Chapter Three

Luka held his hands to the fire blazing on the hearth, every candle in the room lit behind him. Aethan came to them with shadow and death. Luka would meet him with light and his fierce heart. Rhys sat at his feet and Luka had trouble not running his fingers over the tousled head bent in meditation. They’d spent the afternoon warding the windows and doorway and chimney flue. Not to keep Aethan out, but to trap him inside. If they were to battle, Luka would protect his forest brethren as best he could.

Rhys caught his breath and stirred, and Luka’s heart jumped to his throat. Not fear. He’d locked fear away. But Aethan arrived, cloaked in terror, his hatred battering at the door moments before his heavy hand struck the wooden barrier. He struck again, splintering it asunder. His dark form filled the doorway and Rhys rose to his feet, standing at Luka’s side to face him.

Aethan’s laugh chilled Luka’s heart. “Why, Luka, I’m surprised to find you home. Did you think I wouldn’t come for you?”

Tension vibrated from Rhys, and Luka willed him calm, peace. They mustn’t let on—Aethan stepped across the threshold and the wards sealed silently closed behind him, trapping them inside with the monster. Rhys flinched, and Aethan turned his attention on him. He was a handsome man with dark hair and eyes as black and deep as Luka’s own, but a cruel smile curled his full lips.

“Here you are, Rhys, fled back to him.” His voice dripped disdain. “But tell me, my sweet lover, does your tender flesh miss the bite of my hand? Are the nights long and dark without my mouth on your skin?”

Rhys whimpered, a lost child, and Luka stepped between them.

“Leave him be, Aethan. This concerns only us.”

Aethan arched a brow. “Indeed?” He lifted a hand and Rhys swiftly pressed against Luka’s back, grabbing his arms to hold him in place. Alarmed, Luka looked over his shoulder, but Rhys’s eyes were hooded, for the first time his thoughts concealed from him. Aethan’s laughter shivered down his spine.

“My dear Luka, you should see your face! So shocked.” Aethan stepped up to him and touched Luka’s hot cheek with a fingernail. “But you have always worn your emotions on your sleeve, honest and true, expecting others to do likewise. How easy it must have been for Rhys to deceive you, playing at love, when all the while it was my bed he longed for.”

Rhys muttered something at that, but Luka forced his thoughts away from him, all his senses focused on Aethan. It would come soon…

Aethan flexed his shoulders, his cloak falling back to reveal a fine woolen shirt and britches of the same cloth Rhys wore. Luka couldn’t hold back a sound of dismay, and Aethan’s gaze turned triumphant. “Yes, Luka, Rhys came from your arms to mine. And when he explained he wanted his revenge on you… Well, how could I resist?”

Aethan scraped his nail down Luka’s cheek, and he winced as it burned like fire, with Rhys’s body against his back adding heat to the already stifling room. Sweat trickled into Luka’s eyes, but he ignored the sting as Aethan’s hand covered his heart. He braced.

“Tell me, my dear fool, where have you hidden the Well of Hope?”

He didn’t give Luka time to answer. Power slammed into Luka’s chest, pouring from the fingertips pressed over his heart. His chest seized, pain boiling through him, liquid fire in his veins. He bit his tongue on a scream and tasted blood. Rhys folded his arms around him, and for an instant his pulse leaped. But he merely held Luka upright.

The agony lessened and Luka straightened his slumped body, drawing in a lungful of air, and cried out at pain sharp as a knife in his chest. He blinked Aethan into focus through his tears. “Hope, Aethan?” he asked. His voice sounded ragged to his own ears. “What need have you for such a thing?”

Aethan looked at him with contempt. “I have no use for it, simpleton. I will withhold it from others. What wouldn’t people do for just a taste of hope in a world bereft? I could control kings with a single sip of its possibility. For a people without hope, I would be a god, merciful or cruel, depending on my whim. I want the Well, Luka.” His voice rose to a shout that shook the walls. “Give it up to me!”

Luka screamed as the shriek pierced his ears, and he felt the trickle of blood on his neck, eardrums burst. Pain spiked through his head and he could hardly understand Rhys’s urgent words, “Come, sweet wizard, give us the Well and be free. You have no hope, alone as you are.”

Luka trembled. Was he alone? He had to gamble all…

“Please.” He wasn’t sure what he begged for. Peace, of course. And courage. He pushed the pain away, needing to concentrate. Aethan mustn’t get the Well. The nails of Aethan’s hand over his heart rent his tunic, and he choked back a cry of anguish as they pierced his flesh.

Aethan crowded close, trapping Luka between him and Rhys. Heat stifled Luka, the air thick with candle smoke and the scent of the grave from the sorcerer’s body, rot and decay and endings. Luka leaned back into Rhys, solid and too hot, and breathed in the clean tang of his sweat and the spices of Luka’s soap he’d used that morning. Aethan put his free hand on Luka’s head, and Luka shuddered as nails scraped his scalp.

“Please” he said for the second time, louder. Aethan’s mocking laughter rang in the room.

“Who are you calling to, Luka? There is no one here but us. Now, my dear witch, show me where you’ve hidden the Well.”

Nails bit into Luka’s head, the other hand digging for his heart. Agony lanced through Luka, and he would have fallen to his knees if Rhys hadn’t kept hold of his arms. Aethan put his lips close to Luka’s ear and murmured words Luka couldn’t hear, but that wound in his skull, asking questions Luka suddenly wanted to answer, needed to answer. What could be the harm in giving the sorcerer what he sought? He would do no harm with it. And the Well of Hope was a gift to mankind and shouldn’t be hidden.

What right did he have to hide it?

The words trembled on his tongue, wanting to spill out. Aethan’s voice confused him. Luka drew a ragged breath, the hot air burning his lungs. Focus. He needed to find his center. Breathe in. The pain receded to a corner of his mind. Breathe out. Aethan’s crooning became a whisper on the edge of thought, ignored.

Blood pounded through Luka’s veins. Be calm. His heart slowed. Breathe in. The air tasted of smoke and candle wax and the sweat from his upper lip. He cried out as his heart clenched, Aethan’s fingers gouging his chest. But he shoved that off. Breathe out. Are you here?

Thoughts brushed against his, one after another. The fox on the ridge. Birds on the wing. Deer raised their heads from the snowy fields. Wind pushed against the cottage with the buzz of insects. The earth breathed, waiting. He had only to wish…

No. Time itself would warp to his bidding; he need only ask. Draw on the life force thrumming in the ground and vibrating through the air, washing through him in powerful waves. But he had no right to it. No right to use a life not his own. His mother had drummed that into him along with herb lore, among other things. Better he should die…

“No,” he said aloud and felt Rhys flinch against him, his surprise a sharp note in the air. Aethan’s hatred was a bitterness on his tongue.

“But you will, my dear,” Aethan promised. “I have your heart.”

Luka screamed as agony once again tore through his chest, dropping him into darkness.