The feelings and emotions within me were so strong. So overwhelming. Light surrounded me, nurtured me. So much light…

Remember this power, for this is what you seek.

The voice was so beautiful it took my breath. A mother’s voice, strong and powerful, loving and kind. Peace and acceptance embraced me. A warm line of tears trailed down my cheeks.

“Deira?”

My name seemed lost amid the senses that battered me.

Large hands gripped my rib cage and lifted me to my feet. The scent of clean skin, and rich aromatic hysop oil filled the air. I steadied myself, removing my hands from the railing, and placed them on Balen’s forearms.

“What’s wrong? Are you ill?” The rich, low tone wrapped me in warmth and safety.

His scent, his words, everything was more vivid to my enhanced senses.

I shook my head, trying to clear it and finding it difficult to speak.

He captured my chin gently in an effort to determine what was wrong. I tried to look at him, but couldn’t focus. Then he swept me up. My head thudded softly against his shoulder. My free arm fell limp, dangling in the cold air. I closed my eyes as he began walking.

CHAPTER 13

I was on a bed, still wearing the gown, and Balen was nearby. His presence and scent was unmistakable, which I found comforting, yet disconcerting that I’d become so familiar with it.

Whatever had happened on the bridge hadn’t made me tired or groggy. In fact, I felt better than I had in days. I opened my eyes and pushed myself up against the headboard, drawing in a steady breath before meeting Balen’s concerned face.

I tucked one side of my hair behind my ear. “Is this my chamber?”

“Aye.” Balen had pulled a chair near the bed. He reached to the bedside table, poured me a cup of water from the pitcher then handed it to me.

I emptied it quickly. “What happened? Did you bring my satchel? I was on the bridge—” It came back in a rush. The frost. The voice. And then Balen… After that, I couldn’t remember.

But I remembered what happened before and it had been incredible.

Unable to contain the slow smile spreading across my face, I remembered the goddess. For the first time in my life, I’d heard. Albeit, a small thing for any Danaan to feel the blessings of the gods, but for me it was monumental.

“I felt her,” I said through a surprised laugh. “Dagda, she spoke to me.”

A small smile played at his lips and his eyebrows drew together in question. “You’ve never felt the gods before?”

“No, never.” And then I was struck with something else equally as shocking. “She showed me… Balen—” I grabbed his arm— “I know what the Lia Fail feels like. I can identify it.”

We were one step closer, thanks to Dagda.

Balen didn’t move, didn’t speak, but emotion swam in his eyes. All this time he’d known his fate. But this was the first time I’d seen the stark realization of it reflected in his eyes; his time in this world would soon come to an end. A bleak understanding that perhaps hadn’t hit him so bluntly before. Or if it had, he’d hidden it well.

A jagged ache took hold, sadness and denial settling like a heavy weight, pinning me to the bed. In a need to comfort, I cupped his cheek, wanting him to know it mattered. “I’m sorry.”

He caught my hand. “Don’t be. I’ve lived long, Deira.”

I let my hand fall to the coverlet, but he held onto it, his large calloused one dwarfing my own. I studied them for a spell as the ache grew, causing a great well of despair. “I don’t want you to die.”

One black eyebrow arched, and his lips curved up a shade. “Nor do I.” He glanced down at our hands. “Would that we had more time... I was wrong before to call you a child.”

Being reminded of our encounter in the lake set fire to my blood, and as we stared at one another, it seemed as though sadness turned to regret, and regret to longing.

“Promise me.” I squeezed his hand. “Promise you’ll not give in, but fight until the very end.”

“I could do no less, though it won’t change the outcome.”

I wanted to argue, to convince him otherwise, but he saw my intention, leaned forward, and kissed my forehead.

When he straightened, he said, “All that is mine will be yours. I would see you taken care of.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“You’ll have the freedom to do what you will. Scribe books to your heart’s content. Build your own Hall of Records. Whatever you like. Whether we succeed or not, you will have earned it.”

He assumed I’d go, that I’d ride out with him and save the world. I didn’t trust myself to speak, afraid I’d blurt out my cowardly indecision, so I asked him why with a look.

“Rest.” He rose, evading my question. “Your satchel is by the bed.”

After he closed the door, I stared at it for some time until my pulse returned to normal and my chest didn’t hurt so much. I drank more of the cold water then swung my legs over the bed, needing to move, to get up and do something because lying in the bed with sad thoughts would do me little good.

I noticed that the clothes I’d worn upon arriving in Falias had been cleaned, mended, and folded neatly atop a chest of drawers. My cloak had also been cleaned, so I shook it out then swept it around my shoulders, clasping it at my neck, covering the beautiful blue and silver gown.

Quickly, I grabbed my satchel, eased open the door and slipped from the bedchamber.

Hallway lanterns still burned, but otherwise it was quiet and empty, most of the priests and students having retired for the night. Soft voices drifted from another corridor along with the scent of recently eaten meal, but I saw no one as I made my way to the main hall.

The tall double doors opened easily as I pushed my way outside and moved quickly down the narrow path that led away from the grove and into the public city square where the people’s temple and the Hall of Records stood.

The Hall would not be closed; being a scribe often meant late nights writing by the light of a single candle. The scribes here were no different than in any other city.

I took the steps two at a time and slipped inside, closing the doors behind me. I rubbed my cold hands together smiling at the familiar smells of parchment paper, candle wax, and ink. This was where I felt most at home, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of manuscripts.

Soft light illuminated the long center hall furnished with work tables. Each table had a lantern and larger lights ones burned at intervals along both sides of the hall where, rising to the high ceilings, were the records, scrolls, books, and maps of Falias.

Six scribes worked diligently, few glancing at me briefly before returning to their tasks. I moved to one of the tables nearest the door, not wanting to disturb anyone. I removed my notebook and writing instruments from the satchel. I only had a few blank sheets left. I set one flat on the table, smoothing the surface, before opening my vial of ink and placing several drops into the hollow shaft of my pen.

The tip of my pen stayed poised over the paper for a long stretch of time. I bit the inside of my cheek, unsure of how to begin a letter to Balen.

Scribing one’s feelings on paper was harder than I’d thought it’d be. I only knew that I had to do it. I couldn’t allow myself to go through the rest of my life without telling him what I thought about his sacrifice. His courage and the care he had for his people and land was extraordinary. And if Balen was indeed meant to die protecting me, he had to know how much that meant to me, and how much I thought of him.

Scribing it to paper was the only way I knew how.

As the night progressed so did my ability to open up. Once I started, the words poured from me. Before I knew it, I had used two sheets of my paper, and was satisfied with the outcome.

I set each piece aside to dry then got up to stretch my legs, working the kinks from my back and fingers. My hood kept my face hidden as I strolled around the edges of the hall, skimming over the manuscripts on the shelves as I went.

A warning pricked my conscious just before I heard the potent voice.

Hello, Deira.

I flinched and my step faltered, making me grab onto the shelf beside me as the languid, mocking tone spread through me in a slow wave.

I glanced from beneath the hood, wondering if anyone else could hear the pounding of my heart or the voice in my head. I straightened, swallowed, and calmed myself, trying to do as Eburacon had said. Block my mind to the voice.

But there was only laughter, a deep, intimate sound that made my legs weaken, and my stomach flutter. I squeezed my eyes closed and pinched the bridge of my nose. No, I would not let him in. I didn’t want to hear.

Oh, you want to hear. Even if your mind denies it. Your body wants it, wants me, Deira, and only me. You and I, we are the same.

A soft indulgent sigh, like a breeze, caressed my mind.

“No, you’re wrong,” I whispered through clenched teeth. I forced myself to move, back to the table to gather my things.

Soon, we shall meet.

“Never.”

I reached the table and began to gather my supplies. I knocked over the ink. The vial broke on the floor and shattered the silence of the Hall. The scribes looked up as I bent to pick up the pieces, ink staining my fingers as I shoved the broken vial into my cloak pocket.

Once I had everything in my satchel, I hurried to the door.

The cold air blew around me, almost mockingly, as I ran outside and down the steps. I stumbled in the empty square, trying to shake off the sensations Nox’s voice caused in my mind and body.

You will come to me.

I ignored the voice and raced away from the Hall of Records to the path that would take me back to the sanctuary.

You will come to me for the Lia Fail.

I skidded around the back corner of the Hall. My pulse surged so fast through my veins that it drowned out everything around me except Nox’s voice. I braced my hand against the wall.

“You lie,” I barely managed to get out. “You don’t have it.”

Oh, but I do. I have everything you seek, Deira. Everything.

“You have nothing I want.”