Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(39)

“You offered your blood.”

She frowned down at her palm, unmarked. “Did you heal it?”

“No. I might have stopped you from the sacrifice, the symbol and power of it, if I’d known your intent. I would have been wrong. Your offering was well received.”

She reached back to the ends of her shorn hair. “I guess.”

“You honored the gods, honored the ancestors, and you made a pledge.”

“It was like I was somebody else, but not. Like I knew what I was doing, but didn’t.”

“I can help you know, and will. You made a pledge. You’ve made your choice, for good and all?”

She poked at the soup. “I guess I made it when I unpacked. I’m afraid.”

“You’d be foolish not to be. But know you did well tonight. And tomorrow you’ll take up the sword.”

Her eyes lit. “Really?”

“Tomorrow. For now, go to bed.”





CHAPTER EIGHT


She didn’t sleep. Fallon waited until she was certain Mallick had gone to his own bed, then slipped out the window. Though she didn’t feel compelled to hunt for the wolf—as she’d done the night before with no success—she needed the night, the air, the woods.

However weary her body, her spirit remained awake, engaged, alight as if on a quest of its own. So she slipped through the shifting shadows, through the looming, denuded trees, through the sighs and murmurs of night. In the distance the glow from the elfin clan’s bonfire shimmered against the dark. There would be feasting and games and dancing in the glow. There might be girls her age to talk to.

Yet she turned away from the shimmer, kept to the shadows. Too much beat inside her tonight for games and girl talk, and the beat struck, struck, struck as insistently as the tribal drums from the camp.

Heart music, from the trees, the earth, the drums, the spirits who slid in and out of the thinned veil, all quickened inside her. Night creatures, hunter and prey, crept and stalked through those shadows with her, and the skeletal branches overhead creaked like an old man’s bones.

She had no fear, only a deep, thirsty need to be out, to look for something she couldn’t yet see.

She lifted her hand, ran it over the hair that stopped at the nape of her neck. Shorter than her brothers’, she thought, still shocked by it.

Maybe the same knowing that had driven her to shear it off drove her now, to seek the night. She wandered toward the faerie glade but found she didn’t want that, either. Restless, as if something tickled up and down her spine, she wandered without aim or purpose.

And perhaps because she didn’t hunt the wolf, she found him.

He stood, pure white, between two trees. Eyes of bold, sharp blue watched her. Around his neck the thick collar of gold glinted.

She couldn’t claim he looked friendly, but Fallon reasoned Mallick wouldn’t have sent her on a quest to find a wolf who’d eat her.

And something, something about the night, the way the air tasted on her tongue, the steady pulse beat of the power that had flooded her during the ritual, made her fearless.

“Greetings, Faol Ban. Ah, blessed be. I’m Fallon Swift, child of the Tuatha de Danann, student of Mallick the Sorcerer. I’ve been looking for you.”

She took a cautious step forward. The wolf bared his teeth.

“Okay. I’ll just stay over here.” She slid her hands into her pockets, and found the bit of pumpkin bread she’d forgotten she slipped there that afternoon.

She took it out, held it up to show the wolf. “It’s pretty good. I made it this morning. It’s not as good as my mom’s, but I never made it by myself before. You want it?”

She saw the wolf’s eyes shift to the bread in her hand, then cut right back to hers.

Considering they’d trained Jem and Scout with hard biscuits her mom made for that purpose, she tossed the bread.

Maybe she could make the dog biscuits and bring some next time.

Faol Ban studied the bread, sniffed at it. He gave Fallon another cool stare, then snatched up the bread.

“It’s okay, right? I think I should’ve used a little more honey, but it’s okay. Anyway, Mallick’s cooking really sucks, so I’m trying.”

She sensed rather than heard movement behind her. Drawing her knife, she whirled to defend the wolf. She saw the shadow of a man.

With the knife in one hand, power rising in the other, she prepared to protect. “If you try to hurt him, I’ll hurt you first.”

“I’d never hurt the wolf god, or you.”

The shadow stepped out of the shadows, and her hand trembled on the hilt of her knife. Inside her chest, her heart stumbled.

“I know you,” she whispered.

“And I know you. You have my eyes, and your mother’s mouth. Look how tall you are, how strong and brave and beautiful.”

Her father, her sire, walked toward her. He seemed taller than she’d imagined him, and leaner than the picture on the book. His hair, dark as hers, waved around a face she’d studied so many times.

“I’m not dreaming. I didn’t go to sleep.”

“You’re not dreaming,” Max told her. “You called for me.”

“I—”

“In your heart. The veil’s thin tonight. Thinner still with your power. And you brought me through.”