Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(115)

Faelan flies back, an arrow protruding from his chest.

A cry fills me, horror burning in my limbs, but I can’t move, I can’t speak. I’m frozen, useless. Held captive by a crazy old man.

Lailoken touches my shoulder like he’s consoling me as we watch. He leans over, whispering, “He is a brilliant boy, Mr. Winter. I hope he brought his heart with him. He shall need it.”

Another snapping of twigs nearby and someone else emerges from the forest. I blink, not sure I’m seeing right. I think I recognize him. He’s in old-fashioned black leathers, a bow held in his hand, a quiver on his back. His hair is dark brown, cut close to his head, and his skin is tan.

Ben. The shade from the Halloween party where all of this began.

“You got him,” he yells to someone behind him. “That should hold him for a minute, maybe two. Hurry up and get the bigger torque.”

Someone else yells back from the cover of the trees, a female voice, but I can’t hear it clearly.

“No way, not without the torque. I’m not getting paid enough to be gutted by your lover.”

There’s silence, and the man is joined by a second figure, a tall female. She emerges into the clearing like a Viking princess, her perfect body clad in tight, ancient-looking leathers, a thick iron shackle in her fist.

A white-blond braid curls over her shoulder.

Astrid.

What is she doing here? I expected to see Mara, but this . . . it doesn’t make sense.

I watch her and Ben walk toward Faelan’s body. They slow as they get closer, both pulling out daggers. Astrid says something quietly, and Ben goes around in a wider circle, to the other side. Then he kneels and grabs Faelan, pushing him into a limp sitting position.

Faelan looks completely out of it, his chin on his chest, his dark hair curtained over his face. A huge arrow is sticking out of his chest.

My own chest aches and tears fill my eyes. I want to run out there, to rip that bitch’s braid out by the roots. What the hell are they doing to him?

“Now they shall see, Lily,” Lailoken whispers. “It will come as quite a shock, but they shall see.”

Astrid leans over and places the torque around Faelan’s neck. Then she nods at Ben, who hoists him up and starts dragging Faelan’s body across the clearing into the trees. Astrid follows, slipping her dagger casually back into her belt, a satisfied grin on her face.

“Well, let’s go!” Lailoken says, sounding excited. He snaps his fingers and my throat warms, the lock on my limbs easing. “It’s almost your cue, princess. The boy needs us to save him.” He grabs me by the arm, yanking me to my feet and tugging me through a raspberry bush like he’s as strong as a twenty-year-old.

I stumble forward, getting pricked and snagged on the thorns as I’m pulled.

“Let go!” I hiss, trying to get away, but he’s gripping me too tightly, dragging me through brush and past branches, hurriedly weaving through the trees.

“No,” he says. “No more letting go. I’ve missed you too long.” The rabbit follows at our feet, and several more pop up from the bushes, joining the herd. The squirrel rides on the monk’s shoulder, clinging with its tiny claws. It glares at me with its beady eyes, like I’ve offended it.

“What is going on?” I ask, desperate.

“You’re going to complete the circle, of course. As your mother planned.”

I growl in frustration. That makes no sense.

“I know,” he says, like he actually pities me. “You’re mixed up in your belly. It’s how it had to be done. No other way to hide. But don’t worry, child. It’s all blossoming now!”

His words strike me—he knows why this is all happening. I open my mouth to ask him the millions of questions crowding my head, but he yanks me again, pulling me forward faster.

“Not now,” he says. “No time for questions.” Like he’s reading my mind.

We come to a sparser part of the forest, and he pauses, looking around frantically. He whistles, and a huge bird swoops down from an upper branch, landing on a root nearby. Lailoken leans over like he’s listening to the creature.

I stare at the owl. The perfectly soft white and tan feathers. The black eyes reflecting the forest around us.

“Fionn,” I say in amazement. Kieran said the bird was dead!

“He whispers that Mr. Winter is this way,” Lailoken says, pointing through the shadowed trees.

I don’t look away from the owl. No, this can’t possibly be the same bird. It just can’t, not so many years later.

Of course, I’m apparently talking to this guy, who was alive back then too, so . . .

The bird takes off, disappearing into the limbs above.

“Was that Fionn?” I dare to ask.

Lailoken uses his long staff to move the curling arm of a fern off the path. “It’s a maybe and a most definitely. It isn’t my place to say what spirit returns to me now and then.”

The vision of the bird splits me in two again. I feel the familiarity of the trees around me and the cool, damp air—Lily’s longing for it all—but this time I don’t push her back. I want to believe that Fionn was three feet away from me just now, that he’s still alive. It makes the magic in this world seem less horrible, after all the manipulation and dead bodies.

We come to a denser part of the forest again, and Lailoken slows, tapping his staff on a tree with a hollow thunk, thunk, thunk, like he’s knocking to be let in.