Another scream coming from behind the wagon, which looks off-centered, as if it's been knocked to the side.

Kayla and I rush around the wagon. Daison is trapped under a broken wheel, his body contorted in such a way that he doesn't even look human. His leg bent backwards at the knee. He is so pale, and his blood is seeping into the ground. Kayla screams at me, and I move to help lift the wagon off him, but it's full of steel swords, and I'm only human. Not strong enough to lift this. I bend down next to Daison, who is slipping in and out of consciousness. I brush the hair off his sweaty brow, my eyes flooding with tears. "You're okay, kid. We're going to get you out of this. Just hold my hand."

His hand, so cold and still, does not move in mine, and I fear we've already lost him.

Kayla curses under breath, as if arguing with herself about something. She seems to come to some kind of decision and bends down next to Daison, pulling out a pendant I've never seen before, tucked under her tunic. She holds the stone in her hand and mumbles words in a language I've never heard, but somehow feels familiar, like something from a dream I once had.

As she speaks, the wagon begins to lift off Daison, who is so still in my arms. I pull him out before the wagon falls, then watch in amazement as Kayla leans over him and rests her stone on his chest as she continues to chant.

A thick piece of wood sticks out of his abdomen. She pulls it out and straightens his twisted leg. He screams so loud I have to resist covering my ears.

But as Kayla continues to chant, his body begins to mend, and his breathing levels out. Color returns to his face.

"We must get him back to my house," she says, lifting the boy's body easily in her arms. I follow them as she moves quickly through the streets and into a cottage near a waterfall surrounded by trees and the mountains. It's more remote than the other houses. I follow them in, and she guides me to a small bedroom to the right where Daison usually sleeps. I turn down his bed and she lays him in it, then covers him up and says one more chant before ushering me out of the room.

Her cottage is small. She sleeps upstairs in a small room. Daison sleeps down here. There's a hearth with a fireplace and a pot hanging over it, a small kitchen packed with herbs and fresh food, and a living room with a few comfortable chairs and cushions on the floor. Kayla makes us both some tea and sits down in the chair next to me as we both stare at the fire.

"That was magic," I say.

She nods, sipping her tea. "And if you tell anyone what you saw, Daison and I will be executed."

"Fen would never do that!" I say, hoping I'm right.

"He would have no choice. And it doesn't matter. If he didn't someone else would. It is the way things are. My life, Arianna, is now in your hands." She looks over to Daison's bedroom door. "His life is now in your hands."

Chapter 10

SLAVE TO THE PAST

"I am the Prince of War. I do not 'lighten up'."

—Fenris Vane

Daison makes a remarkable recovery, and though it takes a few days, Kayla stops eyeing me with a worried frown, as if I might shout her secret from the rooftops at any moment.

I'm not telling anyone.

Not even Fen.

When he asks about our dress shopping that night, I admit we didn't get around to it.

"She got busy at the forge," I say. "All those swords you need. For that war you won't tell me about."

He huffs at that. "We just need to be prepared for all eventualities."

The distance between us is growing, and I'm not sure what to do about it. We have breakfast and dinner together every day. We train every morning. But there's a wall between us, one he keeps adding to each time he turns away from my gaze, or pulls away from my touch.

"I will call Asher. He can help you with your gown. That man spends far too much time watching fashion reality television when we are in your world. It's not natural."

I nearly choke on the apple I'm eating. "I'm just trying to picture him glued to your big screen screaming at the television when the wrong person wins," I say, smiling.

"That's about the whole of it," Fen says seriously.

"And to think, he acted like he'd never heard of reality television when we first met," I say, thinking back to the day I found out about all of this.

Fen smirks. "He is quite attached. It is his secret shame, I think. If he were not a prince of hell and vampire condemned to the darkness of your world, I do believe he would make a career of it."

"He does have good taste," I say. "If you like that kind of thing," I add, when Fen raises an eyebrow at me. "Your leather and cotton look has its own kind of charm. More Viking than GQ, but there's a market for that," I assure him.

I almost see a flicker of a smile on his lips before we are interrupted by a soldier who requires Fen's attention on the training field.

Fen excuses himself and Baron stays with me as I finish my dinner in silence.

The next day, Asher shows up with an entourage carrying silks and satins in all shades. "Darling, I have been informed you are in crisis mode and are in need of a dress. I am here to save you."

I smile at the absurdity of him, but I let him direct the circus of people he's brought. Under his direction, red and white material is chosen, and Asher instructs his servants on how to design the gown in such a way as to flaunt my best features. They take measurements of every inch of my body, then rush out with orders to make haste sewing.