Page 72 of Marked By the Enemy
Sael looked into the flames and nodded. “He’s buried them under silence. Whole families. Whole kingdoms. Most don’t even understand what they serve.”
Branwen topped up Jack’s cup with more tea. “So why won’t you tell us everything?”
Sael’s gaze sharpened as she frowned at the fire. “Because the more you understand, the louder you become. And the louder you become, the faster he hears you.”
Sael said little for the rest of the day. She simply observed the movement of the marked ones without comment or interruption. Lina brought her bread, fruit, and meat. She accepted it with a nod. Willow poured her water. She drank without thanks, but not ungratefully. It wasn’t reverence that settled around her. It was attention.
The marked ones didn’t speak to her. The bond didn’t press. It catalogued her shape among us. I peered at her from the shade of the Keep. Sael remained rooted to the spot when the vow-magic passed through her. That told me more than any declaration. She had known this current before.
Branwen joined me under the eaves. We moved deeper into shadow so no one outside would see her marks. She carried two small bundles wrapped in cloth and set one of them down on the stone ledge. “She was demon bait.”
I turned, alarmed. “What’s that?”
“I have no idea. The ancestor who told me wouldn’t explain. It was one of the tales she told me about theVowborn of the past.”
“Vowborn?”
“Like us. Chosen by the binding vow. The Bone Seat was never a Vowborn. He forced it.”
“AndSael?”
“I don’t think she’s one either, from what she told us. She was one of the ten fae used as demon bait.” Branwen whispered in my ear. “Did you notice her four marks are purple and unattached like the remnants?”
I nodded and swallowed. “So maybe all the forced have that violet color, whatever fae court they are from. What else did your ancestors tell you?”
Branwen sniffed. “Only bits and bobs. The last generation of theEchoed Chain—“
“Wait. The what?” I asked. “What does the Echoed Chain mean?”
“Leaders of the Vowborn, like you, who tried to rebel the Bone Seats.”
“There have been others?”
“Many generations.” Branwen’s marks started illuminating in fluorescent green, and we stepped closer to the hall so no one outside would see. “The First, The Second, The Third, The Fourth, The Fifth, The Sixth, The Seventh, The Eighth. All rebel leaders against the Bone Seats and their demons. All failed leaders of the Vowborn.”
“So I’m not so special?” I sucked in a long breath and blew it out between tight lips. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected it. How many have there been?”
“This is only what my ancestor told me. The first generation had ten. This generation has produced five so far. You are the Fifth. The ones before are also known as the Forgotten Numbers.”
“Known by who?”
She shrugged. “Ancestors, spirits of the Otherworld, guardian spirits. Angels. Call them what you will.”
Fourteen Vowborn had tried this before me. Fourteen had failed. Most never got close enough to choose mercy. “You know more than me. Who are these ancestors you’ve been talking to?”
“Royalty from the Summer Court.”
“You have fae royalty for ancestors?”
She shrugged. “Mixed-blood, not pure fae. Like all the true courts.”
“I never asked. But are you from here?”
“Me? Oh, no!”
“You’re not from the same village as the elders, Nessa, Lina, and Ulric?”
“No. No!” Branwen laughed.
