Page 98 of Marked By the Enemy
I swallowed. “Are you alone?”
“No, I believe you may have met my dear friend, another pilgrim. He likes to walk about bare.”
His voice was much younger than I expected, considering how wrinkled he was. I smiled at him for his friendly ways. “Yes. We call your friend the ash man.”
“Oh yes, hahaha. He does like to rub his skin with ash. He’s unaffected by cold, even in the most freezing conditions. We are men of magic, you see. We are more ancient than the vow, and we want to help you, Talia of Tarnwick.”
Darian’s Moon Court rune lit across his palm. Lord Jeyin’s hand flashed red, too, and the tree mark growing up Holt’s neck swayed, casting a shadow in the moonlight beside his own.
“Why have you come?” I asked.
“Because a spiral returns. That’s what it does.” He peered past me at Willow and the ring, still vibrating in the bowl. He peered at the mark on my palm, glimmering silver. “You are the point the spirals have folded around.”
Darian’s voice came low. “Do you mean to fight?”
“No.” The man grimaced at the ridiculous idea. “I mean to witness.”
The copper bowl rang out louder. A twinkling thread of memory floated out of his mouth and eyes and passed through him into the keep. I stepped aside. He crossed the wardline. No force pushed back. No flare burned. The stone circle recognized him. He entered slowly, leaning heavily on his stick. The bond made space for him. And under my skin, the Fifth mark warmed in welcome.
In the early hours of the morning, I felt that even though the corridor’s light had gone, its presence hadn’t. It dwelled within our marked hands and bodies. It was deeply ingrained in our hearts and spines. Our glances held the unspoken vow-magic, each of us wondering if our connection would rekindle, or if someone would reveal a lie.
I stood near the forge ruins with Branwen. The torches were almost out, but the marked weren’t sleeping anymore. I think they were waiting to be named again or remembered.
Branwen absently rubbed the Summer Court rune inside of her left wrist as she peered out over the skiffs still lined along the ridge. “He’s waiting for us to fracture.”
“He always was,” I said, peering at the marked ones who remained awake, even at this ungodly hour.
“He doesn’t know how we’re held together.”
Darian crossed from the wall. His cloak dragged in the mud. His face was taut and watchful. “We need to gather again.”
Branwen looked at me. I nodded.
By the third torch, most had come. Some stood. Others kneeled. Holt had said little since meeting his great-grandfather, the Wind Seat of the Shadow Court, in the corridor. But now he stood near Lina and Nessa. They didn’t speak either. But the past had marked their hands.
Carrying a second bowl, the three elders brought a candle standing in ash inside of it. Seeing the newcomer and the ash man side-by-side, I pondered their connection. I trusted the bond because it appeared at ease with them. Sael arrived last. She moved past Jack, Ruen, and Astrid, and paused beside Willow. Willow didn’t blink. Sael didn’t speak. They understood something. The knowing that doesn’t need words.
I caught Darian’s eye. He held my gaze longer than usual. He wasn’t hiding. But he wasn’t asking.
“We name the bond too often as a tool,” I said. “We forget it was once a witness.” The air shifted in response. “The vow didn’t make us,” I said. “We remembered each other first.”
Lina stepped forward, kneeled, and dipped her fingers into the ash. She drew a line down her arm. Nessa came next. She tied a thin reed around her wrist. Then Holt, with his burned face and quiet hands. He touched the soil to his sleeve.
One by one, they followed quietly. Threads tucked into seams. Ash rubbed into palms. Nothing to call magic. Everything to call memory. We remembered the ones who tried to shape power before us.
I glanced at Darian again. “It’s strange. Astrid’s sigils are Summer Court green. She glows when she steps near the circle. But she doesn’t seem tied to any of them. Not like the rest of us.”
“Maybe her ancestor wasn’t one of the thirteen who tried to stop him,” he said.
She glowed luminous green near the circle, like always. But she didn’t match any ancestor we had met. It was like her light remembered something older.
The Bone Seat stood above us, cloak snapping in the wind. He didn’t speak. Just turned—and walked back toward his skiff.
Chapter twenty-eight
The Boundless
The Keep was quiet. Not asleep. None of us slept properly anymore. I stood beyond the gate, shoulders drawn back, the blade of Fae-Steel–which Darian had given me all those moontides ago–strapped across my spine and heavier than it should have been.
