path toward the river. “We’re learnin’ combat trainin’ with actual weapons!”
What? By the time that little grenade registered in my consciousness, Greta was long gone. Had I heard her right? Had Duncan suggested teaching children to fight with real weapons? Prince or no, the boy had some explaining to do. Deciding Cheska could wait, I set off to find my boyfriend.
As I backtracked along the river, I saw them—two boys, sitting on the bench at the mouth of the Brig o’ Doon where Vee and I had sat just moments before we’d crossed over for the first time. I can’t say what first captured my attention, perhaps it was the way these two sat huddled: close and woefully underdressed for the temperature, their dark complexions ashy from cold.
As I moved closer, I noticed one boy was older than the other. His feet were bare, while the younger one wore discolored slippers. Their clothes appeared to be a hodgepodge of mismatched, threadbare hand-me-downs that were either too big or too small. Nobody dressed that way unless they were homeless, not even in the Midwest.
“Excuse me—” I began, and then paused as two dark heads slowly turned to stare at me, their bloodshot, ebony eyes wide with amazement. “Are you guys okay?”
The older boy swallowed so that his Adam’s apple bobbed against his chalky throat. “Please, miss, is this heaven?”
“Heaven?” For a moment, I was dumbfounded by the oddness of the question. “No, you’re in Alloway.”
The same boy, whom I deduced was the spokesperson for the duo, frowned. “Is that in Africa?”
Something clicked. The clothes, the odd cadence to their English—these boys were definitely not from these parts. “No. Scotland.”
The older boy turned to the younger one, his eyes and smile bright. “Did you hear that, Jeremiah? We are no longer in Africa. We are saved.”
CHAPTER 7
Veronica
When I was ten years old, we were forced to move from the candy-colored Victorian home I’d lived in all my life—forced because my father had lost his umpteenth job. As we packed, Mom and I agonized for weeks over which belongings to sell, keep, and store, wrapping each treasured possession with special care, only to find out months later that Dad had sold them all to feed his escalating addiction. I’d mourned for weeks, not for the loss of our things, but the life I knew we’d never get back.
This move was nothing like that.
In the dead of night, as quickly and quietly as three hundred men, women, and children could manage, we threw things into crates, wagons, and animal skin bags strapped to our backs. When we were packed and ready, I climbed atop a flatbed wagon and called our caravan to gather round.
I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. I had no crown and no royal regalia; in fact, I still wore the baggy tunic and leggings Kenna had scavenged from the Brother Cave before we went our separate ways. Fiona would’ve been appalled. But when the people clustered around my makeshift podium, I lifted my chin and addressed them as their queen.
“Earlier today, we crossed paths with one of the witch’s patrols. To avoid splitting up or moving continuously, we will camp in a place she will never expect to find us. Behind the old Blackmore cottage.”
Cries of outrage rose up, but I was prepared for such a reaction. I lifted my fist high above my head and the Ring of Aontacht shone bright, silencing their exclamations.
“The Protector has brought the ring of your ancestors back to us! It sheltered me from the Eldritch Limbus and it will guide us around the cursed ground.” I didn’t share that the ring had also protected me and Kenna when we’d entered the witch’s cottage and retrieved Addie’s spell book.
I lowered my arm. “I know many of you do not wish to leave this spot. That it makes us feel closer to those we’ve lost, across the bridge and to the quake. But a wise woman once told me”—my eyes searched the crowd and found the bright gaze of Sharron Rosetti—“that we must go on. Not despite the loss of our loved ones, but because of them.”
I swallowed hard as Jamie’s face filled my vision. But instead of letting his memory overwhelm me, I chose to draw strength from it—his charisma, confidence, and empathy were what had made him a great leader. I would work hard to follow in his footsteps. Straightening my shoulders, I raised my voice. “Because of the gifts they