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Her hands were slicked with sweat under the gloves, and she wiped them down the cloth of her uniform to no avail. The mark felt as though she was holding her hand over an open flame. What magic connected them tugged at her chest. It pulled her from the wall and quickly through the hall. She had no sense of where she was going, only that she needed to go.
Her waking hours had all been filled with thoughts of this man. His image was burned into the space behind her eyelids. Curiosity over their link with the huntress mark drove her toward the sensation of his presence. Meira ran. Her steps were quiet, as light as she could manage, but still, the soft patter of her movements filled the space around her.
Sconces were lit down nearly every corridor. Her eyes darted at every turn but not a single maid or butler waited. It would make sense that the staff was all asleep at this late hour, but she was still surprised that no one jumped out to stop her. Only more men painted in thick strokes across canvas were privy to her daring march through the warlord’s home.
A door slammed shut. The sound came from a distance and her heart leapt into her throat. Faster. She needed to move faster.
Meira pushed herself as quickly as she dared, skidding around the next corner to find a woman standing in the hall. With gray hair slicked back into a tight bun and a deep crease between her brows, she looked as if she was only a second away from scolding Meira, but the woman turned to look at her without an ounce of anger. Her eyes swept Meira’s form gliding down to stare at her fisted hands. The woman’s eyes narrowed, then flicked back up to her face. Meira swore the woman had seen through her riding gloves, that she knew the brand that marked her flesh.
“You’ve just missed them, I’m afraid.” She folded her slender arms over her cream-colored robe and nightdress. “Though I imagine they won’t get far, two of them are injured.”
She was breathless, her lungs not as used to the effort as they had been before her long sleep. “Where?”
The woman pointed with a long spindly finger. “Down the hall, take the first two rights, and out the back door.” Her words had hardly made it out of her mouth before Meira was moving again. '“Good luck, young witch.” The voice carried after her, a song sung between them and only them.
Meira wanted to stop and question her. It had been so long since she’d been around another witch. It was a danger for them to convene in covens as they once had. After all, it was better if only one witch was caught rather than many. Her heart longed for that connection of living amongst women so similar to her once more. Whatever loneliness she carried with the weight of her secret was drowned out by the call of the curse.
Momentum carried her into a wall as she turned. Her boots squealed against the tile when she rounded another. Another small foyer appeared, a door firmly closed ahead. The force of her body slammed against the wood as she twisted the handle and stumbled down the steps.
Cold air swarmed her. Her breaths filled her vision with fog. The curse still commanded her movements, and she sprinted toward the street. A carriage moved briskly down the road. Her body turned red hot, and she almost cried out at the demand of magic on her bones.
He was so close. Whoever he was. Whoever he was with. There, in that carriage. And all she could do was stand there and watch as it rolled away from her.
Clouds parted enough that the moon’s light broke her from her stupor. She glanced up at its position in the sky and held back the shout of frustration that threatened to spring forth. She didn’t have the time or the excuse to disappear now.
A shadow passed. Mrithun was there, ready and waiting. How quickly could she call her Bold Wing down and go after them? Not quick enough.
Perhaps her stranger knew enough of witches to evade her. Perhaps he was just lucky.
12
Remis
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Merritt snapped the moment the carriage door slammed shut.
Remis responded only by banging his hand against the carriage wall. “Go, go, go!” There was a crack of the reins and they lurched into motion. No matter that they moved at a steady trot it didn’t feel fast enough. It didn’t soothe the fire that licked through his veins.
His entire body had broken out in a sweat and he knew his cheeks were flushed if the heat that scorched his face was any indication. The windowpane was cool against his skin as he pressed himself to it and watched as the warlord’s home grew farther and farther away. Yet the terrible need to run didn’t settle.
“What is happening?” Percy asked.
Remis held up a hand to silence their questions, not able to turn himself away from watching for any sign that they were being followed. He couldn’t talk. He could hardly breathe. Mostly, he couldn’t think. The huntress mark was ablaze upon his skin. Every part of him shook with adrenaline and it took everything within him to stay seated.
A shape moved at the end of the road. He pressed himself harder against the window as if that might help him see clearer. His breath fogged up the glass. Fuck. With one frantic swipe, he cleared it away and held his next exhale tight in his lungs.
It was undeniable now, as the moonlight poured down over Olden, there was the shape of a woman standing in the middle of the road. The wind kicked her cloak behind her and dark strands cut across her face. From here, he couldn’t make out any of her features, but he felt her stare and knew that she was watching him.
What would it take for her to reach them now? A flick of her wrist? There was no telling what sort of witch she might be and he was no doubt lacking in his knowledge on the subject. The emperor had all but cleared the shelves of any sort of literature regarding the witches. Anything he did know was lore passed on in fragmented bits of stories and gossip or from the crumbling pages of his late mother’s century-old books. How much of that was to be believed? It was painfully clear that what he’d heard about being marked by a witch was true. Even if he wanted to deny it or hope it wasn’t real, he certainly couldn’t now.
Remis stared down the road until the witch’s dark form eventually turned back toward the warlord’s manor. What was she doing there? Was Warlord Vigor in possession of witches? The physician certainly appeared to be one, though it would be incredibly stupid of her to admit to it.
Exhaling, he eased back into his seat. His eyes closed as he counted his breaths until they became even, and the terrible heat of the mark receded once more. When he blinked his eyes open both his friends stared at him. Though Percy had opened his book in his lap, his finger pointed to whatever line he’d begun to read, and Merritt’s hands were lifted as though he’d been examining them moments before.
“I should explain,” Remis said.
Merritt scoffed.
He resented the way his hands trembled as he began pulling at the wrap that covered his hand. Both Merritt and Percy leaned forward, eyes following his movements. Remis held his hand palm down, exhaling a shaky breath when he could see the pale color of his skin. Slowly, he turned his hand over.
