EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (102 page)

“I need a word with my betrothed,” Lothar continued, and the dressmaker immediately exited.

The lord pressed in close to Emma, shortening the distance between their bodies.

“We must leave.”

Though confusion spread through Emma, her continued sorrow caused her to nod in agreement. Lothar whirled away from her, intent on addressing some other matter occupying his mind, when Whitefoot bit Emma’s earlobe. She jumped, turning to scold him, when the polecat alerted her to inquire about their departure.

At Whitefoot’s prodding, Emma asked, “Why do we leave?”

Lothar turned, examining her. He cast a suspicious glance at the polecat.
 

Emma smoothed her emotions, taking in long breaths and slowing the beat of her heart. She had learned that if she controlled her reactions, she could guard against Lothar’s distrust of the polecat. Whatever the lord’s ability as a caller, he could not read the polecat’s direct communication with Emma without the creature’s permission.
 

The lord returned to her, catching her limp hands in his own.

“You are in grave danger, my love. The woman who seeks to endanger Erik has learned of you and your whereabouts.”

Liar.
The thought came from Whitefoot, shooting into Emma’s mind.
 

Emma forced away any reaction that would betray Whitefoot’s communication, trying to keep her body still, her muscles loose, her breath even.

“She is headed here, intent on your death as we speak. Though Holyfell is well protected, it is best that we flee to my holdings across Ginnungagap to keep you as safe as possible.” He reached up, running his slick fingertips over her cheek.

He lies
, said Whitefoot.
The ward told him Glitner has been informed he keeps a Scandian woman against her will and they are at the gates to investigate the accusation.

Emma nodded more at the polecat’s comment than at Lothar’s, but the lord took her gesture as agreement to his statement.

“We will leave at once. I will arrange for your belongings to be sent and Afridr has had enough time on your bridal gown to complete the weaving without you.” Concern filled his tone, as if he thought Emma actually cared about the dress.
 

“Whitefoot may come too.” Lothar cupped her chin in his hand, tenderness filling his gaze. “I do not ever want you to be afraid of being without friends in a strange place.”
 

His sincerity caught her off guard. Somewhere in his past, Emma reasoned, Lothar had felt as empty and alone as she felt this very moment. A surge of compassion struck her, but she forced it away.

“And Bera? Can she come too?” Emma asked.

Lothar’s hand tightened on her chin. “I am afraid that will not be possible.”

He has had Bera detained. She will be questioned for the leak of information about you,
said Whitefoot.

Emma worked at keeping still, though her muscles strained. She forced back her breath, threatening to push itself out in panicked huffs.
 

I have jeopardized Bera.
 

The thought spiraled, reviving the deadened places inside Emma. At that moment she realized resignation would not do. If Lothar lied so easily about this, he lied about Erik too. She was sure of it. Embers kindled in her stomach, a fire ready to roar as the will to fight back simmered within her; but Lothar acted too fast.
 

He snagged Emma about the waist, pulling her tight into his body. The heat of him burned her skin. His sweaty form pressed against hers, a stickiness seeping through her dress and stocking to wet her skin.

Within a moment the light faded, darkness compressing in around Emma. Her vision blurred. The contents of the room distorted, a gray haze clouding on all sides.

“Relax.” Lothar’s voice slithered through her.
 

Whitefoot clung to Emma’s neck, nails digging into her skin. She tried to reach up to calm him, to wrap her fingers around his elongated back, but the weight of her limb impeded her movement.

“Close your eyes,” said Lothar.

The lord’s hands constricted around Emma, towing her into him—her breast and belly forced against his midsection. Her head spun. Her stomach lurched. Sourness filled the back of her throat as her lids slid down over her eyes. Emma felt as if she fell, spinning in an endless void with Lothar spiraling with her, his hands upon her, his body pressed into hers.

Abruptly, all movement stopped.

Emma struggled to peel open her eyelids. Her surroundings came into focus—dim, stone walls, plastered with stained cob. None of the refinement gracing Holyfell existed here. Though lavish, the room remained ordinary—carved wood seating, duck down pillows and commonplace paintings. The deft craftsmanship of Holyfell dulled this new chamber in comparison.

“Welcome to Castle Grimnear,” said Lothar.

Exhaustion hit. Emma’s knees gave out.
 

Lothar caught her as she slumped. The lord picked up her slack form, cradling Emma like a child while Whitefoot clung helplessly to her neck.
 

“You must sleep, my love. Shadowwalking without being touched by the Shadow is hard on one’s body.”

Chapter XLIII

T
HE
HOWLING
OF
WOLVES
WOKE
Emma. She glanced about her new surroundings, the comfort of Whitefoot’s heat around her neck like a fur collar. The polecat let out a sigh, stretched and yawned, detaching himself from her throat as Emma sat upright.

The air chilled her skin and she pulled the goose down blanket around her body as she stood, Whitefoot clambering for a spot on her shoulder. Her
wedding
gown had been replaced with another dress in the scandalous style of Holyfell fashion, the thinness of the material adding to her inability to find warmth. Gray block walls lent dreariness to the large chamber. A fire raged in the hearth, the air thick and oppressed with the smell of pine and smoke. A large window splayed over the opposite wall, darkened with clouded glass.

The wolves’ cries continued. Emma crossed to the window, rubbing her hand on the pane to remove the soot so she could see through. Her chest clenched as she viewed the remains of burn-bare trees spiking upward from frosted ground, like skeletons in a graveyard, their blanched forms blades against the moon filled night. The nightmare image of the dead forest sloped downward, stretching for as far as she could see. In the animals’ baying she sensed hunger—a desperate craving for nourishment, as if the land had been stripped bare of all living creatures except predators and they turned on one another in order to survive.

Fingers pulled at the back of Emma’s shoulder and her skin pricked. She swiveled around, expecting Lothar. Instead, whiteness filled her vision, like falling snow. The frosty air swirled, taking shape as the young woman from Prophetess Cove—the woman Lothar warned her about.

The woman’s blue-black eyes came into focus as her gaze settled on Emma. Remembering Bera’s warning and Lothar’s lie, Emma shrunk. The rhythm of her heart sped. She worked at her throat to call out for help, but the gentleness in the woman’s eyes held her voice at bay.
 

Whitefoot watched, but didn’t balk. Emma trusted the polecat’s perception more than her own and allowed herself to calm down, even though she remained on guard.

“What do you want?” Emma demanded.

The woman’s image flickered in and out as if she struggled to remain.
 

I seek to help you, for Hallad’s sake.
Though the young woman spoke, her lips had not moved. Her words bloomed all around Emma.
 

“Why? What has happened to my brother?”
 

Emma’s chest clenched as her mind raced with the possibilities. If Bera had been right and this woman was the Shadow . . . Or if Lothar had told the truth and this woman sought to harm Hallad and Erik . . .

Nei
, Emma thought.
Lothar speaks lies.

Our brother
, the young woman corrected.

Emma scrunched her eyebrows downward in confusion. “What do you mean?
Our
brother.”

Hallad and I are twins.
The woman’s usually frozen face brightened, warmth spilling over her.
You are my half-sister.

A moment of denial swam through Emma, but then she saw truth in the statement. Though the woman was pale as ice and Hallad gold as summer, their stature, their bone structure and their mannerisms were identical. Another flood of understanding ran through her as she realized she herself had acquired much of her own mother. Her sun-kissed hair spilled with doe-colored undertones was a lighter version of Thyre’s golden brown. Emma’s petite frame came from her mother, along with her bowed lips and full cheeks. Her eyes were a gift from her father, Avarr—wide, pale gray—along with the heart-shape of her face and her pleasant, gentle demeanor. Her father, too, had a gift with animals, though he had warned Emma early on never to speak of her own talent, as the gift warranted suspicions from others. It was the only reason both she and her father could ride Windrunner. Emma was a complete mix of the two. Hallad, however, obtained traits neither Avarr nor Thyre possessed—angular bones, a lean muscular body, a fluid grace and eerie stillness. Both he and the woman shared these characteristics. Hallad bore no resemblance to Thyre at all. Emma dropped her jaw, searching for words, but only amazement filled her head.

Finally, she asked, “So you don’t want to hurt Hallad?”

The woman’s answer came swift.
Harming him would be like harming myself. I would rather die.

Emma knew she spoke the truth. The woman’s—her sister’s—motives were easy for her to read, as open as an animal’s—pure and straightforward, with no intention to deceive. Just as she had felt when they had met at Prophetess Cove, however many moons before; her sister would not harm her. Nor would she harm their brother.

Happiness warmed Emma and she reached forward to embrace her sister. Her sister’s image winked and her face blanched. Emma could tell she grappled to remain there, remembering how sick she felt when Lothar brought her through the shadowwalk to Grimnear.

“Does it hurt to be here?” asked Emma, concerned.

It is difficult
, admitted her sister.
The Shadow hunts in the walk and it takes much effort to fend him off. Plus I must retain my strength for a greater cause, and without Hallad, my power dwindles. We haven’t much time
. Again, her image rippled.

“Where is our brother?” asked Emma.

The woman’s face melted at Emma’s shared reference, giving Emma an instant rapport with her newly found sister.
 

He is with a group of warriors who will protect him, but I must find a way to return you to him.

“Lord Lothar holds me prisoner in a place called Grimnear, though I do not know where that is. It is surrounded by a vast, burned forest.”

I will come for you sister
, promised the woman.

Blackness inched in around her sister’s white form. The warrior woman shifted, eyes flickering back and forth, and Emma recalled her actions the night in the forest, at the edge of the cove.

“What is it?” asked Emma, panic rising in her tone.

But the woman blinked in and out, not replying. Her whiteness turned gray, and then washed with streaks of black.

“Is it the Shadow?” Emma’s voice turned shrill as she watched. She grabbed onto her sister’s form, but only caught air.

“Sister!” she screamed.

The blackness whirled, eclipsing the young woman, until nothing remained.

Chapter XLIV

A
BLACK
WEB
WRAPPED
AROUND
Erik. He had fallen asleep with the intention of finding Emma and talking to her. The memory of their last moment together burned into him; he could not believe she meant what she said. She couldn’t have. It was that
man
. Lothar. He had poisoned her or threatened her. Erik could feel it deep within his bones and he knew if he could speak with her again, without
that man
there, he could get to the truth.

Erik focused, trying to visualize himself in Emma’s room, but he could not. The night before, he had sensed a shift in her location. A powerful surge had ripped her from one spot, putting her in another faraway place. At first, Erik tried to deny the impression, rationalizing his emotions had gotten away with him and he was confused. But the more he tried to view her, the clearer it became. She had been moved. And now she was shielded from his sight.

So Erik pushed through the dark web, seeking Emma. When he pressed into the mass, his fingers stuck in the inky blackness. If he tried to think his way around the net, his mind met with more darkness. He thought of her—her sun-kissed hair, the sweet scent of linnea flowers, her gentle smile, her wide mist-gray eyes, her constant concern for others—and she appeared, winking in and out through a spot in the mesh of black.

Emma’s face spread with urgency. A swirl of shadows blended with the whiteness of Swan. The mass of black mixed with Emma. Terror spread in Emma’s eyes as she viewed Swan, encompassed in shadows and she screamed again, but Erik could not understand her words. The mesh morphed, covering up the scene. Erik jabbed through the tangle, but the web transformed at his stabs, wrapping tightly around his fists.

Swan.
He winced.
She hunts Emma.
 

Madness ignited in Erik, wiring his limbs, coursing through his blood. At that moment, it did not matter if Emma had forsaken him or promised herself to another. He would not allow her to be in danger.

Swan’s voice pierced his mind, echoing through him.
 

Do not come for her!

Stay away from her!
screamed Erik.

Swan’s song rang through him again, tainted with urgency, causing her voice to surge.
 

If you come for her in the shadowwalk, you will die!
 

Then her voice expired, smothered by the void.