Page 31

The clans are spaced apart in a zigzag formation, with Hanook on one end and Cohdor bringing up the rear. It’s about a twenty-minute ride, but as the forest grows thicker, signaling we’re close, it feels like it’s only taken half that time.

Cohdor is a clan known for their work with wood, and it’s easy to see why with all the trees they had to clear. Their homes aren’t merely logs piled on top of each other to form four walls. They’re multi-floor works of art. The large yards remind me of Kingsland, and even the trails that lead from one house to the next are wide and flat enough to pull a motor vehicle.

We pass a log home where the roof is a mountain range of tall peaks; the apex that’s front and center is almost double the size of the rest. It’s far from my first time being here, but knowing Liam built some of these homes makes me look at it in a different light. “This is really beautiful. I can see why the Maska would think twice about leaving the clans. It’d be a great loss to lose access to your builders.”

Liam juts his chin out, proudly. “We do good work, and they know it. Perhaps later I can show you the house I’m working on. If you like it, I was . . . thinking it could be our home.”

I nearly choke.

Our home. We arrive at a simple wooden cabin that seems out of place. It’s merely a box with a couple of shuttered windows, something that was probably built when tools and supplies were scarce. It’s a perfect prison. A man with a sword on his lap sits outside the door on a rusty chair.

My heart leaps as I step down off my horse. The connection warms in my gut like it’s awakening from a deep sleep. I sense it ballooning, swelling like a returning tide, waiting for me to dive in. Only a few more steps.

Liam greets the guard in the chair with a grunt, then knocks on the yellowed wood door. There’s a bang, then the sound of something heavy scraping across the floor. The door opens, revealing a man with a knife, drawn and ready.

“We need to speak to them. Alone,”

Liam says.

We? I grab Liam’s arm. “You don’t have to come in.”

The armed guard eyes me carefully on his way out.

“I’m not leaving you alone,”

Liam says. “He could hurt you. Who knows what he’d do now that he’s a caged animal.”

“Tristan saved my life,”

I say. “If he wanted me dead, he’s had his chance.”

He’s my husband!

“We’ll do it together. It’ll be okay.”

He then makes it the very opposite of okay by pulling my hand from his bicep and entwining our fingers. Striding ahead, he pulls me farther into the one-room shack.

Tristan is sitting in the far-left corner. The second our eyes meet, the connection slides into place with the sensation of the floor giving out. My knees dip, and Liam lets go of my hand to grab my elbow.

“Whoa! Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes,”

I whisper, extricating myself from him and placing a couple feet between us for good measure. It’s not enough. The pleasure that comes from syncing with my other half is drowned out by the confusion and hurt emanating from Tristan.

He definitely saw Liam holding my hand.

It’s not what it looks like, I send to Tristan.

He sits up straighter, unable to rise to his feet because of the ropes binding his ankles and wrists. He’s still dressed in the bloodied clothes from yesterday. His neck is bandaged, and fresh scruff covers his jaw. Dark circles have returned under his eyes. I glance at Henshaw. Although he appears to be doing better, with no visible injuries, his hair is a mess and he looks like he hasn’t slept.

My tongue darts out to wet my suddenly bone-dry lips. “Is . . . everyone okay?”

“Define okay,”

Henshaw says. “We’re not dead, if that’s what you mean.”

My gaze jerks to the bandage around Tristan’s neck. It’s dirty, which means his laceration could get infected. My eyes close as I use the connection to assess what’s underneath. He has pain, but it’s not as strong as mine. Relief and frustration war inside me.

You shouldn’t have taken any of the neck wound back, I tell him. There’s no way to keep it clean here.

I shouldn’t have taken it back? His anger slams through me like a flash flood.

My foot falls back a step.

So only you get to take on the injuries. Do you know what it’s like to watch someone you love teeter on the edge of death? To have the power to help them, but they hold you back? His fury leaks into my veins, searing me from the inside out.

It infects me. Actually, I do. As I recall, you were the one bleeding first, and you begged me to let you die.

Tristan grinds his teeth as he locks me in a bitter stare. I didn’t block you.

And if I hadn’t blocked you, we both would be dead right now.

Liam clears his throat, and it’s like a bucket of river water dumped over my head. Right. The room has been silent for too long.

My shoulders drop, and the fight leaches out of me. The essence of what Tristan is saying is that I scared him. It hurt him. How can I be mad about that?

I’m sorry, I say into his mind. Without a doubt, I’d do what it took to save him again, but I am sorry for what it put him through.

After swallowing hard to clear the emotion from my voice, I speak out loud. “I’ll need to check Tristan’s bandage.”

Liam appears in front of me, blocking my path. “We’re not here for that.”

“Get your hands off her,”

Tristan snarls.

Liam’s face turns threatening. He takes a step. “What did you say to me?”

“Stop!”

I shout, my hand gripping Liam’s shirt.

His chest puffs with a breath. Then he comes back to me and cups my face. “I’m sorry. He won’t hurt you. I’ll make sure of it.”

Oh, mother of a maggot piper.

Tristan’s anger is like acid coating my skin; it burns as it sinks into every pore. I close my eyes, trying to separate his emotions from my own so I don’t punch Liam in the throat. “I need to check Tristan’s wound for infection, for my own protection,” I say.

It takes a second for Liam to understand that I’m referencing my magic connection with Tristan. His shoulders fall an inch in resignation, and I waste no time doing what I have to do.

I don’t have my medical bag, which means no healing herbs or cleaning solution. But in my pocket is the roll of bandages I found in my room. My heart both aches and speeds up as I approach Tristan. My fingertips graze his skin.

I love you, I send to him.

The connection becomes a current, washing away the hurt and anger between us. What it leaves behind is difficult to hide.

Tristan’s gaze grows steady, his eyes glowing with heat.

You shouldn’t look at me that way, I tell him as I unravel the thick cloth.

As if it takes effort, he drags his eyes away to stare at the wall.

“I’ve examined it,”

Henshaw says. “It’s not as bad as yours. He stopped just in time.”

Liam hovers closer. “What does that mean? How did he stop this?”

“It means nothing,”

I snap, throwing Henshaw a glare. “He was lucky.”

“Yes,”

Henshaw adds clumsily. “That’s what I meant.”

It was more than luck, Tristan says in my head. Do you remember? He shows me his memory of Henshaw stitching my vein back together, then of him using hand signals to guide Tristan in what and how much to heal.

I remember hazy moments of thinking of Tristan to distract myself from the pain, but I had no idea the complexity of what was taking place. Thank you.

“Have you been taking the antibacteriums I prescribed?”

Henshaw asks me.

Liam’s eyes shift to me. “I put them beside your bed so you could take them when you woke up.”

“Okay, I’ll take them when I get back,”

I say, patently ignoring Tristan’s stare. Every one of Liam’s words stokes suspicion about exactly how close I’ve gotten to him.

Unraveling the last of the bandage from around Tristan’s neck, I find his gash that matches mine. Except he doesn’t have any stitches. His wound stretches from the left side of his neck, then thins to a line over his Adam’s apple. Dried blood covers his golden skin, but I don’t see anything concerning.

“It’s smaller than yesterday,”

Henshaw says. “But neck injuries usually close up remarkably fast on their own.”

Let’s hope that remains the case before he gets an infection. The connection stirs, and I direct it to his injury to assess it again—until I hit a wall.

My eyes go wide. Are you blocking me?

Tristan’s lips pull tight. Are you trying to take some of it back?

Before I can answer, he shifts his attention to my injury, and—oh, no he doesn’t. I race to slam the door. It takes effort to block him, like tightening a fist somewhere deep inside. It doesn’t feel right. You can’t be laid up with this injury. You need to be well enough to fight or run when you get a chance.

His gaze flicks to Liam, a dangerous question in his eyes. And you don’t?

“Isadora has some questions to ask you,”

Liam says. Impatience cloaks his voice.

I begin wrapping Tristan’s neck with the new bandage. “Just give me a minute to finish this.”

“No, this isn’t why we’re here,”

Liam says. “You have an actual doctor right there who can check his bandage. Ask him what we came here for . . . or I will.”

Tristan levels a glare at Liam. “Ask what?”

Despite Tristan’s hostility, Liam doesn’t match it. Instead, his face fills with a pained expression. “Isadora could be convicted of treason if she can’t hide your marriage. It would be very bad for her.”

What would the punishment be for marrying me? Tristan asks.

I don’t respond, so for the first time ever, he sweeps inside my mind. I don’t block him as he finds the answer. He recoils at learning we burn people at the stake for treason.

Tristan’s concern and fear pulses through me so strongly, a shake enters my hands as they tie off the bandage.

“We won’t say anything,”

Tristan vows. His gaze flicks to Henshaw to confirm.

“I don’t think you understand the intensity under which you’re going to be asked some of these questions,”

Liam says.

Henshaw lets out a whimper.

“If you care about her at all,”

Liam continues, “the best and safest thing is to break this bond. How do we do it? Can it be broken?”

To my surprise Tristan answers honestly. “I don’t know. No one’s ever tried.”

Liam’s shoulders fall, but his voice turns cold. “You might want to think a little harder about that.”

He waits, but when Tristan doesn’t speak, he says, “then we need to find a way for your injuries to stop ending up on her body. People are asking questions. Those questions alone could get her killed.”

A muscle jumps in Tristan’s cheek. “I think I know a way. I’ll handle it.”

Don’t let him think that’s an option, I send to him. It’s the only thing keeping you safe.

Liam stares for a few seconds. “For her sake, I hope you’re telling the truth.”

Then he glances at the door. “It’s bad for her to be here. People talk. A visit like this can’t happen again.”

Tristan’s wariness flows through me, but it’s followed by his resolve. He may hate Liam and everything he is to me, but he hates me being in danger more. “Then go.”

My heart physically hurts. There was no plan on how to rescue him, but I’d hoped finding him would spark inspiration. Now I’m leaving without him.

As I stand, my hand brushes Tristan’s arm in one last desperate touch. I’m going to speak to my father. I will find a way to get you out.

No, Isadora. Don’t, he says. Don’t mention me at all.