Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(75)

“Please, Faelan.” Her voice breaks on my name, and when I look at her, there are tears in her eyes.

My gut clenches, and a part of me cracks inside. I used to be swayed by those tears. Once, long ago, I’d have wiped them from her face and kissed her. Now I watch, frustrated, knowing she’s merely using them for her own ends.

“I’m not doing this with you, Astrid,” I say, attempting to be gentle.

She nods and brushes a glittering tear from her cheek. “I thought you’d wish to make peace, regain standing. Forgive me if I overstepped.”

Regain standing? How can she not know that I never cared about that? It’s as if she’s forgotten the reason I wanted to leave my father’s House to begin with. But even so, why come to me for reconciliation now, after being silent for so long?

And why would Finbar send my old lover if he really meant to make amends? He knows how she betrayed me, how she used me in the end. He knows I’d never trust her. It makes no sense.

My brothers are up to something. Or Astrid is.

Either way, I’m not playing. “Go back to forgetting about me,” I say. “And tell my brothers to do the same. I won’t return to the House of Cernunnos. Ever.”

“I wish you’d at least hear me out. They have—”

An arrow of pain spikes my temple, shutting out her words. I clench my eyes and cradle my head, trying to push back at the pulse. It subsides nearly as quickly as it came, only a slight throb lingering.

I catch my breath and rub my temple. What the mangy hell was that?

“Are you all right?” Astrid moves closer and looks around us, her eyes wary.

Then I remember. I’m no longer simply me anymore. “I’m fine,” I say absently, searching the crowd. Where the feck is Sage?

“Faelan, I—”

“Enough,” I bite out.

And I walk away through the crowd.

I study all the faces, the figures I pass, not seeing her. I should be feeling her location if the connection is solid enough to spike me. It should be drawing me toward her. But I don’t sense any tug. I might be too pissed right now to feel it.

I make my way among the bodies, not worrying about the turning heads or the whispers. I need to get a tighter rein on this link so that—

I spot her red hair and the panic fades a little. She’s in the shadows, standing by one of the trees and—Kieran is reaching out to her. He’s . . . he’s bloody touching her neck. If he hurts her again, I’ll fucking rip his bastard lungs out.

I move fast, but he’s smoke before I get three yards away.

“Are you all right?” I ask as I come to her side. I turn her to face me, looking over her neck, her shoulders. She’s lit with a fading glow at the center of her chest. She manifested? I urge her deeper into the shadows. “What’s happened? Your power—did he hurt you?” If Kieran tried to attack her again . . .

She shakes her head, looking confused. “He put this on, and everything suddenly shifted.”

“What shifted, what do you mean?” But then I see it, the ancient torque resting on her chest, lying over the one I placed on her. Queen Lily’s torque. “You put it on?”

She shakes her head violently. “He did. And I didn’t stop him—what’s wrong with me, Faelan?”

“He placed it?” I can’t help the disbelief in my voice. That’s really not good. Why would she let him do that?

“I’m all wrong,” she says. “I can’t think when I’m around him. It’s like I’m not in control.”

“We need to go. We’ll figure this out.”

Relief fills her eyes. “Okay.”

“Stay close until we’re out of here, though.” I was an idiot to let Aelia and her coven whisk her off in the first place.

She nods and moves closer to me. The smell of her spice fills my head, and without meaning to I lean toward her, breathing it in. The memory floats through me of our kiss only a few hours ago, the feel of her in my hands, and I absently reach out, about to touch her, to try and comfort her.

Thankfully, a pixie comes forward, saving me.

I bloody well need to get myself past this.

But then I realize it’s Brea, the gift from the House of Lyr.

“I have the poultice,” she says, bowing slightly as she blocks our path, holding up a small glass bowl. “I will place it on her temples, and then she can feed from me.”

Sage shrinks back, repulsed. “Oh, God, no.”

“You aren’t needed,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. I’m fairly sure she’s more likely a spy for the House of Lyr than any sort of loyal servant. “You can return to your previous mistress and tell her the tribute isn’t accepted.”

Brea gasps loudly, and several heads turn our way.

“Is this true?” she asks Sage.

“Well, yes,” Sage says.

Brea opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. “You heard what the princess said. Now, go.” And then I nudge Sage past, not wanting there to be any more of a scene.

But I might be too late. We’ve collected quite a few onlookers. I put my hand on Sage’s back and steer her along the path, heading for the exit.

“You didn’t need to be mean,” Sage says under her breath.