The House Of Gaian

thirsty, but the wine held no appeal. And his sides itched, irritated by the cloth rubbing against it. He raised his hand to pull open the tunic’s lacings .. . and stared, fascinated, at the skin that was turning darker, rougher, even as he watched. Stared at the nails folding in on themselves until they began to look like talons.
    A hesitant scratching on the tent flap.
    “What is it?” His voice sounded rough, raspy—not the smooth deep voice that had persuaded hundreds of men to help him reshape the world as he wanted it to be.
    An Inquisitor stepped into the tent. “Master Adolfo? Is there something we can do for you? Is there something you need?”
     
    Fresh meat. Hot blood. Everything he needed was standing within reach.
    No. Not his own men. Not when there was prey close by. “Do we have other prisoners?”
    “Yes, Master.”
    “Bring two of them to me. It doesn’t matter which two.” He turned around to face the Inquisitor. He smiled as he watched the man’s face turn deathly pale. Deathly pale . The thought amused him. The fool had no idea how close to deathly pale he had been.
    “Y-yes, Master,” the Inquisitor stammered.
    As the man fled from the tent, Adolfo looked at the glorious talons at the end of his right hand and laughed.
    Two ghosts standing next to bodies still locked in the embrace of the fight that had killed them.
    Morag slid off the dark horse, moved toward the ghosts, then stopped. No. She couldn’t gather them, couldn’t take them up the road to the Shadowed Veil. She was sick, hurt, exhausted. She had to find Ashk. Mother’s mercy, she had to find Ashk, had to...
    The meat was already spoiled from the heat of the day, the blood already too clotted and thick. But the best part of the feast remained.
    Where were the ghosts? Where were the spirits she’d seen a moment ago?
    She backed away from the bodies, shaking her head.
    And realized she didn’t feel quite so hungry, realized ...
    The wolf with the burned hind legs tried to drag itself away from the predator, tried to run, tried to hide.
    Screamed as fangs and talons ripped its flesh, as a tongue lapped at the fresh blood while it died slowly, slowly.
    It didn’t like the taste of animal flesh, but It was too hungry to care. And the feast that rose from the animal flesh was a rich spirit, a strong spirit in the shape of the flesh It liked best.
    It devoured—and still hungered.
    ... Morag dropped the reins, wrapped her arms around herself, and doubled over, gasping and weeping.
    She remembered the wolf, remembered the ghost that had risen from it. One of the western Fae who had ridden east with her and Ashk. She remembered him screaming her name. Remembered him screaming as she ... as the thing inside her feasted on his spirit until nothing was left but wisps of memories.
    She’d known him and still hadn’t been able to stop It.
    “Mother have mercy,” she whispered. “Please, have mercy.”
    The dark horse trembled beneath her. Loyalty and courage. How many times could he have run away during the past few hours? He had more trust in her ability to protect him from the predator inside her than she did. Would the hour come when that loyalty would be repaid with talons slashing his throat open? Would courage be rewarded by dying in terror?

    She slowly placed one hand on his neck, careful not to let the talons prick him. “I won’t hurt you. I will fight with everything in me not to hurt you. That much I can promise.”
    She straightened up and looked around. The fog was lifting. The first, soft light of the day was pushing back the night. The dark horse had brought them close to a large stone house. The baron’s house? She could ...
    Hunt!
    ... find food there ... Flesh !
    ... and grain for the horse. Feast !
    The Old Place was too far away. She had to find food now — before It got too hungry.

 

     
     

Chapter 50

 

     
     

     
    waning moon
     
    Breanna closed her eyes as the ponycart approached the circle of moonlight guarding Nuala’s grave. She couldn’t bear looking at the rose bushes—and wondered if she ever would be able to again. Best to close her eyes before the grief numbed her again. Best not to wonder if the light in the circle was really waning or if it was this soft light before dawn that made the circle look dimmer. Best not to think about what would happen to Nuala’s spirit once the light waned since they could no longer spare men to guard the grave. Best not to think at