“Not necessarily,” Silas said, eyes bright with speculation. “We’re pretty deep, and I don’t recognize this form of rock. Who knows what sounds it can absorb or deflect?”
“You’re sick,” Connor replied. “Did you know that?”
“I’m merely pointing out—”
“Shut up, Silas!” Adne was shaking her head. “Even if a wall of snow is blocking the cave entrance, I can open a door in here. We’re not trapped.”
“Could we at least check?” Silas asked. I couldn’t believe how disappointed he sounded.
“No!” Mason and Connor shouted.
I scrambled to my feet and looked at Shay. He stood quietly in the middle of the cavern, eyes closed, both hands grasping the hilt of the sword. The weapon was a study in contrasts. The warm glow of Haldis radiated from between his fingers, while the blade gleamed cool and clear, like lightning striking from the sky to the hilt. It was the depth of the earth wedded to the breadth of the heavens.
As if he felt my gaze, Shay’s eyelids fluttered open and he offered me a smile of mystery. He pulled in a long slow breath.
“We have to get the other sword.”
Something in his voice stopped my breath—strength, fearlessness, and longing I hadn’t heard before. Part of me stood in awe of him—the Scion finding the source of his power—but a smaller, pettier voice told me I was also jealous.
Not jealous of his power, but of that stirring quality in his words. He was finding himself, his true self. Last night, I’d believed Shay when he said he wanted to stay at my side. That he would be my mate. Watching him now, the distance between us felt immense—he no longer seemed like a Guardian. He was only the Scion. What did that mean for me?
I’d never doubted Shay’s love, but Silas’s question no longer sounded ludicrous. What future could the Scion and a Guardian alpha have? Something cold and hollow settled in my bones that I thought might be grief. Was I losing Shay to his destiny?
“Get the other sword, huh?” Connor grinned. “Well, that is the plan.” He jumped out of the way before Adne could kick him again.
“I have an even better plan,” Mason said, putting his arm around Adne’s shoulders.
She lifted her eyebrows at him. “What’s that?”
“You open one of those pretty doors and get us the hell out of here.”
EIGHT
THE CACOPHONY OF sound that flooded my ears when I stepped through the portal made me bristle. Was it panic? Fear?
I’d been caught up in the events of the ice cavern, lost in thoughts about Tordis, the sword, Shay—so that I’d almost forgotten that another team had been on a different mission.
How many had we lost so that Shay could retrieve the blade?
My growing fear splintered when it became clear that the loudest sounds of the din were raucous hoots and unchecked laughter. The celebratory noise died down as the rest of my party emerged through Adne’s portal. When Shay appeared, the room suddenly drowned in silence.
Anika stepped forward. Shay didn’t speak. He simply lifted the sword; its blade came to life and I heard a wind, like the rush of wings, bringing hope—that brightness was balanced by the subtle glow of Haldis, with the solid warmth of the earth itself.
The room erupted again. This time the cheers were deafening. Only Anika remained silent, her lashes wet with unshed tears.
Searchers swarmed Shay, gazing at the sword but careful not to touch it. Watching his newly formed entourage bask in the near-tangible power of the sword, I once again felt the tightness of loss, grief like an invisible hand around my neck.
I’m going to lose him. I started to inch away from them, hoping the sensation would pass.
Connor pushed his way into the crowd and began recounting our journey; from the snatches I caught, he seemed to be embellishing our exploits a bit. My suspicions were confirmed when Silas shoved Connor aside, waving his notebook as he began his version of the tale. Connor took up a strategic position just behind the Scribe and made faces and crude imitations of Silas at appropriate—or rather, inappropriate—intervals.
“Wanna check on our boys?” Mason caught my arm, jerking his chin in the direction of Nev and Ren, who were talking with Pascal.
I met Mason’s teasing gaze, wondering what he meant by our boys. Nev was his partner, but did he expect that Ren would be mine? The thought made me bristle and I barely stopped myself from growling at him.
“Sure.”
I glanced back, expecting Sabine to join us. But she was standing apart, beside Ethan. Their heads were close, bodies turned toward each other, lips moving in swift whispers. The din of the room didn’t touch them, as if they were the only two people standing in Tactical.
Nev and Ren were grinning. The alpha leaned against the massive wooden table, looking as pleased with himself as ever. Nev was perched on a chair, sitting on its frame with his feet resting on its seat. I looked back and forth between them, puzzled, but it was Mason who asked first.
“What?”
Nev’s eyes sparkled. “Dude. Bears!”
Mason frowned. “You’re happy about bears?”
Ren flexed his shoulders. “They make for a good fight.”
“Oui.” Pascal laughed, slapping Ren on the back. “Les loups ont été trop pour les ours.”
“Mais oui!” Nev grabbed Mason’s hands, pulling him into a hug. “Wolves kick bear butt. How did things go for you guys?”
Mason leaned his cheek against Nev’s. “No losses. Got the sword. I’d call it a win. You?”
Ren smiled; his canines were sharp. “Like he said before. Dude. Bears!” He turned to Pascal. “Besides, we had a kick-ass team backing us.”
“Merci.” Pascal folded his arms across his chest, gazing at Ren as-sessingly. “But you made our job . . . less difficult than is usual.”
“Happy to oblige,” Nev said.
Pascal inclined his head. “I am sorry to say I had my doubt. Les loups have so long been numbered among our enemies. But you make les bon guerre. Better even than les ours.”
“I didn’t follow that,” Mason said.
Nev elbowed him. “No wonder you always copied my French homework. He said we make good war, better than those Swiss bears.”
“The Keepers flubbed,” Ren said, still speaking to Pascal. “Bears aren’t good warriors. They’re too solitary. We could keep them off balance because they’re too eager to argue with each other instead of working as a team.”
“You’re sick,” Connor replied. “Did you know that?”
“I’m merely pointing out—”
“Shut up, Silas!” Adne was shaking her head. “Even if a wall of snow is blocking the cave entrance, I can open a door in here. We’re not trapped.”
“Could we at least check?” Silas asked. I couldn’t believe how disappointed he sounded.
“No!” Mason and Connor shouted.
I scrambled to my feet and looked at Shay. He stood quietly in the middle of the cavern, eyes closed, both hands grasping the hilt of the sword. The weapon was a study in contrasts. The warm glow of Haldis radiated from between his fingers, while the blade gleamed cool and clear, like lightning striking from the sky to the hilt. It was the depth of the earth wedded to the breadth of the heavens.
As if he felt my gaze, Shay’s eyelids fluttered open and he offered me a smile of mystery. He pulled in a long slow breath.
“We have to get the other sword.”
Something in his voice stopped my breath—strength, fearlessness, and longing I hadn’t heard before. Part of me stood in awe of him—the Scion finding the source of his power—but a smaller, pettier voice told me I was also jealous.
Not jealous of his power, but of that stirring quality in his words. He was finding himself, his true self. Last night, I’d believed Shay when he said he wanted to stay at my side. That he would be my mate. Watching him now, the distance between us felt immense—he no longer seemed like a Guardian. He was only the Scion. What did that mean for me?
I’d never doubted Shay’s love, but Silas’s question no longer sounded ludicrous. What future could the Scion and a Guardian alpha have? Something cold and hollow settled in my bones that I thought might be grief. Was I losing Shay to his destiny?
“Get the other sword, huh?” Connor grinned. “Well, that is the plan.” He jumped out of the way before Adne could kick him again.
“I have an even better plan,” Mason said, putting his arm around Adne’s shoulders.
She lifted her eyebrows at him. “What’s that?”
“You open one of those pretty doors and get us the hell out of here.”
EIGHT
THE CACOPHONY OF sound that flooded my ears when I stepped through the portal made me bristle. Was it panic? Fear?
I’d been caught up in the events of the ice cavern, lost in thoughts about Tordis, the sword, Shay—so that I’d almost forgotten that another team had been on a different mission.
How many had we lost so that Shay could retrieve the blade?
My growing fear splintered when it became clear that the loudest sounds of the din were raucous hoots and unchecked laughter. The celebratory noise died down as the rest of my party emerged through Adne’s portal. When Shay appeared, the room suddenly drowned in silence.
Anika stepped forward. Shay didn’t speak. He simply lifted the sword; its blade came to life and I heard a wind, like the rush of wings, bringing hope—that brightness was balanced by the subtle glow of Haldis, with the solid warmth of the earth itself.
The room erupted again. This time the cheers were deafening. Only Anika remained silent, her lashes wet with unshed tears.
Searchers swarmed Shay, gazing at the sword but careful not to touch it. Watching his newly formed entourage bask in the near-tangible power of the sword, I once again felt the tightness of loss, grief like an invisible hand around my neck.
I’m going to lose him. I started to inch away from them, hoping the sensation would pass.
Connor pushed his way into the crowd and began recounting our journey; from the snatches I caught, he seemed to be embellishing our exploits a bit. My suspicions were confirmed when Silas shoved Connor aside, waving his notebook as he began his version of the tale. Connor took up a strategic position just behind the Scribe and made faces and crude imitations of Silas at appropriate—or rather, inappropriate—intervals.
“Wanna check on our boys?” Mason caught my arm, jerking his chin in the direction of Nev and Ren, who were talking with Pascal.
I met Mason’s teasing gaze, wondering what he meant by our boys. Nev was his partner, but did he expect that Ren would be mine? The thought made me bristle and I barely stopped myself from growling at him.
“Sure.”
I glanced back, expecting Sabine to join us. But she was standing apart, beside Ethan. Their heads were close, bodies turned toward each other, lips moving in swift whispers. The din of the room didn’t touch them, as if they were the only two people standing in Tactical.
Nev and Ren were grinning. The alpha leaned against the massive wooden table, looking as pleased with himself as ever. Nev was perched on a chair, sitting on its frame with his feet resting on its seat. I looked back and forth between them, puzzled, but it was Mason who asked first.
“What?”
Nev’s eyes sparkled. “Dude. Bears!”
Mason frowned. “You’re happy about bears?”
Ren flexed his shoulders. “They make for a good fight.”
“Oui.” Pascal laughed, slapping Ren on the back. “Les loups ont été trop pour les ours.”
“Mais oui!” Nev grabbed Mason’s hands, pulling him into a hug. “Wolves kick bear butt. How did things go for you guys?”
Mason leaned his cheek against Nev’s. “No losses. Got the sword. I’d call it a win. You?”
Ren smiled; his canines were sharp. “Like he said before. Dude. Bears!” He turned to Pascal. “Besides, we had a kick-ass team backing us.”
“Merci.” Pascal folded his arms across his chest, gazing at Ren as-sessingly. “But you made our job . . . less difficult than is usual.”
“Happy to oblige,” Nev said.
Pascal inclined his head. “I am sorry to say I had my doubt. Les loups have so long been numbered among our enemies. But you make les bon guerre. Better even than les ours.”
“I didn’t follow that,” Mason said.
Nev elbowed him. “No wonder you always copied my French homework. He said we make good war, better than those Swiss bears.”
“The Keepers flubbed,” Ren said, still speaking to Pascal. “Bears aren’t good warriors. They’re too solitary. We could keep them off balance because they’re too eager to argue with each other instead of working as a team.”
