Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(127)
“I broke the spirit tether,” I say as I move to the stained-glass window, opening it and revealing the night sky. “The counter spell will only last a minute or two, so you need to go. Now. Time’s run out, no more foolishness. Mara will be on a tear.” I’ve tried to get him to fly away several times, but he remains in this room, imprisoned by our sister. I don’t understand it. No matter how many times I’ve found him an escape, he stays.
A foolish part of me wonders if he’s protecting me from her wrath—if he escapes, she’ll know I’m the one who released him. But the realist in me is fairly sure that my brother is no longer capable of thought like that. After living inside the raven for so long, his thoughts are those of a bird, rarely more complex than the need for a meal or a shiny bauble.
I’m not sure how Mara discovered him after all of this time—or why she hasn’t destroyed him. I’ve known what happened since the day I found Lily in the glade, surrounded by the pieces of his body. My brother had tucked a note to me in my favorite map, explaining that his raven would house his spirit until he could find another vessel, and Lily would be inside Fionn—though that turned out different than he thought. But I never saw the raven again, until three months ago when Mara brought him to me, triumphant at her discovery. He’s been stuck in those hollow bones and onyx feathers for nearly seven horrible centuries.
Horrible for me, that is. By putting Mara on the throne, he left me without a protector. While he’s been flying around, living out this twisted fae tale, I’ve been in hell.
Bran squawks again and hops down onto the desk, pecking at a stack of paper.
“Please, brother,” I say. “You need to go. I won’t be able to protect both of you. Lily will be lost if Sage is consumed by our sister. You should at least care about that.” I step closer to the bird, hands turning to fists at my side to keep myself from reaching out and wringing its bloody neck. “Hear me, dammit.”
Bran pecks at the papers again, even more insistent. And this time I notice a symbol on the top paper in the stack.
It’s a flame knot in a circle. Burned in. Was that there before?
The raven pecks again, and I watch, stunned, as a second knot burns in beside the first, the paper sizzling as an unseen brand stamps the symbol for spirit on it.
The bird created the mark. But it doesn’t make sense.
“What am I meant to do?” I ask, sensing my brother may be instructing me on how to fight back against Mara. But I’ve been fighting against my sister in secret for all these centuries, and what good has it done? She only gets stronger by the day.
The raven pecks again below the two circles. And the Gaelic word for vase—or is it jar?—appears.
No, vessel.
Realization dawns on me. “You wish for me to find you a vessel?” I’ve looked already, with no success. It would take a very powerful demi to filter my brother’s magic once he begins to allow his power to flow through the blood again. “A new link could fail,” I explain. “I haven’t—”
My brother tap, tap, taps harder on the paper with his beak. A new word appears, and my chest constricts as it forms in hissing embers.
Kieran.
I stare at my name. Then at the bird.
Cold understanding filters through me then, as I see where this has always been leading. What my brother, the king, must’ve considered long ago.
Me. My brother wants me as his vessel.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every story has its own process. And along the road there are countless angels to help a tale find its way. This novel certainly had its fair share of heroes.
I’m so very grateful to my agent, badass Rena Rossner, who reminded me more times than I could count that I could do this. You’re a fighter and a miracle worker, lady! And I’m beyond thankful to have you walking alongside me on this perilous journey of publishing.
To the team at Skyscape, who make this publishing thing seem painless and work hard to let it be the great adventure I always dreamed it would be. To Adrienne—I’m so thrilled that you believed in this one, and I’m really hoping it’ll make you proud. To Marianna—you’re a visionary, lady! Thank you so much for bringing clarity to the crazy that I send you.
A million hugs and boxes of chocolates to my writer friends, Merrie, Becky, Paul, and Mike, for your ready ears and red pens. Panera memories are the best memories. We’ll still be meeting in a booth when we get to Paradise.
To my weekly savior and plotting guru, Catherine—what, in the name of pants, would this book have been without your amazingly helpful imagination? I don’t even want to know. Thank you for all the emergency chats! And for not laughing hysterically when I told you my silly idea.
A big venti-sized hug to Angie for all our Starbucks chats and for helping me understand the goddess a little better through your eyes.
Thank you to the Lit Bitches for your constant encouragement and acceptance. And to all my Codexian pals, I’m so very thankful we’re in the trenches together. You guys inspire me every day. I seriously can’t believe you still let me hang out with your talented selves.
To the best bestie that ever was or will be, Cayse Day—you’re always willing to listen to my venting and feed me amazing food and fab wine when things look dim, then pour me more wine when they look great. Thank you for letting Dave ignore chores to read my books and give me his awesome feedback!