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Talon turned but paused. “I wanted to be the one to kill you.”

“So, you are jealous,” Rion smirked. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“The only disappointment is discovering I no longer want to.” And damn him, it sounded like he cared.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Arianna

Arianna hid in the shadow of a large oak, clutching her knees to her chest as she stared into the calm waters outside her family’s estate. There had been a time, before iron and captivity, when the gentle sound of the trickling falls would have calmed her racing thoughts. But not today.

She gritted her teeth. A coward. That’s exactly what she’d become. She’d overheard her father mention a meeting between Móirín and Brónach. One that she should likely attend. But she’d hidden instead, unable to face the male that caused her heart to race.

He’d saved her sister. Kieran had told her as much. Without him, Ellie would have been another forgotten body on a bloody battlefield. Without him, she and Talon might not have survived at all.

Even so, she’d run and the regret was like a heavy stone in her heart.

Arianna angled herself so she could stare at her reflection. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes from days of restless sleep, but it wasn’t just the nightmares that kept her awake at night. It was the thought of him returning to Brónach. The knowledge that once he left, she’d be hard-pressed to ever see him again.

I swear.

Her throat tightened. What was she supposed to believe? It wasn’t as though Rion was a saint. He’d admitted that much himself, but would he twist the truth to ensure they stayed together? Would her father do the same to keep their countries at war?

But their scents…

She hadn’t smelled a lie on either male, not so much as a hint behind their anger and desperation. Arianna dropped her head in her hands.

A cool breeze rustled through the bare branches above, carrying a strange scent that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

Magic.

And death.

She stood, heart racing as she stared through the freshly budding bushes toward its origin.

She’d never scented anything so cold before. Not on the battlefield. Not in the long months she’d been kept as a slave. Not during the attack. So why was she smelling it now, in her home country and so close to her family’s estate?

Tentatively, Arianna stepped away from the crystalline pool, moving toward the stairs that would lead her closer to that wretched scent. The air seemed to pulse with an electric current and her skin crawled in response.

Her heart hammered faster and faster, then something hit her in the chest so hard it sent her backpedaling.

Arianna sank to her knees on the stairs, clutching her torso as pulsing pain racked her body. It felt as though someone had thrown a javelin straight through her heart. She took shallow breaths, but each one felt like a million shards of glass grating against her lungs. She wanted to cry out but couldn’t catch her breath.

That scent increased tenfold, and her stomach dropped as if she’d leapt from a cliff.

Something was wrong. So very, very wrong. Her body urged her toward the scent as if her life depended upon it, and despite gasping for air, Arianna forced herself to stand.

She took one shaky step at a time breathing, breathing, breathing, and somehow made it down the stairs. Desperation crawled through her veins in an icy torrent as she stumbled along the stone walkway, toward the dais where her father had hosted the celebration for her homecoming.

But the scent kept going, pulling her toward the rear corner of her family’s estate. It was a place her father had forbidden them to play as children. A sacred space, he’d called it, but she and Ellie had always found it eerie. As if angry spirits haunted the grounds.

That pain lanced through her again, stealing the air from her lungs and she leaned against a pillar to catch her breath.

She kept moving. Drawn by an invisible force.

Arianna found herself at the top of another staircase, looking down upon a shallow, sparkling pool of water. Twelve white pillars surrounded the area, all a head taller than herself. In summer, ivy would be crawling up each one, green, alive, and vibrant. But the brown husks only added to the eerie air surrounding the place.

A dozen Fae stood in a circle, each waist deep in the water. They wore Móirín’s blue and silver ceremonial robes with the hoods pulled up. All except her father. He stood with his arms outstretched and head tilted toward the heavens as if in prayer.