Текст книги "Burned"

Автор книги: P. C. Cast

Соавторы: Kristin Cast,P. C. Cast
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter 19

Stark

“Yeah, I’m listening to you, Aphrodite. You want me to memorize that poem.” Stark spoke to her through the helicopter’s headsets, which he wished he knew how to shut off. He didn’t want to listen to her run her mouth; he didn’t want to talk to Aphrodite or to anyone. He was totally preoccupied with turning over and over in his mind his strategy for getting himself and Zoey on the island. Stark stared out of the window of the helicopter, trying to see through darkness and fog for a first glimpse of the Isle of Skye where, according to Duantia and just about the entire High Council, he was going to meet his certain death sometime in the next five days.

“Not that poem, idiot. That prophecy. I wouldn’t ask anyone to memorize a poem. Metaphor, simile, allusion, symbolism . . . blah . . . blah . . . ugh. It makes my hair hurt thinking about all that crap. Not that a prophecy sucks any less, but it is—sadly—important. And Stevie Rae has a point about this one. It does read like a confusing poetic map,” Aphrodite said.

“I am in agreement with Aphrodite and Stevie Rae,” Darius said. “Kramisha’s prophetic poems have given Zoey guidance before. This one could do the same thing.”

Stark dragged his gaze from the window. “I know.” He looked from Darius to Aphrodite, then his eyes went to Zoey’s apparently lifeless body, where she was strapped in on a narrow litter between the three of them. “She already found Kalona on water. She has to purify him through fire. Air has to whisper to her something spirit already knows, and if she keeps following truth, she’ll be free. I already memorized the damn thing. I don’t care if it’s a poem or a prophecy. If there’s a chance it can help her, I’ll get it to Zoey.”

The pilot’s voice came through the headsets to all of them. “I’m putting it down now. Remember, all I can do is let you out. The rest is up to you. Just know if you step one foot on the island itself without Sgiach’s permission, you will die.”

“I got that the first dozen times you assholes said it,” Stark muttered, not caring that the pilot gave him a dark look over her shoulder.

Then the helicopter landed, and Darius was helping him unbuckle Zoey. Stark dropped to the ground. Darius and Aphrodite carefully handed Zoey to him, and he cradled her in his arms, trying to shield her from the worst of cold, wet wind whipped up by the helicopter’s massive blades. Darius and Aphrodite joined him, and they all hurried away from the helicopter, though the pilot hadn’t been exaggerating. They weren’t even on the ground for a minute when the copter took off.

“Pussies,” Stark said.

“They’re just following their instincts,” Darius said, looking around them as if he expected the bogeyman to jump out of the mist.

“No shit. This place is super creepy,” Aphrodite said, moving closer to Darius, who tucked her hand through his arm possessively.

Stark frowned at them. “Are you two okay? Don’t tell me the doom-and-gloom vamps got to you.”

Darius looked him up and down, and then shared a glance with Aphrodite before answering. “You don’t feel it, do you?”

“I feel cold and wet. I feel pissed off that Zoey’s in trouble and I haven’t been able to help her, and I feel annoyed that dawn is only an hour or so away and my only shelter is a shack the vamps said is a thirty-minute walk back the way we came. Are any of those things the “it” you’re talking about?”

“No,” Aphrodite answered for Darius, though the Warrior was also shaking his head. “The “it” Darius and I feel is a strong desire to run away. And I do mean run. Now.”

“I want to take Aphrodite out of here. To get her away from this island and never to come back,” Darius said. “That is what all my instincts are telling me.”

“And you don’t feel any of that?” Aphrodite asked Stark. “You don’t want to carry Zoey the hell outta here?”

“Nope.”

“I think that’s a good sign,” Darius said. “The warning that is inherent in the land is somehow passing over him.”

“Or Stark’s just too muscle-brained to be warned,” Aphrodite said.

“On that upbeat thought, let’s get going with this. I don’t have time to waste on spooky feelings,” Stark said. Still carrying Zoey, he started toward the long, narrow bridge that stretched between an outcropping of the Scottish mainland and the island. It was lit by torches that could barely been seen through the soupy mixture of night and mist. “Are you two coming? Or are you going to run screaming like girls away from here.”

“We’re coming with you,” Darius said, catching him in a couple of strides.

“Yeah, and I said I wanted to run. I didn’t say shit about screaming. I’m not a screamer,” Aphrodite said.

They’d both sounded pretty tough, but Stark hadn’t even gotten to the halfway point of the bridge when he heard Aphrodite whispering to Darius. He glanced at the two of them. Even in the dim torchlight he could see how pale the Warrior and his Prophetess had become. Stark paused. “You don’t have to come with me. Everyone, even Thanatos, said there’s absolutely no way Sgiach is going to let you guys on the island. Even if all of them are wrong, and you do get on, there’s not much you can do. I have to figure out how to get to Zoey. Alone.”

“We can’t be at your side while you’re in the Otherworld,” Darius said.

“So we’re watching your back, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Zoey would be totally pissed at me when she gets back in there”—Aphrodite pointed at Zoey’s body—“and found out Darius and I had let you do all this crap alone. You know how she is with her one for all, all for one, mentality. The vamps wouldn’t bring the whole nerd herd here, something I can’t really blame them for, so Darius and I are picking up their slack. Again. Like you said, stop wasting time you don’t have.” She waved her hand at the darkness in front of them. “Go on, I’m just gonna ignore the crashing black waves below us and the fact that I know for damn sure this bridge is going to break any moment and drop us into the fucking water, where sea monsters will drag us under the spooky black waves and suck out our brains.”

“That’s really what this place is making you feel?” Stark tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his smile.

“Yes, asstard, it is.”

Stark looked at Darius, who nodded in agreement because instead of speaking, he was obviously choosing to clench his jaw and shoot suspicious glances downward at the “spooky black waves.”

“Huh.” Stark quit even attempting to hide his smile and grinned at Aphrodite. “Just water and a bridge to me. Damn shame it’s freaking you out so badly.”

“Walk,” Aphrodite said. “Before I forget you’re holding Zoey, and I push you off this bridge so that Darius and I can run back the way we came, screaming or not.”

Stark’s grin only lasted a few more feet. It didn’t take an ancient “go away” spell to sober him up. All it took was Zoey’s unmoving weight in his arms. I shouldn’t be messing with Aphrodite. I need to focus. Think of what I decided to say to them and, please oh please, Nyx, let me be right. Let me say what will get me on that island. Unsmiling and resolute, Stark led them across the bridge until they stopped in front of an imposing archway made of an ethereally beautiful white stone. The torchlight caught veins of silver in what Stark thought had to be a rare marble, so that the arch glittered seductively.

“Oh, for crap’s sake, I can barely look at it,” Aphrodite said, turning her head from the archway and averting her eyes. “And I usually love sparkly things.”

“It is more of the spell.” Darius’s voice was rough with tension. “It’s meant to repel.”

“Repel?” Aphrodite glanced at the archway, shuddered, and then looked hastily away again. “‘Repulse’ is a better word.”

“It doesn’t affect you, either. Does it?” Darius asked Stark.

Stark shrugged. “It’s impressive, and it’s obviously expensive, but it doesn’t make me feel weird.” He moved closer to the marble and studied the archway. “So, where’s the doorbell or whatever? How do we call someone? Is there a phone, or do I yell, or what?”

“Ha Gaelic akiv?” The disembodied male voice seemed to come from the archway itself, like it was a living portal. Stark looked into the dark with bewilderment. “It’ll be in the English tongue, then,” the voice continued. “Your unwanted presence here is all that is required to summon me.”

“I need to see Sgiach. It’s a matter of life or death,” Stark said.

“Sgiach isnae concerned with uze wains, even if it be a matter of life or death.”

This time the voice sounded nearer, clearer, and it had a Scottish accent that was more growl than brogue.

“What the hell is a wain?” Aphrodite whispered.

“Sssh,” Stark told her. To the faceless voice he said, “Zoey isn’t a child. She’s a High Priestess, and she needs help.”

A man stepped out of the shadows. He was wearing an earth-colored kilt, but it wasn’t like those they’d seen on their hurried trip through the Highlands. This one was made of more material, and it wasn’t prim and proper-looking. This vampyre didn’t have on a tweed jacket with a frilly shirt. His muscular chest and arms were bare as he wore only a studded leather vest and forearm guards. The hilt of a dirk glinted at his waist. Except for a strip of short hair down the center of his head, his hair was shaven. Two gold hoops glinted at one ear. The firelight caught the gold chieftain’s torque he wore around one wrist. In contrast to his powerful body, his face was deeply lined. His close-cropped beard was completely white. The tattoos on his face were griffins, claws extended onto his cheekbones. The overall and immediate impression Stark got from him was that this was a Warrior who could walk through fire and emerge not merely unscathed, but victorious.

“That wee lass there’s a fledglin’, no a High Priestess,” he said.

“Zoey’s not like other fledglings.” Stark spoke quickly, afraid the guy who looked like he’d stepped out of an ancient world would de-materialize and fade into the past at any second. “Up until two days ago, she had a vampyre’s tattoos, plus tattoos over much of the rest of her body. And she had affinities for all five of the elements.”

The vampyre’s appraising blue eyes remained on Stark without glancing at Zoey or Darius and Aphrodite.

“Yet today I see only an unconscious fledgling.”

“Her soul was shattered two days ago fighting a fallen immortal. When that happened, her tattoos disappeared.”

“Then it’s a dyin’ she will be.” The vampyre raised one hand in a dismissive gesture and began to turn away.

“No!” Stark shouted, and stepped forward.

“Stad anis!” the Warrior commanded, and with otherworldly speed, the vampyre whirled around and leaped forward, landing directly under the archway and blocking Stark’s path. “Are yie stupit or a feckn’ fool, man? You havnae permission tae enter the Eilean nan Sgiath, the Isle of Women. Should yie try, ’tis yer life yie will forfeit, aye, make no mistake about that.”

Inches from the imposing vampyre, Stark stood his ground and looked him eye to eye. “I’m not stupid or a fool. I’m Zoey’s Warrior, and if I think I can protect her best by getting her on this island, then it’s my right to take my High Priestess to Sgiach.”

“Yie have been misinformed, Warrior,” the vampyre said placidly yet firmly. “Sgiach and her Isle are a world apart from yer High Council and their rules. I am no a Son of Erebus and mo bann ri, my queen, isnae in Italy. Warrior tae a wounded High Priestess or no, you dinnae have the right tae enter here. Yie have nae rights at all here.”

Abruptly, Stark turned to Darius. “Hold Zoey.” He gave his High Priestess to the other Warrior and then faced the vampyre again. Stark lifted his hand, palm out, and as the vampyre watched him with open curiosity, he slashed his thumbnail down his wrist. “I’m not asking to enter as a Son of Erebus Warrior; I walked out on the High Council. Their rules don’t mean shit to me. Hell, I’m not asking to enter! Through the right I’ve inherited in my blood, I’m demanding to see Sgiach. I have something to say to her.”

The vampyre didn’t take his eyes from Stark’s gaze, but his nose dilated as he sniffed the air.

“What is yer name?”

“Today they call me Stark, but I think the name you’re looking for is what they called me before I was Marked—MacUallis.”

“Remain here, MacUallis.” The vampyre disappeared into the night.

Stark wiped his bleeding arm on his jeans and took Zoey from Darius. “I’m not going to let her die.” Drawing a deep breath, he closed his eyes and got ready to pass beneath the archway and go after the vampyre, counting on the blood of his human ancestors to protect him.

Darius’s hand caught his arm, keeping him from crossing the threshold. “I think the vampyre meant you to remain here because he’s coming back.”

Stark paused and looked from Darius to Aphrodite, who rolled her eyes at him, and said, “You know, in this lifetime you’re probably supposed to learn patience along with a little ‘get a clue.’ Jeesh, just hang on a couple minutes. Barbarian Warrior guy told you to wait here, not to go away. Sounds like he’s coming back.”

Stark grunted and took half a step away from the middle of the arch, though he slouched against the outer side of it, shifting Zoey’s weight so that she might be more comfortable. “Fine. I’ll wait. But I’m not waiting long. They’re either letting me onto the damn island, or they’re not. Either way, I want to get what happens next over with.”

“The human is correct.” The woman’s voice came out of the darkness of the island. “You need to learn patience, young Warrior.”

Stark straightened and faced the island again. “I only have five days to save her. Otherwise, she’ll die. I don’t have time to learn patience right now.”

The woman’s laughter made the fine hairs on Stark’s arms lift. “Impetuous, arrogant, and impertinent,” she said. “He reminds me of you several centuries ago, Seoras.”

“Aye, but I wasnae ever that young,” answered the voice of the vampyre Warrior.

Stark was struggling against shouting at the two of them to come out of the dark and face him when they seemed to materialize from the mist directly in front of him on the island side of the arch. The archaic-looking vampyre was there again, but Stark hardly glanced at him. His entire focus was captivated by the woman.

She was tall, with a broad-shouldered body that was muscular, yet entirely feminine. There were lines at the corners of her eyes, which were large and beautiful and an amazing shade of gold mixed with green, the exact color of the fist-sized piece of amber that hung from the middle of the torque around her neck. Except for a single streak of cinnamon red, her waist-length hair was perfectly white, but she didn’t look old. She didn’t look young, either. As he studied her, Stark realized that she reminded him of Kalona, who was ageless and ancient at the same time. Her tattoos were incredible—swords with intricately carved hilts and blades framed her strong, sensual face. He realized no one had said anything while he’d been gawking, and Stark cleared his throat, held Zoey close to him, and respectfully bowed to her.

“Merry meet, Sgiach.”

“Why should I allow you on my island?” she said without preamble.

Stark drew a deep breath and lifted his chin, meeting Sgiach’s gaze as he had her Warrior’s. “It’s my right by blood. I’m a MacUallis. That means I’m part of your Clan.”

“Not hers, boy. Mine,” the vampyre told him, his lips curving in a smile that was far more dangerous-looking than inviting.

Taken off guard, Stark shifted his attention to the Warrior. “Yours? I’m part of your Clan?” he said stupidly.

“I remember you being smarter when you were that young,” Sgiach told her Warrior.

“Aye,” the vampyre snorted. “Young or no, I had more sense than that.”

“I’m smart enough to know that the history of my human blood still gives me a tie to both of you and this island,” Stark said.

“Yie ur barely oot o yur nappies, boy,” the Warrior said sarcastically. “Yur better suited to schoolboy games, and there are nae o’ that ilk here on this island.”

Instead of pissing Stark off, the vamp’s words triggered his memory, and it was like Damien’s notes were there in front of him again. “That’s why it’s my right to enter the island,” Stark said. “I don’t know shit about what it takes to be Warrior enough to save Zoey, but I can tell you she’s more than a High Priestess. Before she was shattered, she was turning into something vampyres have never seen.” The thoughts kept coming to him, and as he spoke and saw the surprise in Sgiach’s face, the pieces of the puzzle fit together, and his gut told him he was following the right line of reasoning. “Zoey was becoming a Queen of the Elements. I’m her Warrior—her Guardian—and she’s my Ace. I’m here to learn how to protect my Ace. Isn’t that what you’re all about? Training Warriors to protect their Aces?”

“They stopped coming to me,” Sgiach said.

Stark thought he only imagined the sadness in her voice, but when her Warrior moved a little closer to his queen, as if he was so attuned to her needs that he meant to take even that small note of discomfort from her, Stark knew then, beyond any doubt, he’d found the answer, and he sent a silent “thank you, Nyx” to the Goddess.

“No, we haven’t stopped coming. I’m right here,” Stark told the ancient queen. “I’m a Warrior. I’m of the MacUallis blood. I’m asking for your help so that I can protect my Ace. Please, Sgiach, let me enter your island. Teach me how to keep my queen alive.”

Sgiach hesitated only long enough to share a look with her Warrior, then she lifted her hand, and said, “Failte gu ant Eilean nan Sgiath. . . Welcome to the Isle of Sgiach. You may enter my island.”

“Your Majesty.” Darius’s voice made everyone pause. The Warrior had dropped to one knee before the archway, Aphrodite standing a little way behind him.

“You may speak, Warrior,” Sgiach said.

“I am not of Clan blood, but I do protect an Ace; therefore, I ask for entry to your island as well. Though I don’t come as a newly made Warrior, I believe there is much here that I do not know—much here that I would like to learn while I stand at my brother Warrior’s side in his quest to save Zoey’s life.”

“This is a human female and no a High Priestess. How could yie be Oath Bound to her?” asked the vampyre Warrior.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name. Was it Shawnus?” Aphrodite stepped to Darius’s side and rested her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s feckn’ Seoras, are yie deaf, too?” the Warrior said, enunciating slowly. Stark was surprised to see his lips curling up at Aphrodite’s bitchy tone.

“Okay, Seoras.” She mimicked his accent with eerie accuracy. “I’m not a human. I was a fledgling who had visions. Then I wasn’t a fledgling anymore. And when I un-fledgling-ed, Nyx, for reasons I’m still pretty clueless about, decided to let me keep my visions. So now I’m the Goddess’s Prophetess. I’m hoping that, along with all the stress and eye-aches it gives me, this Prophetess stuff means I age gracefully, like your queen.” Aphrodite paused to bow her head to Sgiach, whose brows went up, but who didn’t strike her dead like Stark thought she deserved. “Anyway, Darius is my Oath Sworn Warrior. If I’m getting the allusion right, and here’s hoping ’cause I’m shitty at figurative language, I’m an Ace in my own way. So Darius does fit in with your Guardian Clan, blood tie or no blood tie.”

Stark thought he heard Seoras mutter, “Arrogant feckr,” at the same time Sgiach whispered, “Interesting.”

“Failte gu ant Eilean nan Sgiath, Prophetess and your Warrior,” Sgiach said.

Without any further discussion, Stark, carrying Zoey, followed by Darius and Aphrodite, passed beneath the marble archway and entered the Isle of Women.

Chapter 20

Stark

Seoras led them to a black Range Rover that was parked around the corner and out of sight of the archway. Stark stopped beside the vehicle. His face must have shown his surprise because the Warrior laughed, and said, “Did yie expect a wee cart an’ a Highland pony?”

“I don’t know about him, but I did,” Aphrodite said, climbing in the backseat beside Darius. “And for once I’m super glad to be wrong.”

Seoras opened the front passenger’s door for him, and Stark got in, holding Zoey carefully. The Warrior had started driving before Stark realized Sgiach wasn’t with them.

“Hey, where’s your queen?” Stark asked.

“Sgiach doesna need the motor tae be traveling her island.”

Stark was trying to figure out how to ask his next question when Aphrodite spoke up.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means Sgiach’s affinity isnae limited tae any element. Sgiach’s affinity is with this island. She commands everyone and everything on it.”

“Holy shit! Are you saying she can transport, like an undorky version of Star Trek? Not that it’s possible to be undorky about Star Trek,” Aphrodite said.

Stark started to consider ways to gag her without Darius freaking on him.

But the old Warrior was completely unruffled by Aphrodite. He simply shrugged, and said, “Aye, it will be as good an explanation as any.”

“You know about Star Trek?” came out of Stark’s mouth before his brain could stop it.

Again, the Warrior shrugged. “We do have the satellite.”

“And the Internet?” Aphrodite asked hopefully.

“And the Internetograph, too,” Seoras agreed, straight-faced.

“So you do let in the outside world,” Stark said.

Seoras glanced at him. “Aye, when it serves the queen’s purposes.”

“I’m not shocked. She’s a queen. She likes to shop, ergo the Internet,” Aphrodite said.

“She is a queen. She likes to be informed about the world and its goin’s on,” the Warrior said in a tone that didn’t invite further questions.

They rode on in silence until Stark started to get worried about the lightening in the eastern sky. He was just about to tell Seoras what would happen to him if he wasn’t inside and under cover at sunrise when the Warrior pointed ahead and to the left of the narrow road, saying, “The Craobh—the Sacred Grove. The castle is just beyond on the shore.”

Mesmerized, Stark gazed to the left of them at misshapen trunks of what must be deceptively spindly-looking trees because they held up an ocean of green. He only caught glimpses of what lay within the grove, layers of moss and shadow and clumps of more of the marble from which the archway had been made that appeared as splotches of sparkling light. And in front of all of it, like a beacon drawing travelers, was what looked like two trees twisted together to form one. From the branches of the strange joining, strips of brightly colored cloth were tied to it in a strange yet complementary contrast to its ancient, gnarled limbs.

The longer Stark stared at it, the odder it made him feel.

“I’ve never seen a tree like that, and why is all that cloth tied to it?” he asked.

Seoras braked, coming to a stop in the middle of the road. “ ’Tis a hawthorn tree and a rowan tree, grown together to make a hangin’ tree.”

When that’s all the explanation he gave, Stark shot him a frustrated look, saying, “A hanging tree?”

“Yer education is sadly lackin’, laddie. Ach, well, ’thon tree is a tree of wishes. Each knot—each strip of cloth—represents a wish. Sometimes it’s parents wishin’ for the well-being of a wain. Sometimes it’s friends remembering those passed on to the next life. But most often it’s wishes of lovers, tying their lives together and wishin’ fer happiness. They’re trees grown by the Good People, roots fed by passin’ on their well wishes from their world tae urs.”

“The good people?” Stark looked exasperated.

“The Fey—Fairies tae you. Do yie no know that’s where the sayin’ ‘Tie the knot’ comes from?”

“That’s romantic,” Aphrodite said, her tone—for once—totally devoid of sarcasm.

“Aye, wumman, if it’s truly romantic, then it must be Scottish,” said the Warrior as he put the Range Rover into gear and pulled slowly away from the wish-laden tree.

Distracted by the thought of tying a wish with Zoey, Stark didn’t notice the castle until Seoras stopped again. Then he looked up, and the blaze of light reflecting off rock and water filled his sight. The castle sat a couple hundred yards from the main road, down a single lane that was really a raised stone bridgeway over a boggy field. Torches, like those that lined the bridge from the mainland, lit the lane, only here they were easily three times in number, illuminating the pathway to the castle and the walls of the huge edifice itself.

And in between the torches were stakes, as thick around as a man’s arm. On each stake was a head—leathered, mouth grimacing, eyes missing, the macabre things at first appeared to move and then Stark realized it was just the long, stringy hair from each shriveled scalp that floated, ghostlike in the cold breeze.

“Gross,” Aphrodite whispered from the backseat.

“The Great Taker of Heads,” Darius said, his voice hushed with awe.

“Aye, Sgiach,” was all Seoras said, but his lips curved up in a smile that mirrored the pride in his voice.

Stark didn’t speak. Instead, his eyes were drawn from the grisly entryway up and up. Sgiach’s fortress perched on the very edge of a cliff that overlooked the ocean. Though he could only see the land side of the castle, it wasn’t hard for Stark to imagine the sheer face that must present itself to the outer world—a world that would never gain access to her domain, even had the queen’s protective spell not already repelled intruders. The castle was made of gray stone interspersed with the shimmering white marble that littered the island. In front of the thick, double wooden doors was an imposing archway that sat before the narrow, bridgelike entrance to the castle.

As he got out of the Range Rover, Stark heard a sound that drew his gaze even farther upward. Lit up by a circle of torches, a flag flew from the uppermost turret of the castle. It rippled in the cool, brisk breeze, but Stark clearly saw the bold shape of a powerful black bull with the image of a goddess, or perhaps a queen, painted within his muscular body.

Then the doors to the castle opened, and Warriors, male and female, poured from within, crossed the bridge, and jogged together toward them. Stark automatically stepped back as Darius moved up beside him in a defensive position.

“Dinnae look for trouble where nane is meant,” Seoras said, making a calming motion with his callused hand. “They wish only to show proper respect to yer queen.”

The Warriors, all dressed like Seoras, whether they were male or female, moved quickly, but without any sign of aggression, to Stark. They came in a column of two, holding a leather litter between them.

“ ’Tis tradition, respect, laddie, for when one o’ us falls. It is the responsibility of the Clan tae return him, or her, home tae Tír na nÓg, the land of our youth,” Seoras said. “We never be leaving behind one of our own.”

Stark hesitated. Meeting the Warrior’s steady gaze, he said, “I don’t think I can let her go.”

“Och aye,” Seoras said softly, nodding in understanding. “Yie dinnae have tae. You be takin’ the foremost position. The Clan will do the rest.”

When Stark stood there, unmoving, Seoras walked to him and held out his arms. He wasn’t going to let Zoey go; he didn’t think he could bear it. Then Stark saw the gold chieftain’s torque glittering at Seoras’s wrist. It was the torque that touched something inside him. With a jolt of surprise, he realized he trusted Seoras, and as he passed Zoey to the Warrior, he knew he wasn’t giving her up but sharing her instead.

Seoras turned and carefully laid Zoey on the litter. The Warriors, six on each side, bowed their heads respectfully. Then the leader, a tall, raven-haired woman who held the foremost position of the litter, said to Stark, “Warrior, my place is yours.”

Moving on instinct, Stark walked to the litter, and as the woman stepped away, he grasped the well-worn handhold. Seoras walked ahead of them. As one, Stark and the other Warriors followed him, carrying Zoey like a fallen queen into Sgiach’s castle.

Stark

The interior of the castle was a major surprise, especially after the gruesome “decorations” on the exterior. At the very least, Stark had expected it to be a Warrior’s castle—manly and Spartan and basically like a cross between a dungeon and a guys’ locker room. He was seriously wrong.

The inside of the castle was gorgeous. The floor was smooth white marble veined in silver. The stone walls were covered with brightly colored tapestries that depicted everything from pretty island scenes, complete with shaggy-haired cows, to battlefield images that were as beautiful as they were bloody. They’d passed through the foyer, walked down a long hallway, and come to immense double stone stairs when Seoras halted the column with a wave of his hand.

“You cannae be a Guardian of an Ace if you cannae make a decision. So yie need to decide, laddie. Do yie wish to take yur queen above and use some time tae rest and prepare, or do yie choose to begin yur quest now?”

Stark didn’t hesitate. “I don’t have time to rest, and I started preparing for this the day Zoey accepted my oath as her Warrior. My decision is to start my quest now.”

Seoras nodded slightly. “Aye, then, it’s to the Chamber of the Fi-anna Foil we will be going.” The Warrior turned from the stairs and continued down the hallway. Close behind him, Stark and the others carried Zoey.

To Stark’s complete irritation, Aphrodite quickened her step until she was almost even with him, and asked, “So, Seoras, what exactly did you mean when you called what Stark has to do a quest?”

Seoras didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder at her when he said, “I didnae stutter, wumman. I named his task a quest, and that it is.”

Aphrodite snorted.

“Shut up,” Stark whispered to her.

As usual, Aphrodite ignored him. “Yeah, I got the word. I’m just not sure of the meaning.”

Seoras came to a huge set of arched double doors. Stark thought they looked like they would take an army to open, but all the Warrior did was to say in a low, gentle voice, “Yur Guardian asks permission to enter, my Ace.” With the sound of a lover’s sigh, the doors opened by themselves, and Seoras led them into the most amazing room Stark had ever seen.