Stars of Fortune (The Guardians Trilogy, #1)(72)

“Let me try it once.” She simply took the bolt, loaded it. And in one move aimed, fired.

Her bolt centered neatly between theirs, center bull’s-eye.

“Well, kick my ass and call me Shirley.” Riley gaped at the target, let out a bark of a laugh. “That didn’t look like beginner’s luck.”

“I’ve used one in dreams. It feels the same.” She lowered the bow to study it. “I know this. FPS, you said. That’s feet per second. I know this.”

Doyle walked to the target, pulled out the three bolts. When he walked back, he took the bow, cocked it.

“Do it again.”

She hit dead center a second time.

“No, not luck. Either you beef up,” Doyle added, “use the cocking device—or see what Bran can do. You can have that, and a couple dozen bolts.”

“I appreciate the loan.”

“Take care of it. When this is done, give it back.” He cocked it yet again, stared off at the target. “I figured I’d be out here all damn day just showing you how to sight it. I’m going for a beer.”

When he strode off, Riley took a slug of her margarita. “I believe you just received the Doyle McCleary Seal of Approval.”

“Better than that.” She pinned the next bolt a whisper away from the first. “He would have stayed out here all damn day showing me.”

“Are you smelling a little team spirit?”

“I think I am.” This time she retrieved the bolts herself. Even that, she realized, felt familiar. Routine.

“I’m not going to use the cocking device. I never used it in the visions. I’m going to take this up to Bran, because I think that’s how I’m able to cock it. Until I get stronger.”

She began packing the bow and bolts in the case. “Where did you go, Riley? When you left yesterday?”

“Not far. I needed to get the jeep out of sight. And get out of sight myself. Getting naked before the change spares the wardrobe. After the sun set, I came back, close enough so I’d be around if anything happened. Which it did.”

“You don’t need to leave tonight.”

“I guess not, seeing as the wolf’s out of the bag.”

“How does it feel, the change?”

“Painful. Powerful—both ways. There’s a rush. Everything in you’s racing. And when the wolf’s free, everything’s heightened. Smell, sound, sight, speed. But I’m still me. What’s human is always in there, the same way the wolf is in me right now.

“And since I’m cut off when the sun sets, I’m going to have another margarita. You in?”

“Why not?”

* * *

In her cave, Nerezza fashioned a palace. She deserved no less, after all, and surrounded herself with gold and silver, with jewels that sparkled in the light of her torches. She was born to rule, and soon the long wait to do so would be over.

Destroying worlds to gain her ends was no matter to her. The stars would provide her with all the power necessary, and when she had them, when she returned to the Island of Glass to ascend the throne, as was her right, she would create whatever she wished.

Worlds of fire and storms. Worlds of slaves and suffering. World upon world to do her bidding. This was true rule, and her reign would be endless.

In the globe she watched the seer use her foolish weapon. Let them play, she thought, let them savor what they thought a victory, the seer, the she-wolf, the witch, and . . .

She pounded a fist on the golden arm of her throne so the walls of stone shook. Mists swirled around the globe, blocking much from her sight. The sorcerer, she thought. She would deal with him. Oh, she would deal with him.

But more, much more enraging, she couldn’t see the others for what they were. That was Celene’s doing—Celene, Luna, Arianrhod. They’d blocked the knowledge even from the globe. But it would do them no good.

They’d reveal themselves, just as the she-wolf had done. And once revealed, the knowledge would show her how to destroy them.

When the time came, she thought, and lifted a jeweled mirror to admire herself.

She would use them first, let them lead her to the Fire Star.

Then she would crush them, take it. And it would lead her to the others. She would take what they had, drain them of it, fill herself, and leave their husks to rot.

And she would be eternal. Forever young, more beautiful than the sun, more powerful than all the gods.

But as she looked, the reflection in the glass began to whither, the skin drooping into folds, drawing back toward the skull. The ebony hair went thin, gray, dry, as the glass showed her aging years, decades, centuries.

On a scream of rage, she hurled the mirror away, smashing glass and gems.

With a trembling hand, she lifted the goblet beside her, drank fast and deep. And with its brew and her will, drew back her youth and beauty.

She had pushed too much of herself into the attack the night before, and needed more potion. Her banishment from the Island of Glass stripped away her rights—to that youth, that beauty.

She aged. Not like the puny humans. No, even this humiliation wasn’t so great. But she aged. Her body gradually losing its form, her skin its texture, her face its beauty.

She would have them back, not just the illusion of them, but truly. And she would banish the ones who’d lowered her to this until they turned to dust.