Han went cold with dread. Was she dead? Was Rebecca already dead? Was he too late after all? Had he carried a dead body all the way to Marisa Pines?

Willo looked up at the gawking Demonai. “Bring Hunts Alone to the Matriarch Lodge,” she ordered. “Quickly now. And find Elena Cennestre. I need help.”

“Willo!” Han called, but she was already away, striding toward the lodge with Rebecca limp in her arms. The bowmen gripped his arms, pulling him from his horse, and though he tried, he couldn’t keep his seat, and he fell forward into blackness.

C H A P T E R  E L E V E N

SECRETS
REVEALED

Raisa woke to the sound of women’s voices and the aroma of food cooking slow. For a while she only listened and breathed, afraid to open her eyes. Her entire body tingled and burned, as if pins and needles were being driven into her skin. It was much like the sensation of blood returning to fingers and toes after a day out in the cold. Hearing, smell, touch, taste: each was exquisitely sensitive to her surroundings. Even the quiet conversation clamored in her ears.

The women spoke the upland dialect. She heard other familiar sounds: the whirr of a spinning wheel, the thump of the overhead beater on a loom, the hiss of flames on the nearby hearth. Raisa knew where she was before she opened her eyes—in one of the upland clan lodges.

She lay sprawled on her stomach on a deep feather bed under a light blanket, her sleeping bench close to the fire. She wore a loose garment, a white flax tunic that tied at the neck. A dull pain in her back drew her attention, insistent as a toothache. Gingerly, she slid her hand into her neckline and explored the area with her fingers, encountering layers of bandages.

She must be at Marisa Pines. How had she come there? It was like opening a book at random, or walking into the middle of a scene in a play without knowing what had come before.

It didn’t matter, she thought, closing her eyes. All would be well now. She could finally rest after her long struggle to stay alive. Somebody else could take responsibility. She would tell her mother what had happened, and Marianna and Averill would do something about it. With that reassuring thought, she drifted back into a more peaceful sleep.

When she woke again, it was late afternoon or early evening. Light leaked in around the doors and windows, but lanterns had already been kindled against the encroaching darkness.

A disturbing image surfaced: Captain Byrne on his face in the trail, his blood black against snow, his back bristling with arrows.