LUNA Weekly Online Read

Storm Reaper
by Jeri Smith-Ready

Kiril Vidaso has great power. His Animal Spirit gives him the ability to channel lightning. To call a storm and harness its rage.

But he has never felt so powerless as the day he looked over a crowded market and saw the woman he loved and lost seventeen years ago, and her son—their son. And realized that he had doomed the boy to almost certain death.

Lady Helena Medora is feeling just as hamstrung. Having a fatherless baby ruined her name and denied her son the right to claim his birthright as a nobleman. With his parentage in doubt, her son must now become a member of the infantry for her country’s war, where his odds of survival are slim to none.

Kiril can offer them a way out, but it is dangerous. They will become traitors, hunted by their country and forced to seek refuge in the darkest of wilderness, where their deepest beliefs will be challenged. Including the vow Helena made to never open her heart to Kiril Vidaso again….

Chapter One

The lightning sang under Kiril’s skin. It wanted to be part of him, heed his command. But like a tamed wolf, it could just as soon kill its master as obey.

He closed his eyes and stretched out his hand, tracing the course of the approaching storm. In the valley below, Ilion troops advanced on his rebel camp, riding in formation on armored warhorses. Kiril had been one of them once, had worn the red-and-yellow uniform on his own back. That was eighteen years ago, before the war, before the Spirits had shown him another way.

Uniformed or not, he had never stopped fighting for Ilios—for the proud, honorable nation it once was—and would be again, Spirits willing.

Kiril breathed deep, inhaling the storm’s tumultuous essence—the battle between warmth and chill, the sparks that leaped from cloud to cloud. The power.

The rain came, pelting his face with cool drops that eased the late-summer heat. His breath quickened, and the tingling in his fingers grew until it felt as if the lightning were already jumping between them.

The wind lashed his wet hair over his face, reminding him of the whips they’d used on him and his comrades when they’d first enlisted. His back still bore the scars. Sometimes when he stood before the storm like this, they seemed to shimmy up and down his spine.

His fingers uncurled, and with his Firefly Spirit, he called the lightning.

He knew the rest of the world saw it as a giant white flash, turning evening to brightest afternoon, but Kiril saw it arc slowly, snaking through the clouds like a drop of sweat descending a woman’s back. He drew it down with his finger, tracing it through the sky to meet the large boulder that sat halfway down the hill, between the camp and the approaching troops.

Then came the crash, and even for him the world turned white, edged with purple. He held his breath until thunder ripped the sky.

Whoops and applause came from the safe shelter of the rebel camp behind him. The lookouts shouted, “They’re running!”

Kiril peered over the edge to see pieces of the broken boulder tumbling down the mountain toward the oncoming cavalry soldiers, who scattered like ants from a demolished hill.

He willed his breath and heartbeat to ease, then let the storm’s energy seep out of his fingertips, dripping like the rain that coursed over his body. After a last look around at the drenched terrain of the Ilion wilderness, he turned for the rebel camp, where the others waited to congratulate and thank him. For fighters so sorely outnumbered, a battle averted was the sweetest victory of all. The Ilion soldiers would avoid the area for a while, having confirmed their superstitions of the “mountain of the angry gods.”

Kiril’s blood still hummed with power. The aches of yesterday’s long ride had faded, and he knew that if he peered under his shirt he would find the shallow sword cuts from last week’s battle completely healed. A lightning strike never failed to cure his ailments.

The physical ones, at least. He rubbed his chest as he walked, lost in memory. Some wounds went too deep, even for time itself to heal.

***

Kiril gave his false beard one last tug before stepping out of the alley. He kept to the long, late-afternoon shadows as he skirted the crowded, flag-bedecked courtyard in the town of Surnos. What had once been a meat market was now, appropriately enough, a conscription center. The Ilion Senate had lowered the draft age from seventeen to sixteen last year to bolster its falling troop levels.

These boys were too young to vote, marry or own property, which meant that their parents had to accompany them to the recruiting center. Most were joined only by their mothers since the turbulent, decade-long occupation of Asermos had already consumed so many of their fathers.

For thousands of years they’d all lived as one people in the Asermon Valley, until a few centuries ago when the Ilion nation was formed here across the sea by those who rejected the Spirits. Ilios created its own pantheon of human gods, and in response the Spirits had abandoned the Ilion people, taking away their magic.

Ilios finally returned to invade Asermos, seeking its fertile land and rich stores of minerals. But the Asermons formed a fierce resistance, and now the occupation was failing, a fact that the Ilion military refused to acknowledge even as rebellion grew within Ilios itself.

Meanwhile, in small pockets of Ilios, the Animal Spirits were awakening once again, bestowing their magic on those who least expected it.

Kiril surveyed the long lines of nervous young men. With any luck, he’d find at least one disgruntled family who would be happy to feed the growing rebellion here in Ilios. The rise of the military faction had left many peasants and members of the merchant class in desperate straits, their needs neglected in the face of the burgeoning costs of war. After last month’s visit to the recruiting station, he’d brought six new rebel soldiers back to the southern camp, seeking the Spirit magic within themselves that only the wilderness could release.

“How dare you!”

He turned at the sound of a woman’s shrill voice. She stood across a small table from a bored-looking recruiting officer, whose red-and-yellow uniform glowed in the shaft of sunlight.

From this angle, Kiril couldn’t see the woman’s face, only a cascade of gleaming, meticulously coiffed blond curls that reached the center of her back. Her haughty posture and fine clothes told him she was a noblewoman, like his own mother and sister. So why was she in the commoners’ recruiting section? If the young man standing next to her was her son, he should be heading to the officer’s academy.

Kiril shifted to the left to get a better view.

“How dare you question my patriotism!” The woman slammed her palm against the table and glared down at the recruiter. “Are you deaf, Lieutenant? I told you, I don’t want a waiver. He’s willing to fight. All I want is for my son to have the proper placement befitting his family history.”

The recruiter tilted his head. “Your son’s placement does befit his—” he raked a lascivious glance over her body “—family history.”

She raised her fist as if to strike the officer. An armed soldier stepped forward, and she lowered her hand. Kiril didn’t blame her for wanting to hit the recruiter—openly alluding to a nobleman’s illegitimacy was tantamount to calling his mother a prostitute.

When she spoke again her chin was high, her voice steady and strong.

“My father was a general,” she stated between gritted teeth. “My brother died leading cavalry troops in your first fool invasion of Asermos.”

A distant memory sparked in Kiril’s mind, a memory born in a different city, a different life. He shuffled closer but looked away, pretending to read the newspaper he’d tucked under his arm.

“Ilios is grateful for your family’s sacrifice,” the officer said in a flat, patronizing voice. “But the regulations state that without an established paternity, your son has no special standing to enter the cavalry corps.”

“He rides better than all his friends put together,” she said. “His skill with a sword is—”

“His skill with a sword will serve him well as part of the infantry.”

“Infantry.” She scoffed. “Don’t you mean ‘arrow fodder’? Those revolutionaries in the Asermon hills use our boys for target practice.”

“They are hardly revolutionaries, merely bandits.”

“Spare me the propaganda. I read the news, I know what’s happening up there in the occupation, and I won’t let my son be a part of it.”

Kiril looked up and saw the adjacent crowd subtly shift away, as if her treasonous attitude were contagious.

The officer’s expression darkened, and he sat up straight in his chair. “Are you threatening to let him desert?”

The young man stepped forward. “No!” He looked at the woman. “Mother, I’ll serve in whatever way my country asks, and do it with honor.”

“Good boy.” The officer rotated the paper on the desk. “Sign there.”

The woman clenched her fists, arms straight and rigid at her side. Her trembling hands drew Kiril’s gaze to the gold bracelet circling her wrist.

The newspaper fell from his hands. The woman’s name rose in his throat, and he clamped his mouth shut just in time.

The young man exchanged the signed parchment for a bronze medallion.

Bronze, Kiril thought, his heartbeat quickening. The lowest level of enlisted service. Poor rations, inexperienced commanders, insufficient armor. The boy would be lucky to last a week in the Asermon hills.

After examining the parchment, the officer said, “On behalf of the Ilion nation, I thank you in advance for your service.” He went on to tell the boy when and where to report the next morning.

The woman and her son turned to leave the desk, and Kiril saw her face for the first time in nearly seventeen years.

Helena .

She had the same shocking blue eyes and full lips that had entranced him throughout his youth. When she’d disappeared from his life, that face had haunted his dreams for years. Now his worst fear had turned out to be true—he had ruined her name, caused her downfall. His mistake could bring about the death of her son.

Their son.

Chapter Two

Cursing the gods, Helena slid the scissors through her son’s hair.

Julian’s locks fell to the polished wooden floor, as dark and wavy as those of his scoundrel father, the man who’d halted her life, tarnished her name. Shattered her heart.

If Kiril Vidaso were in front of her now, she would plunge these scissors into his neck, watch his eyes as they widened in pain and surprise.

Sitting in the chair before her, Julian tilted his head. “Mother, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She snipped another lock. “Hold still or it will be shamefully crooked.”

“You don’t have to do this. They’ll cut it tomorrow at the base camp.”

“I won’t have you reduced to a commoner in front of everyone.” She tightened her lips as she turned his beautiful shoulder-length hair—the mark of a nobleman—to a neat, if undistinguished mat.

He held his chin high and straight. “They can’t turn me into something I’m not.”

The pride and sadness welling inside Helena made her want to kiss him. But he was too old for that. She’d done all she could to make him strong and tough. It was his country’s turn to finish the job. He belonged to Ilios now—or what was left of it, after the occupation had sucked its soul and coffers dry.

“You did everything you could,” he said. “It’s not your fault the facilitators have left town for fear of the authorities.”

The facilitators—men who arranged soldiers’ reassignments in exchange for a bribe—had been her last hope. Helena did not lack for money, only respect and power. And luck, apparently.

She moved in front of Julian to examine her work in the lantern light, avoiding her son’s brown eyes so that she wouldn’t picture them staring lifeless at an Asermon sky. Instead, she imagined him returning from war alive and whole, his chest adorned with medals. If he served well, perhaps one of the more desperate noble families would let Julian marry their daughter, and his children would have the honor his own father had stolen.

Someone knocked on the door, and she sighed. A beggar, no doubt, since the social hour when she received visitors was long over.

“I’ll get it.” Julian started to stand.

“Not with half a head of chopped hair, you won’t.” She handed him the scissors. “Stay until I return, and don’t attempt to finish on your own.”

Helena entered the stone-tiled foyer, wishing for the thousandth time that her father had seen fit to give her just one full-time servant, someone to answer the door this late in the evening. But she’d done nothing to earn it, having only borne one illegitimate heir. She was lucky to have a house at all.

She opened the door as far as the chain lock would allow. A man’s face appeared in the three-inch gap.

Those eyes…

She blinked hard, then focused on the red hair and neatly trimmed beard. No, this was a stranger. “What do you want?”

The man took off his cap. “Lady Medora?” he asked, but with a bemused tone that implied he already knew her. “I need to speak with you about your son.”

“Are you from the army? They said he was to report tomorrow.”

He gestured to his beard. “Do I look like an army man to you?”

“Then what do you want?”

“I heard about your dilemma. Your son’s infantry assignment is an outrage, given his talents and breeding.”

She gripped the edge of the door. “His breeding is in doubt.”

“Not by me.”

Helena stared up into the stranger’s dark, dancing eyes, so familiar yet so foreign. “What do you care?”

He glanced up and down the street. “I can help him find a place where he belongs.”

She drew in a sharp breath, afraid to hope. “Are you a facilitator?”

A corner of the man’s mouth twitched. “Something like that.”

“Mother, who’s there?”

Helena turned to see Julian, his hair short on the right, long on the left. His strong, looming presence made her feel safe enough to draw back the chain and let the stranger in.

The man stepped quickly across the threshold, looking as if he were searching for something in her son’s face. She closed and locked the door.

The stranger turned to her. “There’s not much time to save him.”

Helena stepped back. She’d never heard it put so starkly before, but it was true. An infantry assignment all but guaranteed Julian would never return home, that she would place flowers beneath his name on the war monument in Leukos.

“How much do you want?” she asked the man.

“No money. Just the benefit of the doubt.” He looked at Julian. “Have you been to southern Ilios?”

Julian nodded. “I’ve spent the last two summers at training camps in Saldos.”

“In the wilderness?”

“Of course. Most of our exercises are in the field.”

“Have you ever felt the call of an Animal Spirit?”

“What?!” Helena planted herself between them. “How dare you accuse my son of such beastly ways? Just who do you think you are?”

The man looked down at her with eyes of the deepest brown, and she felt the world tilt. He was…

“Someone who cares,” he whispered.

A pounding came at the door, startling her.

“Don’t answer that,” the stranger said. “If you have a back door, I suggest we use it.”

“Are you crazy? Why should I trust you—”

“Open up,” said a deep voice outside, “by order of the Ilion Army.”

She froze. Julian started to move forward, but she held out a hand to halt him, then pressed her ear against the wooden door.

Three pairs of boots shuffled on her porch, and she thought she could hear the clink of steel. Her hearing had actually improved with age, especially in the last year, since she had turned thirty-four.

“They’re armed,” she whispered.

“We can’t just ignore them.” Julian stepped forward and shouted through the door, “Why do you call so late?”

“We’re here for the recruit,” said a different man from the one who had spoken before.

The stranger took Julian’s arm. “Step back and cover your eyes,” he said in a soft, firm voice.

Julian shrugged off his grip. “Why?”

“They want to take you tonight. We need to escape.”

“I’m going with them. It’s my duty.”

“Listen to me!” The man grabbed Julian’s lapels. “Do you want to take an arrow to the chest, then have your throat cut like you were livestock? Do you want to die in an occupied land, dishonored by your enemy and forsaken by your commanders?” He shook Julian. “And for what? Grapes? Cheap limestone? This is what the glorious Ilion flag stands for? Is that what you stand for?”

Julian shoved him away then spoke above the pounding on the door. “No. I stand for what Ilios once was.”

“As do I. So step back and cover your eyes.” The stranger looked at Helena . “You, too. It’s for your own protection.”

“You’re mad.” She reached for the doorknob. “If there’s anyone I need protection from, it’s you.”

The moment she turned the lock, three men shoved open the door. She stumbled back. The stranger caught her, and for a moment the feel of his hands on her shoulders called to mind a distant past. She straightened up and pulled out of his grip.

The head soldier removed his hat and nodded to her with respect. “Forgive us for the late-night incursion, Lady Medora, but we’re here for your son.” His comrade handed her two parchment pieces. At the top of one read the word Orders.

“There must be some mistake,” she said. “He wasn’t to report until tomorrow, and certainly not dragged from his house.” She looked at the other paper, reading, “‘Reason for Detention—Desertion Risk.’”

A veil of rage fell over her vision. “I will not let you insult my son. On what basis do you accuse him of deserting?”

The third man stepped forward, a police officer in a white-and-yellow uniform. “After leaving the recruiting station, you attempted to employ a facilitator.” He displayed his own paper. “We have a warrant for your arrest. Third-degree treason.”

Helena ’s spine turned to ice. Arrested? For trying to protect her son?

Julian turned to stare at her. “You told me it wasn’t illegal.”

She remained silent, not wanting to incriminate herself further. In fact, she’d known the facilitators were against the law, but she’d never heard of that law being enforced.

The first soldier, the one with the kind face, gestured to her and Julian. “If you’d like a moment to say goodbye…”

She turned to the red-haired stranger behind her. He gave a slow nod and rubbed his right eye.

“Who is this man?” the police officer demanded.

Helena ignored him and turned to Julian. “Make me proud, son.” She stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. Then she angled her mouth toward his ear. “Close your eyes.”

She shut her own, not a moment too soon.

Through her lids she saw a yellow-white flash, like a tiny sun had erupted in her foyer. The three men screamed, then began to babble in pain, spitting out the word blind again and again.

A low voice came near her ear. “You can open your eyes now.”

She whirled to see the soldiers clutching their faces. The police officer flailed his arms, his blue eyes covered in a thin white film.

The stranger pulled the sword from the lead soldier’s sheath. “This will come in handy.” He brushed between Julian and Helena, heading for the back door. “Bring nothing but comfortable shoes. We leave the house in one minute.”

Chapter Three

From the tension of Helena’s arms around his waist, Kiril wasn’t sure if she thought this was a rescue or a kidnapping.

Either way, he had neither the time nor the security to explain. Ilion soldiers were pursuing, hard.

They rode south, as fast as safely possible through the thick woods flanking the road from Surnos. Helena sat behind Kiril on his dark bay mare, and Julian rode the family’s young black gelding, who was skittish but fast. Kiril hadn’t let Helena bring her own horse, for its glossy white coat would have announced their presence in the moonlit forest.

With the curves of Helena’s body pressed against him, it was hard not to remember their nights together. Could it have been seventeen years ago? It felt like yesterday.

He wondered whether, deep down, she recognized him. When she discovered the truth, she would surely lash out at the man who’d left her dishonored, with a son he’d never claimed.

Not that he hadn’t tried. He’d known he was a father—it was the only way to progress in his Firefly Aspect from the first to second phase. One day he’d only been able to create light; the next, he could channel lightning itself. A stunning development for a twenty-two-year-old.

He’d waited for her that night at their weekly rendezvous point, beside the stone bridge in Letus Park in their home city of Leukos. Dawn arrived, but no Helena. For weeks he searched the city, but she had disappeared. Now he realized her parents must have sent her to Surnos to bear and raise the child, where she would bring less shame upon them. Not that it would have mattered; they would never have allowed her to marry Kiril, no matter the quality of his family, no matter that before he joined the rebellion they’d seen him as her “perfect match.”

Kiril and Julian slowed the horses to a walk to navigate a steep slope.

“How much farther?” Helena whispered.

“A few hours,” Kiril told her. “After we cross the stream we’ll turn left and head southeast.”

“But there’s nothing in that direction except the Great Swamp.”

He didn’t answer as he guided his horse to walk in the center of the stream. The water, which reached just above the mare’s ankles, would hide their scent from the hounds.

Kiril looked back to ensure that Julian was following. He didn’t have much choice now that he was a deserter. Kiril’s heart twisted—he’d abandoned Julian before his birth, and now he’d destroyed the boy’s only chance to regain a shred of Ilion honor.

I’ll make it up to him, he thought, if it takes the rest of my life.

If he’d had any doubt Julian was his son, it had vanished the moment he’d walked through Helena’s door. The resemblance was unmistakable. The only difference he could see was how much more levelheaded Julian was than Kiril had been at his age. The young man had shown no fear or panic during tonight’s headlong chase out of Surnos. No doubt Helena had raised him to be the man of the house from an early age, with little of the coddling received by most young noblemen, including Kiril himself.

A mile downstream, they climbed a shallow bank then turned the horses so they could drink. Around them, the damp forest sang with life, the high chirp of crickets blending with the ear-blasting blare of cicadas.

“I’ve never been anywhere so dark,” Helena whispered.

“You’re safe, Mother,” Julian said. “Bears won’t attack people on horseback.”

After a long moment, she said under her breath, “Bears?”

Kiril shifted on his riding blanket to look at her. “Would you like some light?”

“No, they’ll see a torch for miles.”

“It won’t be that bright.” He looped the reins around his wrist, then cupped his hands as if holding a ball. Breathing deep, he let out an ounce of power.

A faint white sphere appeared between his hands. Helena gasped.

“How do you do that?” She put her hand out then drew it back.

“You can touch it,” he said. “It won’t burn.”

She pressed closer to reach around his waist, stirring a sudden passion in him that threatened to make the sphere flare like the sun. He held his breath as her long, thin fingers sank into the light, then brushed his palms.

The sphere painted Helena’s face with a soft white glow, reminding him of statues of the goddesses. Her blue eyes widened, gold-tipped lashes fluttering, as she marveled at Kiril’s light. Her soft moan went straight to the base of his spine.

“And the flash of light in my house,” she said, “that blinded the men—”

“Only temporarily,” he noted.

“But how?”

He raised the sphere so Julian could see better, and spoke to both of them. “My Guardian Spirit Animal is Firefly.”

“So you’re one of the beasts,” Helena grumbled. “But you speak like an Ilion.”

“I’ll always be Ilion. The Spirits want to bring the world together again, one people under Their guidance.”

“Ridiculous,” Julian said. “The gods would never allow it.”

“What have the gods done for you lately?” When they didn’t answer, he said, “I’ll ask again—have either of you experienced any unexplained changes, any powers?”

“Of course not,” Helena said quickly, then gestured to Kiril’s light. “Nothing that freakish.”

“What about enhanced senses, strength or balance?”

“Shh.” Helena grabbed his arm. “What’s that sound?”

Kiril listened hard but heard nothing. He shook his head. Julian matched the gesture with a shrug.

“Hounds!” She pointed back the way they’d come.

Kiril doused the light. “Let’s go.”

After dashing through another five miles of sparse woods, Kiril signaled for them to slow at the edge of a weedy clearing. They listened for pursuers over the huffing breath of their horses.

“Anything?” Julian asked Helena .

She shook her head. “We’ve left the dogs behind. No hoofbeats, so they must be following on foot.”

“For now, at least.” Kiril urged his horse to enter the moonlit clearing.

“Halt!”

The commanding voice drew a gasp of alarm from Helena.

“Relax,” Kiril told her. He shouted the password, and a tall, sturdily built blond man strode out of the dark forest beyond the clearing, carrying a small torch.

Kiril hailed his best friend and removed his cap so that Filip could see that he still wore the disguise. It was their signal to refer to him under his alternate identity.

“Elias, welcome back.” Filip turned to Julian. “And you, young man. Welcome to the cause.”

“I never said I’d join the rebellion.” Julian looked at Helena. “Mother, I could still go back and surrender, tell the army it’s all a mistake.”

“If you run, our archers will shoot you.” Filip jutted his thumb over his shoulder. “If you don’t run, our cook will feed you. Your choice.”

Kiril heard Helena’s stomach grumble, and he suppressed a chuckle.

“I’d rather starve than eat with rebel scum,” she said.

“Suit yourself.” Filip turned back to Kiril. “Were you followed?”

“All the way from Surnos.” He looked back the way they’d come. The Ilions would never give up—not on familiar ground, at least. “They’re still in pursuit, so we’d better get going.”

***

A chill slithered down Helena’s spine. “Going where?” she asked. “Surely not into the swamp.”

Filip smiled. “Best place in the whole country to hide.”

A hundred tales of horror flashed through her mind. “But people enter and never return!” She slid awkwardly off Kiril’s horse and hit the ground with a grunt, nearly twisting her ankle. “I’m not going.” She strode over to Julian’s horse, placed her foot on his and let him lift her up behind him. She hid her wince; after so much riding, it would be hard to even walk tomorrow.

Assuming she lived that long.

Julian gathered up the reins. “We’ll take our chances with the archers,” he murmured to her. “This man is bluffing, no doubt.”

He tugged the right rein to turn their gelding around. The horse didn’t move—in fact, it jerked its head back hard enough to yank the reins out of his hand.

Julian nudged the horse’s flank with a heel. “Come on, Pepper.”

Still the horse balked, the rims of his eyes showing white as he resisted the reins, keeping his gaze locked with Filip’s. What in the name of all the gods was wrong with the silly nag?

Elias laughed. “He won’t do anything my friend doesn’t want him to. Filip’s a third-phase Horse. Animals are under his influence.”

Helena let out an exasperated sigh. “More of your Spirit magic?”

Filip held out his hand waist-high, and Pepper stepped forward and nuzzled it. “That’s a good boy,” Filip crooned, keeping the torch at an arm’s length from the horse’s head. He looked up at Julian. “By the way, he hates the name Pepper.”

The name had been Helena’s idea. “Charlatans,” she said under her breath.

Filip looked between the two horses. “Your mounts are exhausted. Best if we go on foot the rest of the way to camp.”

Helena grumbled and refused Filip’s hand to assist her off the horse. As a result, she stumbled when she landed. She flailed for a moment, then fell onto her backside on the spongy ground.

Elias knelt beside her and helped her up without laughing or even smirking at her. He also didn’t yank her arm like a commoner would, but placed one hand under her elbow and another on her waist, like a gentleman. The gesture didn’t mesh with his scruffy appearance.

She stared up at his face in the flickering torchlight. He averted his eyes quickly, let go of her and tugged his beard again.

Then he held out his arm for her to take. She looked behind her, where the Ilion soldiers would soon appear. The swamp held unknown terrors she couldn’t imagine, but perhaps it held freedom as well. She grasped the crook of Elias’s elbow.

With a deep breath, she let him lead her into the darkness.

Chapter Four

Kiril watched his best friend’s face contort with disbelief.

Filip pointed to Julian, who sat eating with his mother at the fire of the rebel’s base camp. “That boy is your son?” he whispered. “Does he know?”

“Not yet. I’ll tell them soon.”

“Them? She doesn’t know either?”

He scratched his false beard. “Hence the disguise.”

“Kiril—”

“Shh.” He grabbed his friend’s arm and dragged him outside the light of the campfire. “Don’t say that name. First, I think she has enhanced hearing from some latent Spirit power. Most of all, she knows Kiril as the man who debauched her, ruined her life. Because her son’s a bastard in the eyes of the nobility, he doesn’t get to join the cavalry like you and I did at his age. They were about to cart him off for the infantry.”

“For the Asermon operation? That’s a death sentence.”

“And it’s my fault. Rescuing them was the least I could do.”

“I’ll grant you that. When are you going to tell them, or haven’t you planned that far ahead?”

“When we’re far enough into the swamp that he can’t run away.” Kiril glanced at Helena, who was rubbing her arms and casting nervous glances at the dark forest. “And after she likes me enough not to kill me when she finds out.”

Filip shook his head. “You have balls the size of boulders, my friend.” He pointed at Kiril as he walked back to the tent. “It’ll catch up with you one day. Wait and see.”

Kiril sighed. He had a feeling he wouldn’t have to wait long at all.

***

Helena was living a nightmare.

The last two days in this endless swamp had left her a sweaty, bedraggled, bug-bitten mess. She took little comfort in the fact that the rest of the troupe—Filip, his wife Alanka, Elias, his stepson Erik, and Julian—looked just as bad (though at least Julian’s hair was evenly cut now).

She’d taught herself not to scream at the snakes gliding through the pitch-black water, even when they seemed to be aimed at her canoe. After a close call with a snapping turtle, she’d kept her hands inside the small vessel. Once, a low-hanging branch had nearly taken out her left eye, so she’d learned to stay alert and lean into unladylike positions when necessary.

The nights were the worst. The swamp made noises no one could explain—even Filip who, as a third-phase Horse, could share the mind of any animal in the vicinity. It was almost as if the water and trees were conversing, conspiring against the humans in their midst. She now knew the true meaning of wilderness.

On the third night, they sat around the slow-burning campfire, eating the duck Alanka had shot that afternoon. She supposedly possessed the Wolf “Aspect,” as they called it. Her ability to turn invisible made her an excellent hunter, but it also made Helena nervous.

Elias’s stepson, Erik, handed her a fresh cup of water, infused with a special compound to restore their strength. A thin blond man in his late twenties, the healer—an Otter, supposedly—had soothed her blisters each night.

Helena had asked him how such a nice man could get wrapped up in such a heinous operation, assuming his stepfather, Elias, had strong-armed him into it. She was surprised to discover that Erik’s mother and father had been two of the first Ilions to be beckoned by the so-called Guardian Spirits. With Filip, Alanka, Elias and a few others, they had birthed the movement to spread the word about the Spirits throughout Ilios, a movement that eventually became a rebellion when the Ilion government began cracking down on other religions. Erik’s father had been killed in a botched raid, and a few years later his mother died in a skirmish, shortly after marrying Elias.

“River’s getting deeper,” Erik said to the others now. “We’ll probably reach the lake early tomorrow.”

“Lake Xenia?” Helena looked at the others in disbelief. “You must be joking. It leads to the underworld.”

“A silly myth,” Alanka said, focusing on the bow she was restringing.

Helena wanted to throw her water in the woman’s face, but she was too thirsty to waste it. “You’re a fine one to talk about myths, with your absurd Reawakening stories.” To Alanka’s surprised glance she responded, “Yes, I’ve heard all about your foolish dreams of the past and future, that your Spirits will save you in dire times. Yet we still occupy your lands. Where are your Spirits?”

“They’re coming.” Alanka gave her a disarming smile, then returned to her task, humming a sprightly tune under her breath.

Helena was about to express her skepticism when she heard soft footsteps behind her. “What was that?” She turned and looked into the dense forest.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Alanka said. The others murmured agreement.

Helena stood and faced the thick copse of juniper trees. The footsteps came closer.

Two golden eyes appeared, and she drew in a sharp breath. A creature padded forward into the faint edge of the campfire. A tawny feline, spotted black, its face tabby-striped. It gazed at her, unblinking.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.

“Filip, is there an animal over there?” Alanka asked.

He answered in a low voice. “I don’t sense anything.”

“That’s absurd.” Helena pointed to the cat. “It’s right there.”

Elias stood and came to her side. “What do you see?”

She put a hand to her head. “I’m not hallucinating. It’s real.”

He touched the back of her shoulder. “What do you see?” he whispered.

“A cat.” She turned back to the animal. “It looks like Lea, the pet we had when Julian was a boy. But bigger.” She squatted down, reached out her hand and pursed her lips. “Julian, don’t you think it looks like Lea?”

“Mother, I don’t see a cat. But I believe you.”

“Why?” Elias asked him. “Have you had strange experiences, too?”

“No.” Julian cleared his throat. “Maybe.”

Filip spoke as he approached Helena. “Bobcats are too cautious to come this close to a campfire.”

“I’m not crazy.” Helena caught her breath as the cat padded closer, whiskers curled forward, holding her gaze with its golden eyes. Its footsteps echoed in her head and she felt like they were walking across the terrain of her soul.

It sniffed her hand, rubbing its velvet nose against her fingertips. And then it vanished.

“Where’d it go?” She blinked hard. “It was just here.”

“Only for you.” Elias helped her to her feet. “Bobcat is your Spirit Animal.”

“Nonsense!” She yanked her arm out of his grip. “Someone probably let their pet loose in the swamp. That’s why it was so tame. The rest of you are playing a trick on me by pretending you didn’t see it.”

“Believe what you want,” Elias said, “but the day will come when you’ll have to accept your Guardian Spirit. Filip and I denied it, too, when we were younger. We can help you.”

“I don’t want help. I want to go home.” Helena felt stupid as soon as she uttered her most fervent wish. She had no more home.

Rage swelled inside her, tightening her chest. She wanted to throw something, break everything.

Most of all, she wanted to hit someone.

***

Helena woke with a start.

It was a still night, but the moon must have risen, because she could see into all the shadows. Yet when she looked up, she saw only leaves, and beyond them, a starless sky.

She rolled to her hands and knees. Something had changed. A bluish light suffused her surroundings. A breeze caressed her face, bringing with it a host of scents. And the sounds…each leaf had a distinctive rustle.

It was maddening. She slapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, blocking the onslaught of sensations.

The breeze shifted, carrying a new rush of scents. Her heart seemed to thud to a stop.

He was here.

She opened her eyes and looked past Alanka’s rolled-up bedding, past the sleeping form of Filip. Another bedroll lay empty.

Helena tiptoed over to it, marveling at the new stealth of her bare feet. Filip shifted in his sleep as she passed, but did not wake. She knelt next to the empty bedroll, lowered her head and breathed deep.

“You…”

Of all the people, in all the places…

Perhaps her memory was mistaken. She had to know for sure.

Tying her hair back into a knot to keep it free of twigs, she stepped out of the campsite, following his scent.

It led toward the river, where she heard splashing—and not the single impact of a jumping fish or frog, or a turtle sliding into the water. As the trees thinned, she saw him.

He was bathing waist-deep in the river, facing away from her and scrubbing his face and head, which must have been why he didn’t hear her approach the edge of the water.

She looked down. A clump of red fur lay on the ground at her feet. She knelt and picked it up.

Not fur—human hair. A beard, mustache and hairpiece. A disguise.

“I knew it,” she snarled.

The splashing stopped. The man turned his head, his dark brown hair curling over the nape of his neck, streaming water down his back. His cheeks were covered in dark stubble.

“Kiril.”

As soon as she spoke his name, he strode forward, naked and not the least self-conscious. The water swished around his waist, then his thighs and finally his ankles as he neared. She struggled to keep her focus on his face.

“Helena.” His eyes filled with regret—or maybe guilt. “I can explain.”

“Later,” she whispered. “Come here.”

His mouth curved into an astonished smile as he closed the last few feet between them. “I’ve wanted to tell you,” he said. “I was just waiting for the right moment.”

“And here it is,” she said sweetly, then punched him in the face.

Chapter Five

Kiril fell back into the shallow water, his head reeling. Had Helena just punched him? When did she get so strong? And how did she know—

A sharp kick in the ribs interrupted his thoughts. Instinctively he turned on his side to protect his most sensitive parts. She kicked him again, but this time he rolled to his hands and knees, and her blow fell short. He grabbed her foot while she was off balance. If she were a man, he would’ve dropped her in the mud.

“Wait,” he said. She landed another swipe to his nose, so hard he couldn’t breathe, and he let go. The agony nearly blinded him, but a lifetime’s training had taught him how to fight through the pain.

His training, however, had never taught him how to fight a woman. “Helena, stop. Let me—”

She struck him again, and this time his nose crunched under her fist.

“All these years—” she kicked him in the gut “—I can’t hold my head up in decent society.” She shoved him on his back in the water and loomed over him. “My son has no father!” She pulled back her foot, and he knew it was aimed to make sure he never sired another child.

Kiril surged up and grabbed her by the waist. With a twist and roll, he pinned her beneath him in the shallow water. Before he could seize her wrists, she landed another blow to the side of his head. He felt the blood trickle inside his ear.

He tried to capture her legs so she couldn’t land a foot or knee, but the water made her slippery. Writhing beneath him, her body showed through her wet clothes, which didn’t help his concentration.

She bucked him off, but he didn’t let go. As she tried to get up, he slid his leg under hers and swept her off her feet. In another moment he was upon her again, this time out of the water and into the dark mud, where he had more traction.

He pinned down her wrists and thighs, but she kept struggling.

“Listen,” he panted. “Clearly you’re a Bobcat and stronger than I am now, slightly. Definitely faster. But I have years of training in hand-to-hand combat.” He tightened his grip on her wrists. “And don’t forget my powers. My light could blind your sensitive eyes forever.”

She glared up at him. “You wouldn’t do it.”

“Why not? Because I feel guilty? I’m just rebel scum, remember? Besides, that guilt faded a tiny bit every time you punched me.”

She looked down between their bodies and gave a crooked smile. “Obviously part of you likes it.”

He stared at her, desire urging him on. Quickly he feinted as if to kiss her. She pulled in a sharp breath, and he drew back.

Her eyes showed a flicker of disappointment, and beneath him, her hips shifted. He held back a groan at the feel of her warm, wet softness, but mere silence couldn’t hide his passion. His mind was flooded with memories: sweat mingling, fingernails clawing and her voice in his ear, screaming his name.

From the look in her eyes, she remembered, too.

He took in a slow breath. “How many parts of you like it?” He lowered his head again, whispering against her lips. “This part?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right.” He risked a sly smile. “I know that if I kissed you right now—really kissed you—” He brushed the barest edge of his mouth against hers. “If I slipped my tongue between your lips…”

Her lips parted, as if by their own will. “I’d bite it off.”

“And that’s why I wouldn’t dare.” His smile faded, and he drew back to meet her gaze. “Helena, please know that I’m sorry. I tried to find you… I can never make it up to you and Julian, but I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

Her eyes softened for a moment, then narrowed again. “I want nothing to do with you, Kiril Vidaso.”

His ears tingled at the sound of his family name, the one he hadn’t used since the day he joined the rebellion. He shifted one finger to tug her gold bracelet. “Then why do you still wear this?”

Her mouth tightened into a hard line. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my son.”

“Our son.”

A sharp whistle came from the campsite, rising and falling three times in quick succession.

The invasion alarm.

***

Helena raced back to the camp, Kiril on her heels. Though her heart pounded with fear, part of her reveled in her newfound grace and agility. She hadn’t felt this alive since she was a young woman—yes, since the last time she’d been with this man. It couldn’t be his presence that made her feel that way again. She’d sooner believe it was Bobcat magic, however offensive to the gods that might be.

When they reached the campsite, the others were cramming gear into their packs. She ran to Julian, instinctively wanting to protect him.

“They’re coming, Mother.” He handed Helena her pack. “ Ilion soldiers.”

“How far?”

“A few miles,” Alanka said. “I saw them when I was on patrol. Twenty of them, fully armed.”

Helena gasped. So many men, just to bring her and Julian home? No doubt they planned to make an example of them.

“Here’s the plan.” Filip stepped into the middle of the campsite. “Alanka and I will stay and provide a distraction, engage them if we have to.” He pointed back toward the river. “The four of you take the boats, two each. Split up when you reach the lake. Elias and Helena will turn right and go west, while Erik and Julian will go east. We’ll meet at the Number Four rendezvous point, down the Osprey River.”

“I’m not leaving my son,” Helena said.

“You’re both targets. If the soldiers get past us, they’ll have to choose between you.” Filip pointed to the boats. “If you prefer, go with Erik, and Julian can go with his—” he cut himself off “—with Elias.”

Helena felt relieved Filip had caught himself. Now was not the time to introduce Julian to his father.

“There’s a third choice,” she said. “I could turn myself in.”

Julian stepped forward. “Mother, no. They’ll arrest you, especially now that we’ve run.”

“I have connections. They might show leniency.”

Julian dumped his pack on the ground. “If you go back, I’m going with you. And you can bet I’ll get no leniency.”

She gritted her teeth, wondering if her son was bluffing. He never bluffed.

He was one of them now, as was she, whether they liked it or not.

“Fine.” She picked up her pack and headed for Kiril’s boat. She had no intention of letting the scoundrel anywhere near her son.

Kiril caught up to her on the trail to the river. “This should be interesting.”

She glanced at his face, bruised and bleeding from her attack, and gave a heavy sigh at the thought of spending several days alone with him. Perhaps she’d be better off facing the entire Ilion army.

***

Kiril tried to ignore the stabbing pain in his left side as he rowed their boat down the river. If the Ilion soldiers found them, he’d have worse than a cracked rib to worry about.

Helena sat in the front, guiding the two skiffs with her newly enhanced night vision. She leaned forward, hands gripping the sides of the boat. If she’d had cat ears, they’d have been twitching.

It made sense that Bobcat had chosen her. Her ladylike exterior had always masked a barely contained ferocity. It was what had attracted him to her seventeen years ago—half a lifetime for her. Only a woman with a taste for adventure would have let someone like him into her life.

Suddenly Helena turned her head to the side and looked behind them. “They’re coming!”

He gritted his teeth against the pain and increased their speed. From the splashes behind him, he knew Erik was keeping pace with them.

Ten soldiers appeared on the bank ahead of them. “Halt!” one of them called. “By order of the nation of Ilios, I command you to come ashore.”

Kiril rowed faster, his rib stabbing his gut with every motion, but it was too late. The Ilions waded into the shallow water, ready to intercept.

Kiril’s group was outnumbered. He had one chance, one weapon, that could save them all. But in his current condition, it could wipe out his last remaining scrap of strength.

He set his oar inside the boat and whispered to Helena, “Cover your eyes. Don’t just close them—put your hands over them.”

Kiril repeated the order to the others, then held his palms shoulder-width apart and closed his eyes. As he’d feared, his injuries had weakened his powers, and the energy was slow to stir, like a hibernating bear. He called on his Firefly Spirit and, as a quick afterthought, prayed that few animals were looking this way.

The electricity surged within him, the final remnants of last week’s storm. If he gave it all, it could kill him. But if he held back, they would all be destroyed—his stepson, his son and the woman he thought he’d lost forever.

So Kiril sent the light.

Chapter Six

Helena saw the world explode.

Even with her hands covering her face, the force from Kiril’s light spell made red spots dance before her vision. Screams of agony echoed throughout the forest.

A moment later, all was dark. She opened her eyes to see a world of chaos.

The ten Ilion soldiers had been on the verge of overtaking them, but now the men staggered through the water, shrieking and flailing about in fear and fury. One of them stumbled forward and grabbed the edge of their boat, threatening to tip it over.

Helena kicked his forearm, causing his sword to go flying into the swamp. He turned to fumble for it, and she landed a solid punch on his jaw. He reeled, yowling. When he lurched toward her again, hands grasping for her neck, she ducked and slammed her fist into his stomach. He doubled over and fell into the water.

“Let’s row!” She checked that Erik and Julian were safe, then looked at Kiril. He was slumped over in the back of the boat.

Uttering a mix of a curse and a prayer, Helena picked up the other oar. They drifted past another blind soldier, who raised his sword in a threatening gesture. She slammed the oar into the side of his head.

The current picked up, carrying the two boats away from the soldiers. They rowed in silence for another mile or two, tension and worry snapping the air. The cypress trees loomed low over the water, as if wanting to pull the out-of-place humans into their grasp forever.

“How is he?” Erik called from the boat behind her.

Helena examined Kiril’s form. “He’s breathing, but I can’t tell anything more from here. Should we stop?”

“No,” Erik said. “There could be more troops. If Filip and Alanka didn’t divert them all, some of the soldiers could head downstream to intercept us. Best to keep going.”

“He saved our lives,” Julian said. “I hope he didn’t lose his own to do it.”

Helena gazed at Kiril, slumped against the other end of the boat. They had to follow him now. By Ilion tradition, saving a person’s life meant they owed their loyalty to him, until the favor was repaid. Just last night, Kiril had revealed that this debt of honor was what had dragged him into the rebellion in the first place after Filip saved him from one of Alanka’s arrows.

Helena squared her shoulders and rowed faster. She would keep Kiril alive—and not just to repay the debt. Despite the rage that had simmered within her for so long, his presence now gave her a strange sense of hope and excitement she hadn’t felt in years.

Still, she refused to indulge in any thoughts but survival. She wouldn’t think of the way his dark eyes had sparked with desire as they’d grappled in the mud, or the way his hands had gripped her wrists. Thoughts of other parts of him sliding against her—and how they’d feel inside her—were absolutely off-limits.

And to her dying day, she would never admit to herself how easily she could have thrown him off.

Slowly the river widened and the sky grew lighter. She tried not to imagine her son drifting away from her on the lake, perhaps lost forever in this godsforsaken wilderness.

It was too late to think that way. Like it or not, she was one of the Spirit people now. Bobcat had claimed her, and she realized she could never go back to the way she was. And she wouldn’t want to. The world would seem flat and muffled compared to this.

The lake opened before them, and she gasped. It was larger than she’d ever expected—she couldn’t even see to the other side. Towering cypress trees grew in the middle of the water, the rising sun shining pink off their stiltlike roots.

They rowed both boats to the bank of the lake. Erik examined Kiril’s semiconscious form while Helena watched with apprehension. She cringed to see the bruises she had left on his face and torso.

“He’s in shock from overusing his powers,” the Otter healer said. He avoided Helena’s eyes. “His injuries certainly don’t help, but I’ll bandage his rib cage so the crack can set.”

“Why did you attack him?” Julian said to her. “Was Elias threatening you?”

She avoided her son’s eyes. “When I woke up I was disoriented from my new…powers. I had the urge to hunt.” Yes, that sounded good. “I followed the trail of a squirrel to the river.” Did squirrels frequent the river? No matter. “When I saw Elias, the Bobcat in me thought he was stealing my prey. The more he tried to calm me down, the angrier I became.”

Julian shifted away from her, as if afraid she would lose control again.

“I’m fine now,” she said. “Come kiss me goodbye.” She kept her voice steady, hiding her anxiety.

“Don’t worry, Mother.” He embraced her. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

And then what? she thought. We become rebels? Fight against everything we’ve ever believed in? It was one thing to be called by a Spirit, but another giant step to fighting on its behalf against her own people.

Erik closed his healer’s kit. “I’ve treated his physical wounds, but I can’t heal his loss of power. He’ll have to recover that on his own.” He leaned over and gently patted Kiril’s cheek. “Father, can you hear me?”

Kiril stirred, dark lashes fluttering. “Julian?” he murmured.

The Otter gave the others an uncomfortable glance, and Helena realized he knew their secret. Now everyone knew except Julian himself.

“No, it’s Erik.” He squeezed Kiril’s hand, his pale face pinched with concern. “Helena’s going to care for you until we meet at the rendezvous point. You just rest and get your strength back. That’s an order.”

“Otters…such tyrants,” Kiril slurred.

Helena looked at Erik. “Do you want to travel with him instead? I’ll go with Julian.”

“I wish I could.” He stood and looked out at the dark lake waters. “But you two would get lost. The rendezvous point lies in a maze of water and trees that I couldn’t begin to describe.” He leveled a soft, blue-eyed gaze on her. “Nothing in the Great Swamp moves in a straight line You’d end up wandering through it the rest of your lives.”

“Which would turn out to be rather short,” Julian murmured.

“No…” Kiril stirred, angled his head and looked like he was trying to open his eyes. “I go with Helena,” he whispered before sinking into a heavy sleep again.

“What should I do?” she asked Erik, cursing her sense of helplessness.

He handed her a small pack. “Change the bandage in two days and use this poultice on his bruises. Do all the rowing yourself, and don’t let him lift anything heavy.” He joined Julian in the other boat then turned back to her. “And pray for a storm.”

Chapter Seven

Helena watched Kiril pass in and out of consciousness all morning as she rowed the boat counterclockwise around the lake, keeping the shore in sight.

Sometimes he would wake with a start then glance around wildly. When his gaze alit on her, he would relax and sink back into slumber, a lazy smile curving his lips.

She recognized that look from long ago, when he had weakened her knees with his carefree, roguish charm. His eyes had grown stormy and serious in the past seventeen years, which must have been why she hadn’t recognized him at first. How much remained of the man she had loved, and how much had the war and rebellion stripped away?

By noon, the sun had crested the trees and was beating down on her, making her eyelids as heavy as wool blankets. Was she nocturnal, like a cat, now that her Bobcat Spirit had called her? At any rate, they would get sunburned without cover.

She rowed into shore and tied the boat to the long roots of a gum tree, then nudged Kiril awake. “I need to sleep,” she told him. “Can you keep watch?”

He nodded and started to get out of the boat, which swayed under his precarious weight. She let him grasp her arm so she could help him onto dry land.

Kiril ran his hands hard over his face several times then shook his head. He opened his bag and withdrew a packet of dried venison. “You hungry?” he asked her.

“No, I just want to sleep.”

But drowsiness abandoned her the moment she stretched out on her bedroll. Too many questions plagued her mind.

“Now what?” she asked him.

“Specifically?”

“This Bobcat…entity. What does it want?”

“He wants you to accept him as your Spirit. As soon as it’s safe, you should undertake the Bestowing. You’ll go off on your own for three days, no food or water or sleep—”

“Sounds lovely.”

He chuckled. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Terrifying. Exhausting. But singularly amazing.”

“What about the gods?”

“The gods don’t—” He cut himself off, and she wished she could see his face.

“They don’t what?” she said. “Exist?”

He sighed. “That’s for you to decide. We each make our own journey.”

“Where did your journey take you?”

“All over. I think I had the most indirect route to the Spirits of anyone alive.” He told her about his time eighteen years ago as a prisoner of war of the Spirit People in Asermos, where Firefly had first called him. He described how he’d escaped and returned home, how the anti-Asermon intelligence he’d gathered had made him an Ilion hero. But still Firefly had not given up, despite his treachery against the Spirits.

“Why did you never tell me this when we were younger?” she asked him.

“If I’d shown you that trick with the light when you were seventeen, you’d have run screaming.”

She smiled. “Maybe.”

“I didn’t know who I was back then. It made me reckless, irresponsible. Especially with you.”

She laughed groggily, his voice having soothed her near sleep again. “It’s not as if I discouraged you.”

“I ruined you, when all I ever wanted was to—” He cut himself off again. “Never mind. You won’t believe me.”

“Try me,” she whispered.

“That last night, when you didn’t come to meet me…I was going to ask you to run away.” He cleared his throat. “I was going to ask you to marry me.”

“Very funny,” she said, and fell asleep.

***

Helena woke coated in sweat. A cool wind swept over her forehead. She rolled over to see that the afternoon sky had grayed, with giant puffy clouds moving north. She sat up. “It’s going to rain,” she told Kiril.

No answer. She turned to see him propped against the fallen tree trunk, asleep.

“Some guard you’re keeping.” She got to her feet, stomped over to him and shook his sleeve. “Kiril, we need to set up—”

He slumped over, limp as a rag doll.

“Kiril!” Gods, please don’t let him be dead. She felt the pulse at his neck, faint and erratic.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a thought knocked against her memory. Something Erik had said…

Pray for a storm. Perhaps there was hope yet. She dipped her shirttail in the lake, then squeezed it over Kiril’s face. He stirred at the impact of the dripping water.

“Kiril, a storm is coming. What does that mean?”

He opened his eyes slowly. “It can save me,” he murmured. “Get me out there.”

She draped him over her back and got to her feet with a huge grunt. Even with her new strength, she staggered under his weight. But if he had to walk himself, it might be too late. Too late for what, she didn’t know.

She lumbered to the end of a jetty that jutted far into the lake and propped him up to stand against a large vertical rock.

“Thank you,” he panted. “Now move back.”

“Why?”

He gripped her arm. “Don’t come near, no matter what you see. Promise.”

“But you might need—”

“Promise!” He shook her hard with both hands. “I can’t do this if I’m worried about you.”

“I promise I’ll stay away. But Kiril…you should know something.” She pulled his head down and kissed him, then looked into his eyes. “I would’ve said yes.”

***

Kiril clutched the edge of the rock, so hard it cut into his palm. But the pain would let him cling to consciousness long enough to call the storm.

Lightning flashed in the distance, flaring from cloud to cloud. Five seconds later, thunder rumbled. He cursed. The storm was a mile away—too far to save him.

Maybe another would follow. But by then it could be too late. Without an infusion of energy from lightning, his strength would soon fail, and he would die. He’d overused his powers back in the river thwarting the Ilion soldiers. But if he’d died to save Helena and his sons, the sacrifice would have been worth it.

But if he lived…

Her kiss still burned on his lips. Maybe they had a chance after all these years to finally make things right. To make a family together.

He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and whispered a plea to his Firefly Spirit. “I’m not worthy, but have mercy, anyway. Send me the light.”

Then he reached for the storm.

It ignored him at first. The forces of nature could not be controlled, he knew, only compelled. Like a stubborn dog or horse, the storm had to think that coming to him was its idea.

He reached out again, nudging, seducing. Come. He breathed in, and with his magic, dropped the air pressure between his body and the roiling, churning clouds.

Come play with me.

Veering, the storm took the bait, and headed straight toward him.

Kiril lifted his arms and let the sparks dance among his fingertips—faint, teasing. Lightning arced from cloud to cloud, an intricate trail of flowing light, each piece swirling and dancing in every color.

The wind rose around him, rippling the lake and rustling the cypress leaves. The swamp was alive and part of him. He felt the worry of each bird and animal as it took shelter, the relief of the thirsty trees and ferns. The storm was life and death at the same time. Kiril himself balanced on that edge of power, one that could save him—or kill him.

The rain came, lashing his face and streaking back his hair. He closed his eyes against the sharp drops that stung his lids like thousands of tiny needles.

He lived for these moments, when it was all so clear, so pure, so violent, like the heat of battle. If only civilian life were so simple. If only love and fatherhood were so simple.

He would make it simple. He loved Helena to this day, and if he lived, he would claim her.

Kiril called the lightning.

To the rest of the world it was a deafening crash, but in his mind the moment was as mute as a firefly’s signal. Inside him there was no sound, no heat, no breath.

Only light.

***

Helena screamed when she saw Kiril die.

The lightning bolt had struck a moment ago, and now a ball of white light enveloped him. It pulsed twice then erupted in a purple-white flame that reached high above the trees.

Suddenly he was hurled backward, streaking across the sky like a meteor. He landed in the mud in the center of the jetty, and his light went out.

Kiril lay still. Crumpled. Lifeless.

Chapter Eight

Shrieking Kiril’s name, Helena left her shelter of thick trees and rushed into the drenching rain. As she drew near his body, she saw that his clothes were torn, hanging off him in singed strips. Her steps slowed. Whatever his powers, how could he have survived a bolt of lightning?

He stirred. The relief stopped her in her tracks. But surely this movement was a temporary recovery, merely a last shudder of life.

Kiril opened his eyes and got to his feet in one graceful motion. He turned to her, and she lost her breath.

He glowed. A purple-white aura glimmered and shimmered around the edges of his profile. Rain streamed down his mud-streaked face and chest. She shook her head, astounded. What in the name of all the gods had just happened?

One thing was clear through the haze of rain: his dark gaze was devouring her body.

He strode toward her, no longer staggering, every step so strong and sure, she wanted to flee in the face of his certainty and what it demanded of her. But she stood her ground.

Kiril reached her, and without hesitating, pulled her into his arms. His mouth burned hot against hers, defying the cold wind that swirled around them.

She clawed at what was left of his garments, ripping them from his body with her new strength. He peeled off her clothes with a matching speed, and they sank to the ground, their passion too urgent to let them seek shelter.

Helena clutched greedily at Kiril’s body, wishing she could touch him everywhere at once. His mouth traveled down her neck to the top of her breast, leaving a trail of heat. When his lips closed around her nipple, her back arched with the sudden, blinding surge of pleasure, a feeling she’d almost forgotten. A feeling that grew with every stroke of his hands, where lightning seemed to live in his fingertips.

She grasped his hips and urged them between her thighs. “Don’t wait…”

Kiril shook his head. “We’ve waited long enough.” He covered her mouth with his as he entered her.

A jolt shot down her spine, connecting her lips with her core, as their bodies completed the circle of energy. She cried out, her scream swallowed by the roaring wind.

They writhed on the ground as thunder pressed the air in wave after wave. The rain streamed between them, slicking their skin. Kiril’s smooth, powerful muscles strained beneath her hands as he thrust deep inside her in a rhythm that sent her tumbling over one peak after another. Helpless, she clawed at the mud beside her, fingers sinking into soft earth, the only anchor in this raging storm of delirium.

Finally Kiril paused, trembling, to gaze down at her. His dark waves of hair dangled dripping against his cheeks, framing a face filled with wonder. His outline still shone violet-white, stark against the deep, roiling clouds beyond. She recalled how his magic had nearly claimed his life, the life that he would have been glad to lay down for her.

Fear and joy drove her to clutch him close with all her limbs and every muscle. She raked her nails down his back, wanting to mark him as hers forever.

He let out a deep groan and closed his eyes. “Helena…” He buried his face in her hair as he surged inside her. “I love you.”

***

Tangled in Helena’s arms and legs, Kiril drifted in and out of a contented, half-conscious state. At least this time his exhaustion was for a good cause.

It was also short-lived. His pulse throbbed again as his hands swept over her curves, trailing in the water collecting on her skin from the light drizzle. She gave a throaty laugh and turned to him.

He held her face in his hands as he kissed her slowly, deeply, thoroughly. Then he opened his eyes.

The clouds had disappeared, showing them in the full light of the waning day. Kiril began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she said, before looking down. “Oh, no.”

They were both caked in mud, from head to foot. Helena’s hair was plastered to her scalp and back. Before she could utter her horror, Kiril slipped his arms around her body and picked her up.

He carried her into the lake’s shallow sparkling water, where they bathed every inch of each other, running hands over skin, through tangles of hair, until they were pressed close together again, kissing, insatiable.

She took his hand to lead him back to the shore, but he stopped her.

“Helena…” He gazed into her eyes in the light of the setting sun. “Before, when I was almost dead, you told me you would have said yes.” He swallowed and tightened his grip on her hands. “What if I asked you now?”

She blinked up at him for so long, he grew uneasy.

“To marry me,” he added. “That was the question.”

“I know.” She pulled away, and her voice came flat and clipped. “You mean now?”

“Well, not naked in the middle of the Great Swamp.” He gestured to the water around them, which reflected the orange-streaked sky. “Although we can if you want. We can’t legally marry, anyway, since we’re both wanted by the law, so we could just declare ourselves here and now, in front of the Spirits.”

She said nothing, just stared at him.

He took a step backward. “Are you going to punch me again?”

“Shh.” She held out a hand to silence him. “Don’t say another word.” Her palms squeezed the sides of her head. “This is too much. I have to think.”

“Thinking’s good.” He reached out, hoping to convince her in the most enjoyable way possible. “In the meantime—”

“No.” She backed away, not meeting his eyes. “I’m getting dressed.”

***

They dried off in silence then retrieved clean clothes from their packs. To stall, Helena took extra time choosing her garments—as if it mattered which brown shirt she wore with which brown trousers. She missed her wardrobe from Surnos. But there was no going back, not for clothes or anything else. Only forward. But where was forward?

Instead of calming her, the silence increased her tension to the breaking point. Her hands shook as she buttoned her shirt.

Finally Kiril cleared his throat.

“I’m still thinking,” she snapped.

“I understand. You’ve been through a lot lately.”

“Been through a lot?” The bitterness bubbled up inside her and overflowed. “In the last three days, I’ve lost my home and what was left of my honor, been chased by my own country’s army, trudged through the scummiest, scariest place on earth—” she counted off on her fingers “—received a visit from a ghost cat, woke to discover I had magic powers, found my son’s father after seventeen years, was chased by Ilion soldiers again, saw you almost die, watched a bolt of lightning bring you back, and then—” She stopped to catch her breath.

“And then things got better,” he said.

She glared up at his face, where his mouth was quirking into a crooked smile.

“Stop that.” Her own lips began to twitch. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking.” He crossed his arms. “I’m simply pointing out that perhaps your week is finally improving.”

She jutted out her jaw. He wouldn’t weaken her with his charms again. She knew better now. “I’m not ready. You’re not ready.”

“Yes, I am. Did you not hear me say I loved you?”

“It doesn’t count if you say it while making love. Everyone knows that.”

“Then let me say it again, fully dressed.” He turned her to face him. “I love you, Helena. I never stopped loving you.”

“You married another woman.”

“And I loved her, too. When she died, it left a hole in me so deep I didn’t think I’d ever feel complete again. But she wasn’t the one who created that hole. You were.” When she tried to turn away, he squeezed her hand. “I’ve been a good father to her son,” he said, “and I’ll make it up to Julian somehow. I’ll make it up to you, if you’ll let me.” He sank to his knees before her and kissed her hand. “Will you let me?”

***

Helena and Kiril arrived at the rendezvous point to find the others waiting for them. When Helena saw Julian safe and whole, she ran to greet him, not caring if it cost him a little dignity.

He embraced her tightly. “Mother, I was worried about you. Elias looked so terrible, I thought for certain you’d be finishing the trip alone.” He looked past her at Kiril. “Until the storm came. Erik explained how the lightning can heal him.”

Helena stepped back. “His name’s not Elias. That’s a false identity.”

Julian nodded at Kiril. “I wondered, since you were wearing a disguise. What’s your real name?”

“Kiril.” He came forward and grasped Julian’s hand. “Kiril Vidaso.”

The younger man tilted his head. “I know that family name. From Leukos, right?”

“A long time ago.” He gave Helena a questioning look, and she nodded slowly. He returned his gaze to Julian. “It should have been your name.”

Julian furrowed his brow. “Why? I don’t under—” His eyes widened, and he darted a sharp glance at Helena. “Is this—this is him?”

“Your father.” Her throat tightened, thick with tears she refused to shed. “Perhaps you two would like to speak alone.” She turned away before they could refuse, before they could see her cry.

Alanka joined her on the way to the center of the camp, where Helena could smell venison cooking over a fire.

“If you want to stay with us,” Alanka said, “I could teach you to shoot. It’s a Bobcat’s favorite thing, next to hitting people.”

“I’d like that.”

“You can start your training alongside your son.” To Helena’s questioning glance, she answered, “The Wolf Spirit seems to have claimed him. Lucky boy.”

Helena stopped in her tracks. What other surprises did these blasted Spirits have in store for her?

“So…” The Wolf woman gave a low chuckle. “What took you two so long to get here?”

Helena tried to glare at her, but the joy and relief in Alanka’s eyes matched her own, and instead she laughed.

“We became lost,” she said simply. Then she turned to watch Kiril and Julian sit together on a fallen tree trunk. Anyone could tell from the briefest of glances that they were father and son.

Helena wiped the leftover moisture from her eyes. She would weep no more over their broken family. The three of them were united now, for as long as this new, uncertain world would allow.

That night she lay nestled in Kiril’s arms and thought of the Ilios she had left behind. Though its land lay under her body, it no longer felt like it belonged to her. But one day, if the gods and Spirits willed it, peace and honor would reign like never before.

Until then, she could only fight, and love, and hope.

THE END