Page 34 of Of Wind and Terror

“It’s a possibility,” Blaze admits gruffly.

“Does that mean that the creature who gave me this mark was Chaos? I thought Aleksander said that Chaos and Order were put to sleep.” I desperately scrub at the raised, red bump, wanting nothing more than to wash it away.

It feels dirty on my skin. Toxic.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be clean again.

“Tell me everything that happened,” Blaze demands, and after only a moment of hesitation, I do, starting at the beginning with the attack on Gaia’s temple and ending with Aleksander beheading Patric.

I don’t gloss over any details or leave anything out. Terror spirals through me like a lightning bolt, and I feel dizzy from the intensity of it.

The more I talk, the more pissed Blaze appears, until I’m pretty sure he’s considering destroying this entire village and everyone in it.

Once I finish the story, I ask, “Patric wasn’t referring to Chaos, was he? Is Chaos the one waiting for me?”

I rest a hand against my chest as if that motion will somehow keep my heart firmly where it belongs—within the confines of my rib cage.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Aleksander answers. Faye must’ve translated my question for him. “Chaos and Order are asleep, and they have been for centuries.”

“Then how did I get this mark on my arm?” I scrub at it again, hard enough for the skin around it to turn red.

Blaze captures my hand between both of his and forces me to stop. “We’ll get it off of you, little beast. I swear it.”

“There’s a shaman in Amorite who specializes in this sort of thing,” Aleksander explains. “Which is why we need to get there. Now.”

Blaze’s jaw clenches, but to my surprise, he doesn’t refute Aleksander’s claim. Instead, he nods once, the barest dip of his chin. “The bastard’s right. I’ve heard about the Bone King.”

“The Bone King?” Licks of trepidation skirt their way up my back. Why does that sound so ominous and terrifying?

“He’s a shaman in Amorite. He’s not an elf or even a fae.” Aleksander attempts to shrug, but it looks strange with him still lying on his back. “No one knows what he is.”

“But rumor has it, he’s been around for hundreds of years and was one of the magicals who helped remove the Marks of Chaos the first time around,” Blaze adds. He turns towards Aleksander, and his eyes harden. “Do you know where to find him?”

“Noooo,” the elf drawls sarcastically. “I plan to just walk aimlessly around for who the fuck knows how long and hope Kassandra doesn’t go on a murderous rampage in the meantime.”

“Murderous rampage?” I sign, but with Blaze so focused on Aleksander, he misses it.

Is that what will happen to me if I don’t get this mark removed?

I glance at the raised skin once more and try to ignore the nausea that swirls in my stomach. Acid scorches my throat as something occurs to me—a painful revelation that leaves me gasping for air.

I may not be in shackles. I may not be in a prison. I may not be in a palace…but I’m still a prisoner.

And my jailer?

This mark on my arm.

13

CALAN

Retracing my steps proves to be futile. I’m no closer to finding Faye’s camp than I was before.

No closer to finding Kassandra.

Pain spears my chest at the thought of something happening to the infuriating female, but I quickly squash the emotion before it can fester further.

She’s okay.

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