But she’d come this far.
She’d avoided the search—riders, dragons, other elves (traitors!)—so wouldn’t be stopped here. She’d wanted, so badly, to find a torch and set fire to the farm Keegan so loved. But she’d resisted, slipped by even when she spotted his ridiculous brother keeping watch, and the winged whore Morena doing the same by the Welcoming Tree.
She’d outfoxed them, all of them.
Still, she needed to rest again, to settle and think clear. And gods, she wanted something hot and flavorful to eat rather than the raw vegetables she’d pulled from gardens.
Once again she unwrapped her wounded hand, wept a little at the raw blisters, the red shooting up her fingers, fingers she couldn’t completely uncurl without agony.
Stretching out, she lowered her hand into the river, bit back a moan that was both relief and pain.
“Ah, poor thing! Such a mean burn on such soft skin.”
Shana rolled over, prepared to run, but the woman who stood over her simply held out her hands. “Be still.”
And she couldn’t move.
“I haven’t watched and waited for you to have you run off so I have to watch and wait again. You’re a clever one, Shana, more, I confess, than I believed.”
She had bloodred hair in long, perfect waves beyond the shoulders of a gorgeous dress the color of ripe plums with a cloak of gold over it. She smiled from eyes so dark and deep they looked nearly black. Jewels glittered from her ears, around her throat, on her wrists, her fingers.
Even in her fear, Shana envied them.
“Who are you?”
“I’m someone who’s about to become a very dear friend to you. Now then, would you like me to heal that hand for you? Stand and be still, and I will. Run, and I’ll see the ones hunting you find you—as I’ve helped keep them from doing so thus far.”
The woman’s smile went fierce. “You don’t think you managed this journey without some help, do you now?”
“Why would you help me?”
“I’m of a mind we’ll be of help to each other. Stand, girl, and hold out your hand.”
She found her legs worked again, so obeyed.
“Ah, that’s nasty, isn’t it now?” The woman began sliding her own hand just above Shana’s. Layer by layer, Shana felt the pain ease, the throbbing lessen.
The bliss of it had her closing her eyes.
When she opened them again, the blisters were gone, as was the horrible red, the crackles of black. But scars, welts of them, ran over the palm in the shape of a knife hilt.
“There’s scars.”
“I can see that for myself.” The woman snapped it out as she stared at the palm with her eyes glinting with temper. “It’s been too long since it happened, so you’ll live with the scars. Wear a glove if it worries you.
“Now you’ll come with me.”
“Where? Who are you?”
“Where you want to go. I’m Yseult, and I’ve had my eye on you for quite a long time. I’d hoped you’d snare the taoiseach, but since you haven’t, well, you can still be useful.”
“I know the name of Yseult. Odran’s witch. How are you here when the portals are sealed and guarded?”
“I have my ways, and those ways narrow while we stand here. Do you wish to join Odran, do you wish to punish those who betrayed you? You must wish it for me to get you through, and know until the seal is fully broken, I can’t get you back.”
She stood in a boy’s rough clothes, scars marring her hand, her belly aching with hunger.
“I want them to pay. I want to make them pay.”
“Then come with me and hurry. We have only moments left.”
Lifting her skirts, Yseult ran toward the waterfall. Racing with her, Shana saw four guards.
“They sleep,” Yseult told her. “And only for a moment more.”
“Why didn’t you strike them down? Why didn’t you kill them?”
“Death leaves a trail. As long as they don’t know I can go in, go out, even if Odran and the rest can’t as yet, they’ll do nothing more than they’ve done.
“Now.”
She whirled the cloak around Shana, and wrapping her in it, leaped into the river.
Light shimmered on its surface, bright, then dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Breen heard wailing behind her. More than weeping, the sound was grief ripped from a beating heart.
She didn’t need to turn to know it came from Shana’s mother because she felt it in her own.
Beside her, Tarryn gripped Loren’s arm. “We have to close the circle, Loren. You can’t break it. And you can’t help Shana now.”
“Wait. I can see. Can you see? Not a door,” Breen continued. “Not a window. A … breach. So narrow, jagged. Under the falls. Not through, under. Can you see?”
“No.” Marg took her hand. “What can you see?”
“The water’s swirling, the breach closing. It nearly catches the end of the cloak—so close. And the other side, they have to fight for the surface. The spell’s fading. Two faeries, no, four, four go into the water to drag them up. Into the air, gasping. There’s blood in the water. Not theirs. She needs blood to open the breach. Under the falls, deep under. Not through. Not yet. Not yet enough.
“It’s gone. It’s gone.”
“We’ll close the circle.”
When they had, Keegan went to Shana’s parents. “Your sorrow is my sorrow.” Then turned to Loren. “Your grief is my grief. There’s no comfort I can give. She made her choice.” He looked to his mother, who nodded.
“Come with me,” she soothed, and put an arm around the weeping woman. “Come with me now, Gwen darling, and you, Uwin. And you as well, Loren. Come away from here, out of the cold.”
“They’ll never heal from this,” Keegan said quietly. He gestured Brian over. “Send falcons. Call off the search. Let my brother know I come west, now, and need him to help seal this breach. And you, Marg, I’d ask you to go back with me only hours after you traveled here.”
“I will, of course. Keegan, she was lost before she went with Yseult. She went because she was lost.”
“I know it, and too well.”
“I’m coming with you,” Breen insisted. “I can help. I saw where they went through.”
“Aye, you’re coming. Pack quickly, and tonight take only what you need. Marco, I’ll ask you to bring the rest when you ride back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Ah …Sure, no problem.”
“I have much to do, and little time. Be ready,” he told Breen. “Half an hour.”
He strode off, signaling others, snapping out orders.
“That taoiseach stuff,” Marco commented, then huffed out a breath. “Man, she went totally to the dark side.”
“He has her now. Odran has her. I don’t know if she really understands what that means. If she really knows what she’s done.”
“She chose,” Marg said flatly. “Come, I’ll help you pack your things, as I brought little of my own.”
She took the pages she’d written and her notes, her globe and other tools, and packed the rest for Marco.
“I got this for you.” She offered Marg the amethyst candleholder.
“Ah, why, it’s lovely, and clever with it. And full of calm and peace. What a sweet gift. Where did you come by it?”
“A shop in the village here. The woman—she wouldn’t take anything for it, so it’s as much from her. She said to give you her best, and you might remember her. Ninia Colconnan.”
Marg’s smile beamed out. “And sure I remember her very well indeed. How did you find her? Is she well?”
“Yes, and her shop’s wonderful. She was knitting a blanket for a great-grandchild coming soon. Her twelfth, she said.”
“What a fine, full life that is. I’m glad to hear it, and hope to come back and visit her. But now …”