He stabs the air with his knife. Steel connects with the bird’s wing, and it screeches, taking flight.
Blood flows down Gage’s face as he lunges in my direction. I avoid him easily, running back through the gate and slamming it behind me.
He removes his shirt and mops the blood away, smearing it so his skin looks stained. And his torso . . . his arms . . . every vein is visible. Blackened as if burned. Winding and twisting, reaching straight for his heart. “You think a little iron’s going to stop me?”
Before I can answer, a voice behind me bellows, “No. I am.”
I spin as Ky flings his mirrorglass dagger past me. A flawless throw, spiraling straight through two bars and into Gage’s stomach.
He staggers back.
Ky sprints past me, bursts through the gate, seizes Gage by his biceps. And looks him directly . . . in . . . the . . . eyes. “Come near her again and you’ll wish this blade was made of steel.” He yanks the knife out, wipes the bloody blade on his pants, sheathes it. “Leave. Now.”
Gage’s face turns white. He tumbles over the fountain’s edge and lands in the water with a deafening splash.
He’s gone. Stormy falls backward, bawling. Whether from relief or terror, I can’t tell.
Ky could’ve paralyzed Gage and let him drown. But he didn’t. He showed mercy. Maybe I was wrong to jump to conclusions. There’s more to Ky than meets the eye.
He releases heavy breaths as he comes to me and unties my wrists with care. “This would make the third time I’ve saved you, Ember.”
I don’t argue. Instead, my current level of flip-out causes me to do something against all previous resolve. I slam into him, crushing my face against his shoulder and clutching him so tightly I can hardly breathe. My entire frame trembles, but not for long. His warmth permeates my shakes, dispels them. He smells like fresh-cut grass and earth. If I close my eyes I can almost imagine I’m standing in Mom’s sketch, breathing in the scent surrounding the life she always wanted.
Arms stiff and body rigid, Ky just stands there for a moment. But then his muscles relax. As if in slow motion, he drops the rope and enfolds me, softening the ache inside. Ever so gently, he strokes my back, his pulse thunderous.
Somehow I don’t mind.
TWENTY
Reality
What now?
Is this wrong?
Doesn’t feel wrong. Doesn’t feel right either.
He’s not Joshua. No one will ever be Joshua.
Except . . .
Joshua’s touch is otherworldly, like a fairy tale. Perfect, but forever unattainable.
But this . . .
This is real. Ky’s holding me, and he’s not changing his mind or pushing me away.
Maybe a little too real. I clear my throat. Slip from his hold. “Ky, how did you . . . ? Gage said she gave everyone some sort of sleeping potion.” Did that really happen? If Gage was a traitor, who else might be?
Ky links his thumbs through his belt loops, jerks his head to get the hair out of his eyes. “Apparently Commander Cretin forgot to pack his brain. Everyone knows Shields are immune to medicines of any kind.”
Before I can ask what a Shield is, the owl dives, circles our heads, and then lands with grace at our feet. Two black-and-yellow marble eyes blink up at me as the owl cocks its head in a very humanlike gesture. Then it morphs, growing, stretching. Brown-and-white feathers smooth into sun-kissed skin. The eyes and beak shrink inward, and a woman’s face takes shape. Just like Wren, Owl Woman is naked.
Ky, as usual, doesn’t react. At this point he’s probably used to seeing animals transform into naked girls.
The woman’s lips camber into a mischievous grin. “I do apologize for not swooping in sooner, but I thought it might be useful to hear what the Guardian’s plans were. May I borrow this?” She tugs on my jacket sleeve. Her voice is lovely, clear and deep.
“Lark?” I balk, shrugging out of Wren’s jacket and handing it to her. Blood seeps from a cut on her arm. She’s tall, with soft, bell-shaped curves and waist-length, coffee-colored hair. I’d peg her at age forty, much younger than the woman who welcomed us earlier. But what astonishes me most is the confidence she exudes, not a trace of embarrassment in her almond eyes.
“Yes.” Lark slips her arms through the sleeves and pinches the front flaps closed. It cinches, barely covering her. “I take it you’ve never met a Mask with three states of being?” Her dark eyebrows arch, a prideful air resting on her squared shoulders.
“She has,” Ky says. When did his tone become so soft? Can this be the same boy who pressed his knife into my side four days ago? “She just didn’t know it at the time.” He turns to me. “Isabeau has three forms like Lark here. Woman, Troll, and animal.”
If the wench changed into a bug I’d squash her. “What animal?”
“No one knows.” Lark’s shoulders rise, the jacket opening slightly.
I can’t help but notice Ky’s gaze doesn’t fall to her abundant cleavage.
“I do believe Isabeau prefers it that way.”
Could the Troll’s secret have something to do with Haman’s fear of her?
Lark abandons our huddle and approaches Stormy, who’s clutching her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth in silent agony. Is she grieving Gage or her betrayal?
“Come on, dear. Let’s get you inside.” Lark helps Stormy to her feet, wraps an arm around her. As they pass, she offers me a weak smile while Stormy stares with vacant eyes at the ground.
Now that Ky and I are alone, what am I supposed to say? I shift from foot to foot, my shoulders elevating to my ears. What did the hug mean to him?
What did it mean to me?
I push my frigid fingers into my shallow jean pockets and bounce on the balls of my feet, shivering. The crickets’ song dwindles to a gentle hum, reminiscent of a skipping CD player.
Ky widens his eyes as he takes in my shuddering. He removes his leather jacket. Hands it to me. “Here. What kind of Guardian would I be if I let you freeze to death?”
I survey Ky’s form. His black, long-sleeved T-shirt clings to him, outlining the curve of his biceps, the width of his chest. He’s not football-player beefy or bodybuilder buff. He’s simply solid. Strong. I can’t believe I called him skinny before. Even so, this isn’t what captures all the air from my lungs. There’s a sadness in his eyes that stills me, forces me to fix my gaze. How did I fail to notice it before?
Because this is the first time I’ve trusted him enough not to look away. Because I know he won’t hurt me.
“Because you’re beginning to see with more than your eyes. You’re seeing with your heart.”
Will I ever see you again, Mom?
Silence.
The thick leather wards off the cold when I slip into it. It’s baggy like my favorite sweatshirt, the sleeves reaching past my fingertips. The slippery material, still warm from hugging Ky’s body, carries the distinct after-scent of boy. I suppress the urge to inhale the alluring smell more deeply. When I look up at him to express my gratitude, he’s staring at me.
Warning. Danger ahead. Maybe he won’t paralyze me, but a new threat presents itself in his focused stare. I break eye contact. “So . . . that fountain’s a Threshold?”
His gaze bores into me. Impossible not to feel something so intense. “An old one. Hasn’t run in years. Stormy must have used her Calling to summon the water. Did Gage let on where he was taking you?”