Or allow fear to rule her.
The late-night visit couldn’t be helped. She must keep going.
Footfalls quiet, she crept into the thickening shadows. Turning down another wide corridor, she tiptoed past limestone walls with raised carvings honoring the Goddess of All Things. She knew each one by heart. All the impressions. Every curved symbol. Numerous prayers etched in stone. The silence, though, was different. Once a joyous place, the hallways inside the holy city had always been filled with laughter. Now silence reigned, making her heart pound and cold air rasp against the back of her throat. Each hard-won exhale puffed between her lips, frosting the space in front of her face. Ignoring the chill, Cosmina upped her pace. Almost there. One more length of corridor. A three-stair ascent and—
A soaring archway materialized in the gloom.
Thank the gods. Finally. The entryway into High Temple.
Taking the steps two at a time, she crossed beneath the massive stone lintel high above her head. Senses keen, she veered right, away from the center of the enormous rotunda. She didn’t want to traverse the middle of it. With moonlight ghosting through the many windows near the roof edge, ’twas too risky. Anyone might see her. Take aim, let fly, and make her pay for daring to enter the goddess’ realm.
Cosmina swallowed a huff. The worry was ridiculous. No one was here, after all, but . . .
She glanced over her shoulder anyway. Nothing. No one. Naught to indicate she was being followed. And yet, she couldn’t shake her disquiet. Or the belief she wasn’t alone. A premonition? Complete paranoia? Mayhap . . . mayhap not. All she knew was that something felt wrong. ’Twas the small things. Infinitesimal, really. Signs most would’ve missed—a slight stirring of the air, the quiet whisper of magic within the walls, the rise of the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. All murmured, making blood rush in her ears as her senses prickled in warning.
Using night shadows for cover, she made a beeline for one of the massive pillars that circled the chamber, separating the rotunda from the wide aisle ringing it. The soft tap-tap-tap of her boots echoed, keeping time with her heart as she slid to a stop at the base of the first column. She shuffled sideways and scanned the expanse of High Temple, looking for danger inside the sacred chamber—the jewel in the Goddess of All Things’ crown, a physical manifestation of her power here on earth.
Not that anyone would recognize it as such now.
Long deserted by the Blessed—those who served the goddess—High Temple reeked of abandonment. It looked the part too. Was the epitome of neglect, cobwebs hanging in corners, brittle leaves littering the mosaic floor beneath the arc of the golden dome. A pang of regret curled around Cosmina’s heart. Such a mess. So unnecessary. Sad beyond words that the chamber—and a once vibrant community—lay in ruin. Almost beyond repair in a city that had always been renowned for hope, revival, and . . .
Healing magic.
But then, ’twas the very reason she’d made the journey, wasn’t it? Perform the ancient ceremony. Revive the old ways. Do as the goddess demanded and recall the Blessed to White Temple.
The thought made her temples throb with renewed vigor. Swallowing a curse, Cosmina sank into a crouch. Balanced on the balls of her feet, she turned into the raised collar of her winter cloak. Rabbit fur brushed her cheek, bringing soft comfort as compulsion reared its ugly head. Unable to resist its allure, she checked her throwing knives. Tucked into her boots, the familiar hilts settled in her palms. Good. No need to panic. The twin blades were right where she needed them, close at hand, easily drawn, more quickly thrown. Her fingers flexed around the well-worn hilt as she pulled one blade free. Steel glinted in the weak light. Taking comfort in the sight, she held her breath and listened.
Naught. Barely any sound at all. Just the low moan of the wind pushing against the temple walls. All right, then. All clear. ’Twas now or never.
Time to move.
Spinning into the aisle, she hurried toward the base of the next column. The agonizing thump expanded inside her head. Her stomach pitched, then rolled. With a quiet curse, she slid to a stop and, using the square base of the round pillar for cover, leaned against the cool stone. Steel rasped against leather as she sheathed her dagger and pressed the heel of her hand to her eye socket. It didn’t help. She squeezed her eyes closed. The pain persisted, becoming worse with each passing minute.
Blast it to heaven and back. Of all the rotten luck. Such bad timing too. Distraction wasn’t an option. Neither was staying in one spot for too long.
Too bad the coming vision didn’t care.
Ever obstinate, her gift ignored her wishes, refusing to go away. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Cosmina shook her head. Gift. Right. What a farce. Her talent as a Seer was more curse than boon. A plague upon her mind. A constant drain upon her body. A sickness that traveled so deep it infected her heart and soul. Normally, she was better at controlling it. Could block out the images, forestall the inevitable, and keep her visions at bay for as long as needed. Tonight was proving to be an exception. Bright light kept flaring in her mind’s eye. The constant barrage sapped her strength, weakened her guard, and—
Gods. The pressure. It was so intense now, making her skin crawl and her eyes tear.
Raising her hands, Cosmina cupped both sides of her head. The cap she wore to conceal her hair shifted, pulling at her scalp. Pain drove a spike through the top of her skull. With a silent curse, Cosmina pitched forward. Her knees cracked against the marble floor. Battling the onslaught of the premonition, she barely noticed the collision. The gods keep her. She must hold the line. Needed to keep her mental barricade up and the vision from—
An image pushed its way inside her head.
Her hands curled into the leather sides of her hat. Oh nay . . . not here. Not now. But her gift for the second sight didn’t care what she wanted. Without mercy, it clawed through her mind, shredding any chance of denial. The image of a man solidified in her Seer’s eye. Stark details tumbled over each other. Short hair as black as a raven’s wing. Hazel-gold eyes. Armed to the teeth. Warrior strong. Twin swords raised and at the ready.
“Blast,” she whispered through clenched teeth, trying to shut out the mental apparition. The beginning of a name morphed in her mind: H . . . his name started with an H. Henry or Heath, or mayhap . . . Cosmina frowned. Goddess preserve her, she couldn’t tell. Couldn’t steady the vision long enough to procure the information she needed. “Damn you to hell and back. Get out of my head.”
Surprise, surprise, the warrior didn’t listen any better than her gift. Despite the fact he’d yet to speak inside the vision, H-whatever-his-name didn’t seem the obedient type. Riding roughshod over people seemed more his style. Was it unfair to make the assumption based on appearance alone? Cosmina huffed. Probably, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was for him to go away and leave her in peace. But even as she prayed for him to fade, she wondered what envisioning him meant.
Was he friend or foe? Would he hurt or help her?
Damn good questions. Ones that highlighted an ever-persistent problem. As much as she wished otherwise, her visions never came with a road map. Or any kind of explanation. Instead of a complete picture, she ended up with bits and pieces. Visual snippets and broken whispers. Quick flashes that left her scrambling to fit the puzzle pieces together. Never the whole story. Always a jumbled mess inside her head.