Vincent didn’t let her get out of bed that day. He brought trays of food, going so far as to make sure she consumed every last drop of beef stew, half a loaf of crusty bread, a bowl of the first spring berries, and a mug of ginger tea. He hardly needed to offer any encouragement to eat; she was starving. But if she didn’t know better, she’d say he was fussing.Emrys and Luca visited once to see if she was alive, took one look at Vincent ’s stone-cold face, heard the ripple of a growl, and took off, saying she was in more than competent hands and promising to come back when she was feeling better.“You know,” Jane said, propped in bed with her fourth mug of tea of the day, “I highly doubt anyone is going to attack me now, if they’ve already put up with my nonsense for this long.”Vincent , who was yet again poring over the map of the location of the bodies, didn’t even look up from his seat at his worktable. “This isn’t negotiable.”She might have laughed had her body not given a bur
The Beak Mob group was the last to fully assemble at the Ferian Gap.As a result, they got the smallest and farthest rooms in the warren of halls carved into the Omega, the last of the Ruhnn Mountains and the northernmost of the sister-peaks flanking the snow-blasted pass.Across the gap was the Northern Fang, the final peak of the White Fangs, which was currently occupied by the king’s men—massive brutes who still didn’t know quite what to make of the Black girls who had stalked in from every direction.They’d been here for a day and Aries had yet to glimpse any sign of the Squadron s the king had promised. She’d heard them, even though they were housed across the pass in the Northern Fang. No matter how deep you got into the Omega’s stone halls, the shrieks and roars vibrated in the stone, the air pulsed with the boom of leathery wings, and the floors hissed with the scrape of talon on rock.It had been five hundred years since all three Mob group s had assembled. There had been
Nonsense. Especially when Swords had been gone these past ten years. But Aries had heard rumors of the Customs the s did in their forests and caves, Customs in which pain was the gateway to Swords , to opening their senses. Oracles, mystics, zealots.Aries stalked through the ranks of the assembled Beak coven leaders. They were the most numerous—twenty coven leaders, over which Aries ruled with her Thirteen. Each leader touched two fingers to her brow in deference. She ignored them and took up a spot at the front of the crowd, where her grandmother gave her an acknowledging glance.An honor, for any High Witch to acknowledge an individual. Aries bowed her head, pressing two fingers to her brow. Obedience, discipline, and brutality were the most beloved words in the Beak Mob group . All else was to be extinguished without second thought.She still had her chin high, hands behind her back, when she spotted the other two heirs watching her.The heir, Petrah, stood closest to
Jane didn’t realize how exhausted she was until all sounds—Levis ’s soft singing from the table, the thud of dough as he kneaded it, the chopping of Luis ’s knife and his ceaseless chatter about everything and anything— stopped. And she knew what she’d find when she turned toward the stairwell. Her hands were pruny, fingers aching, back and neck throbbing, but … Vincent was leaning against the archway of the stairwell, arms crossed and violence beckoning in his lifeless eyes. “Let’s go.”Though his features remained cold, she had the distinct impression that he was somewhat annoyed at her for not sulking in a corner, bemoaning the state of her nails. As she left, Luis drew a finger across his neck as he mouthed good luck.Vincent led her through a small courtyard, where sentries tried to pretend they weren’t watching their every move, and out into the forest. The ward-Swords woven between the ring of megaliths again nipped at her skin as they passed, and nausea washed through her
Each step toward the central mound had Jane ’s blood roaring. The darkness between the stained, ancient stones grew, swirling. It was colder, too. Cold and dry. She wouldn’t stop, not with Vincent still watching, not when she had so much to do. She didn’t dare look too long toward the open doorway and the thing lurking beyond. A lingering shred of pride—stupid, mortal pride— kept her from bolting through the rest of the field. Running, she remembered, only attracted some predators. So she kept her steps slow and called on every bit of training she’d had, even as the wight slunk closer to the threshold, no more than a ripple of ravenous hunger encased in rags. Yet the wight remained within its mound, even as she came near enough to drag into the barrow, as if it were … hesitating. She was just passing the barrow when a pulsing, stale bit of air pushed against her ears. Maybe running was a good idea. If Swords was the only weapon against wights, then her hands would be useless. Still
Mackenzie wasn’t at all surprised that his father was twenty minutes late to their meeting. Nor was he surprised when his father strode into Mackenzie ’s office, slid into the chair opposite his desk, and offered no explanation for his tardiness. With calculated cool and distaste, he surveyed the office: no windows, a worn rug, an open trunk of discarded weapons that Mackenzie had never found the time to polish or send for repairs. At least it was organized. The few papers on his desk were stacked; his glass pens were in their proper holders; his suit of armor, which he rarely had occasion to wear, gleamed from its dummy in the corner. His father said at last, “This is what our illustrious king gives the Captain of his Guard?” Mackenzie shrugged, and his father studied the heavy oak desk. A desk he’d inherited from his predecessor, and one on which he and Jane had— He shut down the memory before it could boil his blood, and instead smiled at his father. “There was a larger office
Of all the spaces in the Omega, the mess hall was by far the most dangerous.The three Ironteeth Mob group s had been divided into rotating shifts that kept them mostly separated—training with the Squadron s, training in the weapons room, and training in mortal warfare. It was smart to separate them, Aries supposed, since tensions were high, and would continue to run high until the Squadron s were selected. Everyone wanted a bull. Though Aries fully expected to get one, perhaps even Titus, it didn’t keep her from wanting to punch out the teeth of anyone who even whispered about coveting a bull of her own.There were only a few overlapping minutes between their three-hour rotations, and the coven leaders did their best to keep them from running into each other. At least Aries did. Her temper was on a tight leash these days, and one more sneer from the Scottish heir was likely to end in bloodshed. The same could be said of her Thirteen, two of whom—the green-eyed twins Faline and Fa
Jane awoke, freezing and groaning from a relentless headache. That, she knew, was from hitting her head on the temple stones. She hissed as she sat up, and every inch of her body, from her ears to her toes to her teeth, gave a collective burst of pain. It felt as if she’d been pummeled by a thousand iron fists and left to rot in the cold. That was from the uncontrolled shifting she’d done yesterday. The gods knew how many times she’d shuddered between one form and the other. From the tenderness of her muscles, it had to have been dozens. But she hadn’t lost control of the Swords , she reminded herself as she rose, gripping the chipped bedpost. She pulled the pale robe tighter around her as she shuffled for the dresser and basin. After the bath, she’d realized she had nothing to change into and had stolen one of the many robes, leaving her reeking clothes heaped by the door. She’d barely made it to her room before she collapsed on the bed, pulled the scrap of blanket over her, and sle