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Rowan considers it. Thinks of drumbeats and the fire-pit and the maze of cave-painting on the bare brick wall. Shes trying to remember, that much is clear. Shes been trying to journey – to seek lost parts of herself. She spoke of ayahuasca. A small red car is parked a little way ahead. Rowan notices mud streaks up its side and pressed into the tread of the tyres. More mud hangs from the wheel arches, where tufts of wildflowers and a ragged fistful of grass sticks out of the space between the plastic and the metal. He glances in the dirty windows as he makes his way to the back door. A tartan blanket covers the back seat. Theres a cardboard takeaway cup in the holder and a blue binder on the passenger seat. Its spotless on the inside. Serendipity laughs as she shakes her head and opens the car door. At once, a swirl of wet air rushes inside the little car, bringing a squeal from Snowdrop. Rowan raises his hands and looks at the brown, calfskin driving gloves they had forced him into amid a symphony of curses, screeches and tears. Beneath, the wounds appear to be healing. There was less seepage this morning when they changed the bandages and he only took the recommended number of painkillers with his morning coffee, rather than doubling up. He wasnt annoyed. He seemed more curious than anything else. For what purpose? To defend a pile of corpses? The singers eyes are closed, head raised slightly, as if preparing to receive the sacrament. His fingers, grimy around the nails, inked across the knuckles, move lightly over the strings of the battered guitar, hanging from his neck on a length of cord; half as thick as the ratty dreadlocks which gather in the hood of his sodden purple coat. He turned the chair around and straddled it.You got a lot of nerve, lady. I have to do this, she longed to say, and yet dreaded forming the words. To see his face as he heard. To form them would make them real. Make it final and unchangeable. And even though she knew what she had to do now, perhaps she could still find a way. Or at least pretend so. Wagner. He hired Rivers. We only have forty-eight officers, so why did we need a psychiatrist on staff? I toyed with the chicken and ate a bite or two. Ahead, the tunnel narrowed, but Jeren didnt pause, as if she followed the owls unseen trail or scented the fresh air ahead the way Anala would. I might hurt you, he warned, and for some reason she wanted to laugh. She was thinking about her vision, about the pain she saw in that future, the agony of separation from this wondrous man. And he was thinking of her. Rowans descent into the warm milk of self-pity is disturbed by a sudden sound at his garden gate. He looks up to see a bundle of effervescence and sunshine. This must have been a beautiful place at one time. Dakota admired the tall columns in the front of the building. I dont understand why someone hasnt done something with it. A force like iron gripped her. Her body turned rigid, her spine arcing like a bow. All she could feel was Gracens hand clamped on her throat, his skin burning against hers. He was riddled with light, a body-shape packed with fireflies. Jeren concentrated on that light, an ever-flowing river within him, his magic, his life force, his energy. Inside her, something cracked, opened and Gracen froze. From his lips came a small gasp of alarm, just a breath really, but he didnt move away. Couldnt, perhaps. They were locked together, and he had revealed his fear. All the chink she needed. His eyes widened, staring into hers as she reached out for his life-force, and then the light in them went dead. Patience had never been one of my better qualities—even before Christian Salyer. I took my seat on the sofa. Rivers, like a psychopath, had a few more rituals he liked to go through before starting his sessions. In a moment, he would close the blinds, turn off the overhead light, and leave only the small table lamp to cast shadows around the room.Christian liked his rituals too.I wondered what Rivers would think if I told him how much he reminded me of the deranged serial killer whod destroyed my life. A voice rang out through the camp, a woman, strident and outraged. Shan didnt understand the words, didnt need to. The air throbbed with raw power – divine energy, sent by the goddess herself, channelled through her representative to the Feyna, the first children of the gods. The Ariah stepped out of nowhere, or so it seemed, four healers in attendance. She flung out both her arms and white light surrounded her. Indarins magic flared bright in response, reasserting itself. He threw back his head and cried out, his voice broken, a thin and anguished sound. Gabriel drew back as far as he could and rushed the door, slamming his shoulder into the frame. It splintered but didnt open. Nice doors youve got here. He raised a leg and kicked until the door sprang open. Five years ago, as part of that pact, Gilliad had been sent to live among the elite warrior sect, and that experience had changed him forever. He had not found them to be the noble warriors and comrades Felans history described. They were monsters, he said, born and bred only to kill, savages who never bowed to the gods. Even their own kind shunned the Shistra-Phail warriors. The Fair Ones did not welcome having trained killers in their midst. Stop! Take me back. They cant see me like this! Shan, please..