between them, and she was glad. Really.
He must have sensed her watching him, because he laid a hand on Starfire’s glossy neck so the horse halted.
“We’re almost there. We may as well stop here for a while and enter the village tonight under cover of darkness.” She nodded and slid down from the horse. They’d seen no sign of the Order, but they must be out there somewhere, hunting them. Jarrod made to turn away, then cast her a sharp glance, a frown forming on his face. He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on hers. Reaching out, he lightly touched her right cheekbone. His eyes widened. “Witch.”
“What is it?” she asked, fighting the urge to sway toward him.
Instead of answering, he stepped back and drew the dagger from the sheath at his thigh. He polished the blade on his cloak and held it in front of her face so she could see her reflection in the gleaming silver metal.
She gasped. A perfect sickle moon marred the smooth skin of her cheek. She touched her finger to her face, stroking the mark. A tingle of magic ran through her and wonder replaced her initial shock.
“So now there are two,” Jarrod murmured.
“Two?”
“Witches with the mark. You and Shayla. You only need a third, and you can fulfill the Goddess’s prophecy.” He was right. Her worry lifted a little. But they still had no idea where Shayla had gone. “If we find Shayla.”
“We’ll find her.”
He unsaddled Starlight and let the horse free to graze. “We may as well rest. We need to be alert tonight in case things go bad.”
“You think The Order is still after us?” She’d hoped they had given up, gone back to the Keep. After all how important was she?
The Order knew nothing of the new mark—they thought her a mere pleasure slave.
“I don’t think Malachi can afford to let us go free. We know too much.”
The afternoon was warm. Freya took off the cloak, spread it on the ground, and sat, her back resting against a fallen tree trunk.
Jarrod sank down close beside her, but too far away to touch, and she resisted the urge to shift closer. He called to something deep inside her, and as the magic grew, so did the need to have him near. To touch him. Feel his body on her. In her. She shook her head to dispel the images. “Why does he care? I’m just a pleasure slave.”
“A pleasure slave who has seen the Goddess. Who knows Malachi has her imprisoned in the tower.”
“She must have been there for a thousand years.” It seemed inconceivable. The Order was powerful but surely not enough to imprison the Goddess. “How has he done it?”
“I’ve been thinking. When Casterix nearly destroyed the world, the Goddess reversed the spell, but she was weakened. Malachi must have placed her in the tower then, probably to keep her safe.”
“But she would have awoken.”
“Maybe by that point, Malachi didn’t want her awake. He must have known the Goddess would never condone the Laws of Segregation and what was done to the witches of Arroway.”
“But how did he manage it?”
“I think he must have used the magic taken from the witches at birth to power the spell. It was moon magic I felt in that room.” Freya remembered back to the feel of the air in that high tower.
The pulse of magic—so familiar. “Bastard.”
“I’m sure at first, he did it for the land.” He winced at the scorn in her face and continued. “He wasn’t always evil. And I was there. Casterix would have destroyed Arroway.”
Shock jerked her upright. “You were there?” She hadn’t known anyone survived from those long ago days except for Malachi.
He sent her a strange glance. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Casterix was my sister. My twin sister.” Jarrod saw the shock blossom across her features. “You didn’t know?” She shook her head.
He found it inconceivable. He’d worn his guilt over Casterix for so long he thought it was plain for all to see.
“The Laws of Segregation forbade us from even mentioning
He must have sensed her watching him, because he laid a hand on Starfire’s glossy neck so the horse halted.
“We’re almost there. We may as well stop here for a while and enter the village tonight under cover of darkness.” She nodded and slid down from the horse. They’d seen no sign of the Order, but they must be out there somewhere, hunting them. Jarrod made to turn away, then cast her a sharp glance, a frown forming on his face. He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on hers. Reaching out, he lightly touched her right cheekbone. His eyes widened. “Witch.”
“What is it?” she asked, fighting the urge to sway toward him.
Instead of answering, he stepped back and drew the dagger from the sheath at his thigh. He polished the blade on his cloak and held it in front of her face so she could see her reflection in the gleaming silver metal.
She gasped. A perfect sickle moon marred the smooth skin of her cheek. She touched her finger to her face, stroking the mark. A tingle of magic ran through her and wonder replaced her initial shock.
“So now there are two,” Jarrod murmured.
“Two?”
“Witches with the mark. You and Shayla. You only need a third, and you can fulfill the Goddess’s prophecy.” He was right. Her worry lifted a little. But they still had no idea where Shayla had gone. “If we find Shayla.”
“We’ll find her.”
He unsaddled Starlight and let the horse free to graze. “We may as well rest. We need to be alert tonight in case things go bad.”
“You think The Order is still after us?” She’d hoped they had given up, gone back to the Keep. After all how important was she?
The Order knew nothing of the new mark—they thought her a mere pleasure slave.
“I don’t think Malachi can afford to let us go free. We know too much.”
The afternoon was warm. Freya took off the cloak, spread it on the ground, and sat, her back resting against a fallen tree trunk.
Jarrod sank down close beside her, but too far away to touch, and she resisted the urge to shift closer. He called to something deep inside her, and as the magic grew, so did the need to have him near. To touch him. Feel his body on her. In her. She shook her head to dispel the images. “Why does he care? I’m just a pleasure slave.”
“A pleasure slave who has seen the Goddess. Who knows Malachi has her imprisoned in the tower.”
“She must have been there for a thousand years.” It seemed inconceivable. The Order was powerful but surely not enough to imprison the Goddess. “How has he done it?”
“I’ve been thinking. When Casterix nearly destroyed the world, the Goddess reversed the spell, but she was weakened. Malachi must have placed her in the tower then, probably to keep her safe.”
“But she would have awoken.”
“Maybe by that point, Malachi didn’t want her awake. He must have known the Goddess would never condone the Laws of Segregation and what was done to the witches of Arroway.”
“But how did he manage it?”
“I think he must have used the magic taken from the witches at birth to power the spell. It was moon magic I felt in that room.” Freya remembered back to the feel of the air in that high tower.
The pulse of magic—so familiar. “Bastard.”
“I’m sure at first, he did it for the land.” He winced at the scorn in her face and continued. “He wasn’t always evil. And I was there. Casterix would have destroyed Arroway.”
Shock jerked her upright. “You were there?” She hadn’t known anyone survived from those long ago days except for Malachi.
He sent her a strange glance. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Casterix was my sister. My twin sister.” Jarrod saw the shock blossom across her features. “You didn’t know?” She shook her head.
He found it inconceivable. He’d worn his guilt over Casterix for so long he thought it was plain for all to see.
“The Laws of Segregation forbade us from even mentioning
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