the world, change our story.

Her attraction to him was something dark, coming from a twisted place in her heart, a thing no one would understand, and they’d be sickened by it, disgusted.

Adrian the murderer. Adrian the monster.

I still want him.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing,” she said, searching the meadow. “Yet.”

Overhead, a clear blue sky observed their progress, the distance from the break in the trees to the relic farther than it appeared. Sweat prickled along her hairline and under her arms, the air thickening as they drew closer to the bone. There were more rubies in the earth here, larger in size and faceted as if worked by a talented jeweler. Sorcha could image wearing them—a glittering, coldly beautiful woman on a dais surrounded by opulence. She shook herself, willing it away.

Not a dream, a vision, of something that could be.

Breathing heavily, as if they’d run the distance to the relic, she paused before the femur. A sense of impending doom fell over her. It would be a long run to reach those stone hands, to reach Nox. And she had no doubt they would have to reach that portal as quickly as possible as soon as she touched the bone before them.

“Where did you go?” Adrian asked. “Just now.”

“Nowhere,” she said, not wanting to think of herself that way again.

The air crackled around the relic, electricity filling the air. Stepping forward, Sorcha sucked in a breath and reached for the Saint.

“Wait.” He touched her shoulder, a slight pressure, but he didn’t break contact. His hand remained—large and warm. “What do you want me to do?”

“Stay with me.”

Adrian inclined his head, a promise in his dark eyes. Sorcha didn’t want to go back to winter and the cold eyes of the Tomeis. She wanted to remain here and see if Adrian’s eyes changed, if his mouth would soften with her name.

Sorcha placed her hand on the Saint—this small piece—knowing that even as she did, it brought them all closer to the things she wanted to deny. As soon as she touched the relic, the sky morphed, a storm exploding out of the beautiful day. Rain swirled around her, sleet grating across her skin, a million points of freezing contact.

Out of the storm, a shape was coming for her. It could only be seen where the sleet hit it—an invisible, hulking shape, vaguely human but oversized.

She screamed as it lumbered toward her, quicker than anything could possibly run.

It caught her, the invisible being in the rain, suspending her in time, pinned like an animal.

“Sorcha!”

Vessel.