Page 169 of Deacon

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

FREYA

I’m so cold, I can’t move.

The mountains pass by on either side of us, blocking out the sky. Exile scares here and there, but Jack has a steady hand, and he guides him through it. I have a vague impression of passing through two cliffs, the ground winnowing down to a path between them.

A deep sense of foreboding lingers until we’re through the pass and heading down a hill.

“Look up,” Jack says.

He’s slowing, letting Exile catch his breath. I turn my head, the wind whipping my hair. Down below glitter the lights of a ranch. So close, but so far. I’ve never been, but I can guess that’s Sovereign Mountain. To the left of us sits a placid lake, and to the right is a little village of chimneys puffing smoke that must be employee housing.

It looks like warm heaven.

“One last ride,” Jack says. “Hold tight.”

I grip his arm. He lets Exile’s reins loose, and we’re running again. This time, it’s downhill and harder to hold on. I bounce like a sack of rocks, teeth chattering. Then, after what feels like forever, we move to a slow walk and, finally, a halt.

Jack dismounts, taking me with him. My legs are water, so cold, I can’t stand. He half carries me up a set of stairs. Then, he beats so hard on the door, it echoes off the hills.

It opens. I hear a soft gasp.

I’m clinging to consciousness. Sleep is coming, pulling me under. I can’t tell what’s happening. All I know is Jack is carrying me into a warm house and I’m being laid down. Blankets are packed around me, a fireplace glittering before my eyes. Deacon isn’t there, but I feel him drawing closer, like a silvery string tied to my heart and his.

I shut my eyes and sleep.

At some point, it feels like hours later, I become aware of someone gently shaking my shoulder. A groan works its way out as I roll my head to the side. My eyes are stuck shut. It takes a minute to peel them open.

Did I die?

There’s an angel leaning over me. Soft red waves fall down her back, framing bright blue eyes, little freckles like stars over her pale beige skin. She grips my shoulder with a hand laden with a fern-green ring. I shift my gaze, confused. A fireplace roars in the hearth across from my bed. Early morning light spills through the window.

“Freya,” she whispers.

I turn my head. “Where am I? Who are you?”

Her shoulders sink. “I’m Keira, Sovereign’s wife. You’re at our ranch.”

I just stare, waiting for it to click into place. “Sovereign Mountain.”

“My husband went to help Deacon get you back,” she says. “Jack brought you here, but he had to take the shortcut through the mountains. You’re half frozen, but the doctor is coming at noon to check you over. Can you feel your hands and feet?”

I flex both. “Yes, they feel alright. Just stiff. Where’s Deacon?”

She gives me a warm smile. “He’s coming.”

I sit upright. “He’s alive? What about Bittern?”

She shakes her head, forehead creased. “I spoke to Sovereign, and he just said Deacon got what he came for and he was on his way to Sovereign Mountain to bring you home.”

My throat is knotted. Half of my heart is overjoyed that Deacon is alright. Half is in deep mourning for the inevitable news that Aiden killed Bittern. I crook my legs, wrapping my arms around them. Keira makes a soothing sound and brushes back my hair.

“Can I get you into the bath?” she asks. “You’re very unsteady, but I think some warm water would help.”

I nod. Deep inside, I’m still chilled. She stands and my eyes fall to the tie of her dressing gown—knotted over the swell of her pregnant stomach.

Oh God, how could I forget?

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