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  To Susie, because you’ve been a rock-solid supporter over the last couple years, you’ve been my “PR” agent, and most importantly, you’ve been my friend.

  Thank you.

  Chapter One

  “You let that greasy pig off too easily,” Flanna mumbles, holding a sharp, wooden needle between her lips.

  I glance down at the top of her red head. “If it weren’t for that greasy pig, you wouldn’t be sewing this ridiculous looking costume on me right now.”

  She removes the torture device from her mouth and glares at me, narrowing her brilliant blue eyes. “This is not a costume, and it is not ridiculous. You already died once. Next time you may not be as lucky.”

  Three days have passed since Arland and I committed our lives to each other, to these people and world—uniting everyone in the process—and as much as things have changed, a few of my friends still have issues getting over misunderstandings from a long time ago.

  “Flanna, I know what happened to your mom, and I know you blame Dufaigh, but he is trying to be good.” I jump from the creaking stool she has me standing on like an abused model, then take her hand in mine. “He’s brought leather and metal for you to make armor for me, like you so oddly requested. He hasn’t threatened to kill anyone, he hasn’t argued, he hasn’t done anything that should make us think otherwise.”

  She huffs, blowing hair from her face. “I know. I believe that is my problem. I have never trusted him, but now with him being … nice, I trust him even less.” Flanna grabs the soft, muddy-brown suede draped over my shoulders and pulls me closer. “Now, hold still so I can finish this.”

  I roll my eyes and suck in a breath. I don’t think I can handle another needle prick; I already have dried blood spots sprinkled over my shoulders.

  “Flanna?” I watch her slide the pointed wood dangerously close to my skin.

  “Kate?” she says in her usual sarcastic way, the one I’ve missed since Lann died. Prophecies or no prophecies, most people are still clueless as to their future, the fate of their friends, family, and loved ones. Flanna didn’t have time to prepare for Lann’s death, and his early end wasn’t fair, but her panicky attempt at creating armor for me—when she is clearly not a dresser—makes me wonder what she does know.

  “What are you hiding from me?”

  Flanna growls.

  “You seem so nervous about my safety all of a sudden. I mean with the armor, and never leaving my side, and—”

  She shakes her head. “You—”

  Behind us, the door hinges squeak, echoing through the room.

  Flanna, my Confidant and closest thing to a best friend—besides my sister and Brad—looks behind me and smiles. “Here to steal her away from me, Arland?”

  “Tell me later?” I whisper to her.

  “You will discover soon enough,” she says, matching my low tone.

  Of course, one more thing I cannot know. Just add that to the ever-growing list, and I’m as in the dark as I’ve always been.

  Sighing, I glance over my shoulder just in time to see Arland grin ear to ear. His green eyes focus on me, roaming over every inch of my armor-clad self. “If you have finished, I have come to kick you out.”

  “Ow!” I press my thumb against the newest hole on my shoulder, attempting to stop the bleeding. “She’s trying to kill me.”

  “There,” Flanna trills. “Promise me you will wear this?”

  Arland crosses the room in three easy strides, takes the needle from Flanna, then places it on the table next to the excess sewing materials. “I appreciate your concern for Kate, Flanna, but we leave tomorrow, and I would like to spend some time alone with her.”

  She winks. “Alone time. Got it.” Flanna kisses my cheek, then heads for the door. “Meet you in the great room for dinner?”

  “See you there,” he says. Laughing, Arland waits for the door to click closed, then lifts the feather-light armor over my head. “She may love you as much as I do.”

  I wrap my arms around him, breathing in his woodsy scent of pine and dew. “Impossible.”

  He leans his head down to mine, heat from his breath warming my lips.

  “Is it?” Arland mutters.

  My heart races. I close my eyes. “Maybe she loves me more. I mean, she does seem to be concerned about my safety and all … .”

  Grabbing my hips in his strong hands, he pulls me closer. Our bodies press together as though we’re one. “She lacks the same confidence I have in you, and she fears losing her only friend and someone else she loves.”

  His lips graze mine, sending tingles rushing through my chest.

  “Are you positive? Everyone has their prophecy, Arland, and no one ever wants to share. She knows something we don’t.” I twirl his brown locks around my finger, forcing the fearful thoughts of the unknown from my head. Life hasn’t been long enough, hasn’t been full enough. I don’t want to die, don’t want Arland, Flanna, my sister, or anyone else to die; yet death seems inevitable for so many of us. I just pray I can handle it when it comes.

  “Kate, your mother already told us you will not lose your life in this war. Flanna is just cautious.” Arland glances toward the bed and sighs. “This will be our last night with comfortable accommodations for … for gods know only how long. Are we going to continue this same conversation about Flanna or—?”

  I press my lips to his, ending his complaint about my always-concerned self. He startles, but tightens his hold, pulling me closer, melting me with his intensity, with his warmth, with love. His lips part mine, deepening our kiss as his fingers trail up my arms, shoulders, then thread through my hair. Breaking our connection, he takes a couple shaky steps back and tugs me with him toward the bed.

  I bite my lip to prevent a smile from spreading across my face. “Is there enough time?”

  Arland brings my hand to his mouth, then kisses my palm. “There will never be enough time to spend with you.”

  Releasing my lip, I allow the smile, grab the end of his tunic, then lift it over his head. “You always know the right thing to say.”

  I playfully push against his abs.

  Eyes widening with overdramatized surprise, he tumbles back and then lands on the lumpy bed. The old wooden frame groans and creaks, but it silences once he stops moving. Arland motions with his finger for me to come closer, grinning devilishly all the while. “With a bhean chéile as incredible as you, it is easy to know what to say. There are so many things I want to say.”

  I climb onto the mattress, rest my knees on either side of Arland’s torso, then sit on him. “So say them.”

  Teasing my finger down his face, I stare into his eyes, the eyes I’ve known for so much of my life.

  “Well, since you are forcing me, I would like to tell you your hair is a mess.” He laughs, a deep, happy laugh.

  I smack his shoulder. “Arland.”

  Arland leans forward then flips me onto my back, pressing his chest against mine, holding me captive with his weight. “And your smile makes my day.”

  He kisses my jaw. “Your eyes, always finding me, give my heart reason to beat.”

  Squirming under him, I giggle as his mouth travels a line up to my ear.

  “Your laughter is the sweetest music I have ever heard.” He rolls my lobe between his teeth, hands searching under my tunic, my stomach jolting under his touch. “Your skin is satin against my hands.”

  I’m putty. Filled with so much excitement and nerves and happiness, I cannot move. “Arland … .”

  He unbuckles my belt, then whips it across the room. Leaning forward, I shimmy out of my shirt.

&nb
sp; “Should I keep going?” Arland asks with a lopsided grin.

  “Just kiss me before we run out of time.”

  Crashing his lips against mine, he gives me what we both so desperately crave, what he’s thought about all day, what I’ve thought about all day, filling me with hope, with love.

  Someone thumps on our door.

  “Arland, wake up,” I whisper, reaching my mind out for the sun. It’s barely peeking over the western sky, giving the mountains a hazy-blue appearance. “It’s seven. We’re going to miss dinner.”

  He lifts his head from the pillow, eyes still shut tight. “Already?”

  I chuckle. “When did you become so difficult to wake up? I thought it was me who slept a lot.”

  Kissing my forehead, he slinks from bed then searches around for his clothes. “I am not in charge here, Kate. Sound sleep was not something I was accustomed to all those years waiting for you. But now you are here, in my bed, part of me, and I can finally rest. To say it is nice would be an understatement.”

  Arland slides his legs into his brown leather pants. “Are you going to get up, or do I have to drag you into the great room?”

  “Drag me.” I draw the red silk covers over my head.

  “I fear we may never leave this room if you make me come over there for you.”

  “You’re right.” Sighing, I throw the blankets from me, then stand. “Do you know where my shirt is?”

  Arland snorts. “Here—and your hair truly is a mess.”

  Making my way to the dresser on the opposite side of the room, I snatch the linen tunic from him, slip it on, then run the pewter brush through my hair.

  “Satisfied?” I ask, watching Arland in the mirror.

  He shakes his head. “Not quite.”

  I scowl. “What’s wrong?”

  Arland closes the distance between us, then laces his fingers with mine. “Now I am satisfied.”

  Thump, thump, thump.

  “We’re coming.”

  We head for the gaudy door adorned with gold trimmed jasmine flowers and ivy. I grab the rusted handle, but Arland places his hand over mine.

  “I love you.”

  “And I love you,” I say, tilting my head to the side. “Are you okay?”

  “We leave all this behind tomorrow. Safety. Friends. Family. We are about to run headfirst into a war between the gods only you can stop, so I want you to remember that tonight. Have fun, smile, dance, hug your mother, laugh with the children … .”

  Cupping his cheek with my hand, I stand on my toes and kiss his nose. “I know, and it’s a war we will win. Now, let’s go. People are waiting for Arland and Katriona Maher.”

  Chapter Two

  Sitting in the great room with Arland’s hand in mine—not Perth’s—still unsettles me. No matter how much acceptance we’ve received, I cannot push those weeks of pretending to be in love with someone else out of my head. When Arland and I are around others, I find myself glancing away, making faces, tensing up—all the things I was supposed to do before he and Brit disappeared. Back at Watchers Hall, before meeting Dufaigh—or any other Ground Dweller aside from Perth—I didn’t have an issue with affection. Actions that never bothered me before, scare me now.

  No matter how united the Draíochtans appear, no matter how much magic or confidence I have, I still worry I will lose Arland at any moment, that one of the tragic deaths I’ve seen him suffer so many times will come true.

  He squeezes my fingers between his. “You said you would have fun, but your thoughts are a constant stream into mine, Kate. I know you are concerned about the visions”—Arland clears his throat—”about my death. We took note of them all, where we were, what attacked us, and the words you and Dughbal exchanged. We are prepared, and even if we cannot prevent what you have seen, we must live and enjoy our lives while there is still time.” He stands, offering me his arm. “Will you dance with me?”

  There’s a farewell party going on around us. The tables and chairs have been pushed closer to the walls, opening up the great room for dancers. Arland and I have sat in the back left corner all evening, away from everyone I’m supposed to be enjoying our last night here with, away from the music, the eyes, the forced happiness.

  Pre-war celebrations are disturbing. Everyone in here knows we may fail and that some of us may die, yet our people smile.

  “They are here to honor life, Kate. Now, are you going to honor ours and dance with me?”

  I get up, then hook my arm through his. He sweeps me through the crowd, which parts as we approach, leading me to the center of the room. The music is fast, the atmosphere energized. Candles burn in wrought-iron chandeliers over our heads, in sconces lining the walls, in jars on every table. The sweet scent of jasmine mixed with the warm scent of bread and chicken fills the air.

  Arland holds up his hand and waits for me to mirror his action. I glance around, take in all the smiling faces, see the children beaming with wide eyes, watch the Leaders dancing with their partners, notice my mother and sister laughing at a nearby table, then press my palm to his. Arland and I lock eyes and skip in a circle. I switch hands, spinning around to my next partner without taking my gaze from Arland. We trade partners six more times, dancing by Cadman, Saidear, Deverell, Leader Murchadha, Ula, Vanora, and so many others, touching hands with each of them as we pass. Drums reverberate in my chest. Our boots resound with muffled echoes off the mixed stone and earth floor. Laughter, combined with hypnotic melodies of the flutes and lyres, sets my soul at ease. Dancing with my husband, with our friends and former enemies, makes me smile.

  Returning to where we began, Arland grins as our fingers meet. “Having fun yet?”

  “Yes,” I say, breathing heavily from the dance, ready to go around again, but the music stops, and people spread out like ants in the earth, returning to their seats.

  Mom and Brit are still talking and laughing at their table close to the large, round wooden doors. They spot me staring, then Mom motions for us to join, although with the sudden paleness on my sister’s cheeks, I’m not sure she’s looking forward to this encounter. Grabbing Arland’s hand, I take a deep breath and tug him over to my family—the other part.

  “Hey,” Brit says, avoiding eye contact and shifting in her seat. “Come to say goodbye to Mom?”

  Arland holds out a chair for me, and I sit.

  “There are no goodbyes, Brit. We will see her again. You will see her again,” he says.

  “And you can’t say that for sure.” She scowls at Arland, then turns her attention to me. “Don’t even ask. The Seer didn’t tell me whether I would die or not. All she gave me was some confusing poetry and said I couldn’t share with you until the time was right—”

  “And she didn’t say when that time may be—I know. I’m getting used to everyone keeping things from me whether they want to or not, Brit.” I shift my gaze to Mom. “I am going to miss you though, Mom. I wish you could come with us.”

  She cups my cheek with her shaky hand. “Someone has to ensure order is maintained while you are gone. Plus, I will be needed when the other Draíochtans arrive from the mountains.” Mom drops her hand and stands. “I have something I’d like to give you. Come with me?”

  The three of us follow her through the giant doors of the great room, through the hall, then down the stone steps toward our quarters. Candles flicker as we pass, casting wicked shadows across the aging stone and earth walls. Away from the party, the base is eerily quiet. Everyone in my small army spends their lasts moments of peace saying goodbye to family and friends, but as usual, our time involves secret meetings.

  Mom passes my room, continues beyond three more doors, then turns right. “I will just be a second.”

  Brit grabs my left hand and leans against my shoulder.

  “What do you think Mom has for you?” she whispers, stray strands of her brown waves tickling my face.

  “Knowing this world, it could be anything.”

  “Whatever she has will be confusing
, I am sure.” Arland squeezes my fingers. “If your mother is involved, cryptic is too.”

  Mom returns holding a silver tin about the size of a sandwich, appropriately contained in a sandwich bag. She takes a deep breath. “When you are at a loss, when no other options present themselves, when you have no direction and are not sure where to turn, you may open this. Do not peek, do not rush to see what this tin contains, for if you do, you will disrupt order and stray from the path of Light.”

  I swallow hard, reaching out to take the odd gift from her. “How will I know?”

  Mom presses the tin into my hands but doesn’t let go. “Promise me, Kate. Promise to trust your instincts, to listen to your heart, and to always do what you believe is pure, honest, right.”

  I nod.

  Mom narrows her green eyes, pink fading from her cheekbones, blanching to a sickly shade of white. “Promise me with your words.”

  “I … I promise, Mom.”

  “You will know when the time is right if you always do those things.” She smiles and lets go. “The three of you need to rest. Oh, and Flanna asked me to remind you about the armor.”

  Arland laughs.

  “Seriously?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

  “Wear it, Kate. If hounds attack you again, it may be the thing that saves your life.” A tear wells in the corner of her eye. “Wear it for me?”

  Rubbing the raised, scarred skin on my forearm—thanks to my deadly encounter with the hounds in the forest—I nod again. “Fine. I will wear the armor for you and Flanna. I don’t know why she felt the need to bring you into it.”

  “Thank you, Kate.” Flanna’s happy voice rattles my core. She emerges from the shadows, blue flames dancing on her palm, an impish grin on her face. “I brought your mother into it because she is an expert manipulator. One bat of her eyelashes and just about anyone does what she asks.”

  Sliding between Arland and me, Flanna winks and then stands before Mom. “I wanted to thank you … for everything. May we see each other again soon.” Flanna kisses Mom’s cheek, then heads further down the hall. “See you in a few hours.”