Page 23 of Marked By the Enemy
He held the coin out. “Do you want it?”
I nodded, stunned, wanting to know why I felt like I already owed him something. But he closed his hand around it instead and stepped close enough to tap his knuckle lightly between my eyebrows.
“Keep your eyes open. Some things are illusions—but even illusions can speak the truth.” He dropped the coin into my hand.
I looked down. When I looked up again, he was gone. He had been so silent. The coin was shaped wrong—oval instead of round. Smooth on one side, and on the other, a tiny broken spiral, etched so fine I had to tilt it toward the light to see.
I never told Mom. Never showed it to anyone. I kept it in the lining of my jacket until the lining tore. I must’ve lost it after that. But the memory stayed.
Now, as I gave the memory to the bond, it swished like watery waves inside of me. It seemed familiar. Like it had been waiting for that story. Like it remembered the boy before I did.
The parchment shivered. It hissed softly as the edges browned, curled, and burned without flames or sparks. Three rings—wide, exact, overlapping but distinct—etched themselves into the fibers. When I pulled my hand away, they remained.
I stared at them. “They keep coming.”
Darian’s boots squeaked when he stepped closer. “What are those circles?”
I shook my head once. “I suspect they are connected to our vowmarks. Do you have one or two circles now?”
He stepped beside me, close enough that I detected a subtle warm fragrance—possibly sandalwood. He reached toward the mark on my arm. Thistime, when his fingers brushed the silver ring beneath my skin, the bond didn’t flinch. It didn’t flare or recoil.
My hands moistened, and I stared at the fire.
“I have two ring marks, like you.” He showed me the inside of his wrist and his palm.
“The circles have been in my dreams. And in my drawings.”
He looked at the page, then at the marks faintly glowing beneath my skin.
I drew a slow breath. “They mean something. They must.” I wanted to tell him about the woman in the water, but I didn’t trust him.
He was quiet for a moment before speaking. “The only thing I’ve ever read that comes close… the few who were said to have been ‘blinded’ by the bond—that’s the word used—they bore scars, never circles. It has chosen to show you these circles.”
“It didn’t show me. It remembered.”
He frowned in thought. “Perhaps this fae magic is older than we realize.”
“Fae magic which chose a human,” I whispered.
I drew the five interlinked circles again, but this time with charcoal. The fifth never closed—or detached itself too quickly from the others. The chalk stuttered across the page. Darian and I stared at the unfinished mark. The sun dropped behind the windows. A last breath of gold, and then it was gone.
Somewhere in the corridor, footsteps passed. A knock came. I opened it and accepted the dinner tray containing letters. The summons came sealed in gold. Darian received one too. We opened them at the same time.
“Demonstration,” I read. “Of unity.”
“They want us to fuse.” He folded his letter without expression. “If we do it now, we lose the chance to shape it.”
I shot him a glance as a knot formed in my belly. Why did he want to shape it? To enslave more? To have more power? Or he might have he’d lost control and wanted it back. There seemed to be a game of power between him and his Councilors.
The throne hall had been cleared, and the arc of Councilors sat at the far end, high on the dais. The Bone Seat sat the tallest, ultraviolet lightning occasionally flickering under his gray robes, and eyes as death-white as ever.
Guards lined the walls. Darian and I entered through separate doors. The tie was quiet.
The steward gestured. “Step forward. Let the bond join.”
Darian met me halfway. We stood at the center. He stretched out a hand toward mine.
I didn’t take it. “No.” The word echoed in the vaulted silence.
