“What do you see?”
“Nothing,” she said, searching the meadow. “Yet.”
Overhead, a clear blue sky observed their progress, the distance from the break in the trees to the relic farther than it appeared. Sweat prickled along her hairline and under her arms, the air thickening as they drew closer to the bone. There were more rubies in the earth here, larger in size and faceted as if worked by a talented jeweler. Sorcha could image wearing them—a glittering, coldly beautiful woman on a dais surrounded by opulence. She shook herself, willing it away.
Not a dream, a vision, of something that could be.
Breathing heavily, as if they’d run the distance to the relic, she paused before the femur. A sense of impending doom fell over her. It would be a long run to reach those stone hands, to reach Nox. And she had no doubt they would have to reach that portal as quickly as possible as soon as she touched the bone before them.
“Where did you go?” Adrian asked. “Just now.”
“Nowhere,” she said, not wanting to think of herself that way again.
The air crackled around the relic, electricity filling the air. Stepping forward, Sorcha sucked in a breath and reached for the Saint.
“Wait.” He touched her shoulder, a slight pressure, but he didn’t break contact. His hand remained—large and warm. “What do you want me to do?”
“Stay with me.”
Adrian inclined his head, a promise in his dark eyes. Sorcha didn’t want to go back to winter and the cold eyes of the Tomeis. She wanted to remain here and see if Adrian’s eyes changed, if his mouth would soften with her name.
Sorcha placed her hand on the Saint—this small piece—knowing that even as she did, it brought them all closer to the things she wanted to deny. As soon as she touched the relic, the sky morphed, a storm exploding out of the beautiful day. Rain swirled around her, sleet grating across her skin, a million points of freezing contact.
Out of the storm, a shape was coming for her. It could only be seen where the sleet hit it—an invisible, hulking shape, vaguely human but oversized.
She screamed as it lumbered toward her, quicker than anything could possibly run.
It caught her, the invisible being in the rain, suspending her in time, pinned like an animal.
“Sorcha!”
Vessel.
Chapter Twenty
Sorcha stood on a hill. A gentle breeze blew through her hair, rustling the grass around her knees, and brought the scents of the sun-warmed plains. Overhead, a sun shone in a clear sky, high and around midday. In the distance stood a city.
The Golden Citadel.
It was familiar but different. Smaller. Not as many towers. There were no walls yet. No high defenses. But it was her city. The one she’d last seen burning. The one Adrian had killed.
Was it new? Was this the rebuilding—triumphant and rising from the ashes?
“No.”
She turned in a circle, searching for the speaker. There was no one. She was completely alone on the hilltop.
“This is how it was,” the voice continued. “Long ago, when the Saint was born.”
As she watched, the city began to change. It happened quickly, between blinks and breaths—towers rising, walls appearing. It grew and grew, becoming what she’d always been familiar with.
“It became this because of the Saint. This beautiful place. Your home would not have been here without him. This place would never have been born.”
A traitorous thought skipped through her mind. He wouldn’t be here without me.
The voice chuckled. “Maybe,” it agreed. “But there would be someone else. There is nothing special about you, temple girl. You are merely the vessel. Your blood will resurrect him, but anyone’s blood could.”
Anyone’s. Sorcha’s heart twisted, gut clenching. She wanted to deny him, this mocking voice, but something at the back of her mind stopped her. A question. A doubt. She’d been raised to believe her place in this world was fate—an ordained occurrence. She was chosen by the Saint himself, born at a certain time and place, under the right stars.