“You were made from kings and queens, Princess. The shimmer lords. All of them. Skyll is your kingdom. There is no one else in any world like you. You’re made of blood, flesh, magic, death, and…” He hesitated, and left his sentence unfinished. “You are the redeemer. You’re the dream. You’re the one who will free us.” His voice had gotten stronger, and fierce. Very fierce.
She frowned, but he went on.
“The witch has always caused problems. But in the last few years she’s become so strong. So very wicked. The things she does…” he trailed off, shuddering. “It—she—is getting stronger. There is one shimmer remaining between her and our complete and eternal slavery.”
He met her gaze, finally calm. “And you. You are a match for the witch. You are made of her—but you are the good. The witch’s good. You must save us. If you don’t and we’re lucky,” he paused. “Or unlucky, depending on how you look at it, we’ll spend our lives in Skyll, slaves to Damascus. And when she has finished with us or we have displeased her or she grows bored and decides to have us slaughtered, we will know the true death.
“There will be no more life for us. Skyll will be the end. And,” he continued, when she started to interrupt, “it will not only be Skyll. She will infiltrate all worlds. Even the one in which you were hidden.”
She’d already been told nearly everything he was saying. Already knew it. But each time it was repeated to her or hinted at or whispered about, each time someone called her Princess, it became more real.
And they expected her to stay. To rule Skyll.
Her. The witch’s fucking—
“Princess,” Jim called. “Your charge wants to speak to you.”
She nearly fell from her horse in her hurry to reach her broken friend. Had she ever really expected him to recover, to speak?
No. Not really.
She climbed into the cart, her heart pounding. “Owen?”
He lifted a hand and she grabbed it hard. Too hard, but she couldn’t help herself. His face was still ravaged, and his eye sockets were still empty.
She’d had a blanket thrown over his shattered body, as clothing him would have been too painful. Spots of fresh blood appeared on the snowy blanket, but he was healing.
Healing.
His bones were knitting.
“Fuck me,” she whispered.
He wet his lips. “You’re really here.”
His voice was hoarse and quiet, but in it she heard something that amazed her, something that took her breath.
He hadn’t given up.
She slipped an arm under his neck to lift him for a sip of water. “I’m really here.”
“I thought I’d dreamt you.”
“No, baby.”
“You know?” he asked.
She swallowed hard and nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yeah. I know.”
“I had hoped…” But he didn’t finish his sentence.
There was no need.
She said nothing.
“You saved my life,” he said, instead.
She expected him to damn her for that. Had their situations been reversed, she would have damned him. She would have hated him.
“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t deserve your mercy.”
She grabbed his hat, eager to leave the heaviness behind. “I got your hat back.”
He might have grinned. His swollen, mutilated lips twitched. “I’ll be okay, Rune. It’s just going to take a while.”
She nodded. “Yes. You will be.”
“Go kick ass. I’ll help you as soon as I’m able.”
She hesitated. “Owen.”
“Yes?”
“I will always fight for you.”
She left him there, her heart lighter.
She’d done the right thing by saving him. By forgiving him.
That was the one decision she’d ever made that she was completely sure of.
She would never forget, and she’d never completely trust Owen Five again, but she’d already forgiven him.
He’d been punished enough for what he’d done.
She gave the order to continue, and marched with her men to the enclosure that held her army.
Her army.
There were so many uncertainties ahead that she couldn’t breathe if she thought about them.
So she didn’t.
There was only that moment, and she would try her best to worry about it and nothing else.
She grabbed her horse’s reins and strode ahead, determined and almost cheerful.
Ian dismounted and fell into step beside her.
And then, she saw her army.
She stopped dead in her tracks and pushed her fist against her chest. “What the fuck?”
“Your army,” Ian said, and took a quick step away from her. “What displeases you?”
“My God,” she whispered.
Sensing she wasn’t going to spear him with her claws, he walked closer. “They were created for you. For the attempt at neutralizing the witch.”
“But this isn’t right,” she said, barely able to get