Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(47)
I kneel in the clover and rest her on the cushion of green. When I let go, my arms ache with the lack of her.
Her head is tipped to the side. My gut clenches again at the sight of her sliced neck, the blood now sticky, nearly dried, smeared all down her chest, her shoulder, her dress soaked through and heavy with it. I’ve seen a lot of death in my time, watched countless horrors done, but I’ve rarely felt confused by it. Only once, when I found my mother that dark morning, so long ago, floating like a forgotten toy in the river. I was young, and until that moment death had been a stranger to me.
Now, seeing this broken waif in front of me . . . it’s like I’m ten years old all over again.
“There it is,” says the wise man. He leans his staff against the wall before he kneels across from me, on the other side of Sage. “This is most definitely flowers growing in winter, do you not think?” He shakes his head, musing at his lunatic words.
“Can you fix her?” I ask, deciding to ignore his crazy. When I met him as a boy, he was the most powerful human I’d ever seen, able to do far more than even the most talented demi. But then, humans have a lot in them that they never tap into, especially in the modern age. I can only hope he still has enough wit to understand what’s going on with Sage. After so many years hiding in the wood, he seems much more off. He’s kept himself alive, though. Somehow.
Lailoken rubs his palms together, studying Sage. “This flame is still burning, I believe.” He touches her hair, then glances at me. “Caution is warranted, though. There’s much to swallow us. Much to kill. The blood here is not so common.” He clucks his tongue like he’s tsking a naughty child. “You see what I mean, I’m sure, Mr. Winter.”
I decide not to correct him or ask him why he’s calling me Mr. Winter. I don’t want to make this moment any more confusing than it already is. “Yes,” I say, trying to be agreeable instead. “I know she’s dangerous.” Even though I’m not sure how dangerous. Not yet.
“Truly,” he says, “is this a lily growing before us? She is fire and shadow. I’ve seen her burn before.” His tone has shifted a bit, amazement filling his words. “It is a true miracle. She’s come back to us.”
Aelia settles beside me and leans close, whispering, “Did he just call her Lily? Could he think she’s the other daughter? The first one?”
I don’t know how to answer, so I just watch the old man place his palm over Sage’s forehead as he begins muttering a pattern of words in ancient Gaelic. Could he really think she’s the first daughter, Lily? Maybe I was foolish to bring her here.
After everything that happened to the Otherborn because of the first daughter, any similarities between the outcast queen and our new demi wouldn’t be seen as a good thing.
I met Queen Lily when I was a child. She was a woman of light and beauty then, in her prime, bound to the Morrígan’s son, the King of Ravens. They’d ruled together for several centuries over our kind. My only interaction with her was at a feast of Samhain just after the king was killed. She had such a quiet sorrow about her when she called me up to her throne and told me she’d pay me a silver coin for a lock of my hair and two extra if I took a message to the wizard in the wood, Lailoken. I still remember her golden eyes as she looked down on me, the weight of grief around her.
I delivered the message, and on my way home, I stopped in the market and bought oatcakes and sweet meats with the silver. Three days later, the queen met her final punishment—she was taken prisoner by the Cast and tossed into the Pit, where she remains to this day.
She was charged with killing her Bonded, the king. They claimed that, in her madness, she had unleashed a scourge called the Black Death, and that in the end tens of millions of humans would die because of her. Her folly opened up the doorway for the Church to start its deadliest blood hunt of Otherborn and caused many centuries of bloodshed on both sides, human and Otherborn. It was a time marked by horror. But I’ve never been able to see her as the monster the Cast made her out to be. I’ll always see her as the sad beauty I once admired.
I still remember her delicate fingers taking my dirty hand in hers. I can still close my eyes and feel her energy. It was so distinct. So colorful. It smelled like rain and sunlight and sweet greens. She was so beautiful, so magical.
This demi in front of us right now—Sage—bears no resemblance, in power or in form or in any way, really, to her older sister, Lily.
“He’s not all there,” I remind Aelia. “At least he’s got the right bloodline. It would be worse if he was calling for a water spirit or something.”
“But that’s nuts,” she hisses. “We don’t want him to bring the wrong thing back, do we?”
Lailoken stops muttering under his breath and barks, “Secrets and whispers! No, no, no.”
“We’re worried you’ve got it wrong, sir,” I explain. “She’s not the first daughter, she’s the second. Her name is Sage.”
The frown scrunching his face deepens. “What, what? Not Lilybird, you say?” He looks down at Sage. Then he brushes his dirt-stained fingertips against her hair.
“No,” Aelia says. “Not Lily.”
Lailoken sniffs. “I’m not deaf, you know.” He places his palm over Sage’s eyes and closes his own before he goes back to his mutters like we never interrupted him. I can only hope his spell is correct. I can’t understand everything he’s saying because he’s talking too fast, his words too jumbled.