Key of Knowledge
Page 82

Then even the mist was gone, and she lay shivering, alone in the dark.
Panic came first, made her want to curl up tight and whimper. But as she sucked in air, she tasted . . . pine, autumn. Forest. She pushed to her hands and knees and felt, yes, pine needles, fallen leaves, under her hands. And as the first edge of fear eased, she saw the sprinkle of moonlight coming through the trees.
It wasn’t so cold now, she realized. No, it was more brisk than cold, the way it was meant to be on a clear fall night. She could hear the sounds of night birds, the long, long call of an owl, the hushed music of the wind soughing through the trees.
A little dazed, she braced a hand on the trunk of a tree, nearly wept with relief at the texture of the rough bark. It was so solid, so normal.
Fighting a wave of dizziness, she pulled herself to her feet, then leaned against the tree while her eyes adjusted to the dark.
She was alive, she told herself. She was all in one piece. A little light-headed, a little shaky, but whole. She had to find her way back home, and the only way to get there was to move.
Which way, that was the question. She decided to trust her instincts and move forward.
The shadows were so deep, it seemed she might stumble into one and fall forever. The light that struggled through the trees was silver, the dull tone of unpolished swords.
The thought passed through her mind, absently, that there were too many leaves on the trees for so late in October.
She stepped on a twig, and the sound of it snapping under her heel was like a gunshot that had her stumbling forward in reaction.
“All right, it’s all right.” Her own voice echoed back to her, had her pressing her lips together to prevent herself from speaking again.
She looked down to check her footing, then simply stared, puzzling over her shoes. She was wearing sturdy brown hiking boots, not the dressy black leather pumps that she’d pulled on for the evening.
She’d wanted to dress up because . . . The thought faded in and out of her mind until she bore down, grabbed it. She’d wanted to show off her ring. Yes, she’d wanted to look fabulous to match her engagement ring.
But when she lifted her hand, she wore no ring.
Her heart jumped, and every other terror faded to nothing at the idea of losing Jordan’s ring. She swung around, raced back through the woods, trying to find the place where she’d fallen.
Wakened?
And running, searching the ground for a glint of gold, she heard the first sly rustle behind her, felt the bright chill sprint up her spine.
She’d been wrong. She wasn’t alone.
She ran, but not in blind panic. She ran in a headlong rush to escape and survive. She heard him coming behind her, too arrogant to hurry. Too sure he would win this race.
But he would lose, she promised herself. He’d lose because she was not going to die here.
Her breath whistling, she burst out of the trees and into the shimmering light of a full white moon.
It was the wrong moon. Part of her mind registered that as she loped across the grass. It shouldn’t be full. It should be in its last quarter, waning toward the new moon, and the end of her four weeks.
The end of her quest.
But here the moon was full, swimming in a black glass sky over the shadow of Warrior’s Peak.
She slowed to a walk, pressed a hand to her side to ease a stitch.
There was no white flag with the emblem of a key flying from the tower. There were no lights gleaming gold against the windows. It would be empty now, she thought, but for the busy spiders and the skittering mice.
Because that was how Jordan had written it.
She was in the book, walking through the pages of his book.
“You’ve a very strong mind.”
She whirled. Kane stood behind her, just at the edge of the woods.
“This is false. Just another fantasy.”
“Is it? You know the power of the written word, the reality created on the pages. This is his world, and was real to him when he built it. I’ve only brought you here. I wondered if your mind would hold up to it, and I see it has. That pleases me.”
“Why should you be pleased? I’m only that much closer to the key.”
“Are you? I wonder, do you remember what happens next?”
“I know this wasn’t in the book. You weren’t in the book.”
“A few changes.” He lifted an arm, swept it out in an elegant gesture. “That will lead to a different ending. You can run if you like. I’ll give you a sporting chance.”
“You can’t keep me here.”
“Perhaps not. Perhaps you’ll find your way out. Of course, if you leave, you lose.” He took a step closer, held up a hand that dangled a long white scarf. “If you stay, you’ll die. Your man made death in Phantom Watch.”
He gestured toward the great house that Jordan had called the Watch in his novel. “How could he know it would be yours?”
She spun toward the Watch, and ran.
WE have to get her back.” Helpless, Flynn rubbed Dana’s cold hand between his. They’d laid her on the bed, tucked blankets around her.
“If this is what she’s meant to do,” Brad began, “she shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
“She’s not going to be alone.” Seeing only one choice, Jordan got to his feet. “We’re not bringing her back. The contact, calling her, being here. None of it’s bringing her back. Brad, I need you to go get Rowena. I need you to get her here, and fast.”
“That’ll take an hour.” Zoe, standing at the foot of the bed, now moved to the side. “An hour’s too long. Malory, Rowena came to us before. We have to try to make her come to us again. Dana’s not supposed to be alone. That’s what he does. He separates us, isolates us. We don’t have to let him get away with it.”
“We can try. We’re strongest when we’re together.” Malory reached across the bed for Zoe’s hand, kept her other clasped around Dana’s. “We’ll ask her to come.”
“Not this time.” Zoe’s fingers tightened, and the light of battle shone in her eyes. “This time we tell her.”
“How do they intend to order a god to make a house call?” Flynn said.
Brad laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be all right, Flynn. We’re going to get her back.”
“She looks like the portrait.” His throat burned as he stared down at his sister’s face. Her white, empty face. “Like the daughter in your portrait. After . . .”