Page 92 of Marked By the Enemy
The boy shimmered faintly. He was a seed. The corridor had planted him. Now it was watching to see if he’d root.
I sat up slowly. Darian followed, jaw tight, still watching the dark space between the hearth and the door. “Who is he?”
I shook my head. “Not someone. Not yet.”
Movement stirred in the courtyard. A pot scraped over stone, and I woke up. Darian woke, too. His bedroll was right beside mine, his fingers resting on my wrist. He flinched away quickly and rubbed his eyes.
Willow came to the doorway. Her hair was braided, slanted forward over one shoulder. Her marks shimmered orange along her arm. “The corridor gave me a name for him.”
“For who?” Darian asked.
“The boy you both just dreamed of.”
Darian and I exchanged a knowing look.
“What is it?” he asked.
“His name is Llyr.”
Darian said it softly, like the word held weight. “That’s a root word.”
“Yes,” she said. “It means both begin and undo.”
The bond shimmered orange from her palm, arm, chest.
I nodded. “Then we keep him in the circle.”
Willow turned and left.
I rose. The air in the chamber had warmed slightly, but something still hung between us. Past the ridge and barely through the trees, a glint flickered through the trees—metal, or magic, or something watching.
Chapter twenty-six
The Fifth and her Twelve
That night, in the largest fighting ring, the corridor opened on its own. Light twisted upward from the circle of memory stones, curling through the air like steam from a held cup. I stood at the threshold. The others gathered behind me, some stepping closer, some staying back. The tie inside me held still.
Darian arrived without speaking. He leaned in, his warm breath near my ear. “I thought it would wait until morning.”
“It’s waited long enough.”
Willow touched the stone first. Her fingers brushed the curve of the frame, and she stepped inside. Rainer followed. The corridor didn’t pulse or ripple—it welcomed. Others moved too, feet silent against the frost-bitten grass.
Darian’s fingertips touched the back of my hand. “You first this time.”
I nodded and stepped into the corridor. The world bent. Walls widened. Floor solid. The tie stayed quiet. The three wolves came as well. I gasped. They had entered the corridors with us, and on their shoulders sat the falcons. Thesnowflakes on the wolves’ fur and the falcons’ breasts flashed black and white in turn.
Our large congregation walked along the corridor, lined with mirrors. The corridor curved into a space I hadn’t seen before, where twelve people, two wolves, and two falcons stood in a grove, under a stormy gray sky.
Abigail, the redhead, with the five rings interlinked on her forehead, stood in the center, wearing a stormy ocean cloak that roiled and crashed on the shore.
Seeing her again should have relieved me since she might answer my questions, but I felt an itch on my left arm and chest. Below, glowing white and silver, worm-like markings writhed. They were three identical runes, like the Water Seat of the Moon Court rune on my comb—crescent moon cupping a single drop above waves.
My throat tightened. I tugged at my collar, pulled it wide, and looked down. The flower on my chest vanished. In its place, the same rune formed again, clean and whole.
Abigail raised her palm. The same mark shone from her hand. She turned slowly, offering it to the people, wolves, and falcons who stood beside her.
The bond stirred in my ribs and gave me a name. She was mine. My great-grandmother. I saw her hazel-green eyes in my own face. I had never known.
