Gods, she didn’t know what to do. What to say. Or how to feel.
She couldn’t get a handle on the emotion, never mind hold it down. But she needed to . . . right now. Before she abandoned all restraint, folded beneath the onslaught, and let her love for him win.
She reached for anger instead. Grabbed hold, held on tight, and let it burn.
’Twas the better choice. She needed fury to sustain her—to help her survive the emotional lash of betrayal and the impact of what he’d done. Bowing her head, Cosmina squeezed her eyes shut and relived the sensation. The terrible throb between her temples. The absolute loss of control. The mind-bending torque of his magic, the ferocity of his gift as he dragged her deep into Thrall.
The memory of it stung.
Her ineptitude made her cringe.
Gods. ’Twas unbelievable. She should have seen it coming. That she hadn’t made her question her own skills. Cosmina pursed her lips. A rare lapse in judgment. Aye, that was what it amounted to . . . one she blamed on her feelings for him. Call her a lovesick fool. Chalk it up to inexperience and let it lie. The surprise, though, couldn’t be dismissed. His ability to ambush her mattered. ’Twas too big a puzzle. As mysterious as it was difficult to explain, because—drat it all. She should’ve sensed the raw talent in him.
Her gift should have recognized his.
Too bad clarity hadn’t come to the party. She’d understood too late. After all was said. After everything was done. Not soon enough to protect herself. Now her heart lay in tatters, and all she had left was a beautiful dagger and Henrik’s note.
The stupid, wretched note.
Eyes narrowed, Cosmina glared over her shoulder at it. Crisp and white, the perfect folds mocked her. With a grumble, she spun away from the fire. The fast whirl pushed air into the hearth. Logs shifted and flames snapped, protesting the sudden movement. Cosmina ignored the fierce crackle and pop and, stomping around the edge of the tabletop, snatched her necklace from atop the small pile. Quick hands looped the silver links over her head. The key swung wide, then landed, bumping against her breastbone. The gentle tap unleashed her temper. Reaching out, she curled her hand around the knife hilt.
Leather settled in her palm. One fast rotation. Another quick shift, and the blade sat perched between her fingertips. Baring her teeth, Cosmina drew her arm back, took aim, and threw it hard. In perfect balance, the blade obeyed, hurtling end over end toward the opposite wall. She watched it fly. Felt satisfaction rise and—
Thunk!
The knifepoint hit the timber beam dead center and sank deep. Violent sound echoed, throbbing through the quiet as the hilt quivered from the force of impact. Perfect precision. Unerring aim. X marked the intended spot, wounding the undeserving wood.
“Take that,” she said into the stillness.
“Do you feel better now?” someone asked, the magic-filled whisper frothing into the room.
The voice made her jump a foot and yelp in surprise. Fists raised in defense, Cosmina spun away from the table and set her stance. Radiance spilled from the opposite corner of the cottage. Driven by magic, illumination gathered, taking shape and form until a woman stepped from the sparkling light. Cosmina’s mouth fell open. Surprise circled into awe. By the gods—holy mother, the keeper of light and shadow—the Goddess of All Things now stood in her home. Robed in power, majesty folded the deity in an ethereal glow, making her aura burn bright white.
Stunned into stupidity, Cosmina stood stock-still, not knowing what to do. Or how to respond. Some sort of greeting was no doubt in order, but disbelief stole her brain, leaving her standing slack-jawed without a thing to say. The goddess, after all, had only ever visited her inside the dreamscape, where things made sense and seemed less real. But this—the glory of her presence inside her small cottage—surpassed surreal, catapulting her into astonishment and the beginnings of unease.
Had she done something wrong? Did the goddess’ arrival signal—
“You’ve naught to fear, child. I come in peace,” the goddess said, soothing the worry before glancing at the dagger still vibrating in the wall. She stared at it a moment, then returned her focus to Cosmina. Speculation in her eyes, the goddess raised a brow. “Well . . . do you?”
“Feel better?” she asked, swimming past shock to regain mental equilibrium.
The goddess nodded.
Cosmina sighed. “Not really.”
“You are suffering.”
“I am angry.”
“To be expected. Men are ofttimes difficult, Cosmina,” the goddess said, stepping around the foot of the bed. “They are a mystery unto the ages. Most cause more harm than good.”
“Mayhap, but not—”
“Henrik?” Slipping her hands inside the wide sleeves of her gown, the goddess approached with silent steps. A million secrets in her eyes, she stopped at the edge of the table, leaving the stained surface between them. “If you believe that, child, why did you let him go?”
“I had no choice.”
“Didn’t you?”
The question took her by surprise. The goddess’ expectant expression took her the rest of the way. Both hands fisted in rabbit fur, Cosmina pulled the throw tight across her shoulders and frowned. No choice. Powerful words with incredible impact. Now she wondered whether they were true. She hadn’t tried to make Henrik stay. Hadn’t voiced how she felt or encouraged him to come back. Hadn’t done much of anything at all, so—
Cosmina frowned. Drat and damn. She’d simply let him leave . . . without a fight.
More fool her. The goddess knew it. Now she did too.
Regret whispered through her, making her heart ache. “Is it too late, Majesty? Have I lost all hope?”
“Time turns and things change, Cosmina, and so must we, but . . .” Understanding in her eyes, her mouth curved. “Love is forever. Do not lose faith in that, child. In the end, ’tis all we have or will ever hope to leave behind.”
The advice lit a fire inside her. No matter how angry with Henrik, she wanted the truth. Had she made a terrible mistake? Could she forge a real future with him? Was he worth fighting for? The questions jabbed at her. She couldn’t deny the appeal. Or her need to know . . . once and for all. Spinning on her heel, Cosmina strode toward her cabinet. She needed to get dressed . . . right now. Intuition gathered, pulling up stakes inside her mind. She couldn’t stay here. Not an instant longer.
“Thank you for your visit, Majesty, but I must go.” Reaching the armoire door, Cosmina flipped it open. A list streamed into her head as she stared at the shelves—extra clothes, lots of food, all her weapons. She would need every bit of it to survive her journey to Drachaven. “I need to find him.”
“Nay, Cosmina.” Raising an invisible hand, the goddess halted her forward progress. Magic swirled, scenting the air with hollyhocks as she spun Cosmina back to face her. Heart locked in her throat, frozen in place, she met the deity’s gaze. Expression set in serious lines, the goddess shook her head. “I cannot allow you to travel the mountain passes to Drachaven. Not while evil looms and the Blessed return to White Temple.”
“But—”
“Be patient, child. I set the wheel in motion, atoning for my mistakes by placing Henrik in your path. If it is meant to be, Henrik will come back to you. For now, remember your duty to the Order of Orm and do as I command,” the goddess said. “You completed the ancient rite and have heard the call. You feel the tug toward home. Heed it, Cosmina. Return to the temple. Welcome your sisters and make ready for the High Priestess’ return to holy ground.”