CIRCE

xiii

Her blood burns beneath the surge of fear, a fiery gleam in her veins as that fear embers into magic that rumbles under her skin, scorching her from the inside out. The ghul cries out behind her as she pumps her legs faster and faster, fleeing from the ghul as a disgusting caterwaul shivers through the ruins of stone.

It's dark. It's so, so dark, shadows like blankets over ashen stone rubble, the ceiling too low, too low, too low. It feels as though she's suffocating, crushed beneath the blaze of her own magic as the walls close in and the fleshy, tattered ghul thunders closer, thud thud thud thud thud.

She sprints around the corner, running through the hall into the next room, and her eyes find a statue of Circe, hands outstretched. Almost as though they're outstretched to her. Heart racing, she doesn't know what else to do but beseech at Circe's feet. She races to the Mother Goddess and dives down, clinging to the statue's legs as she prays.

Please, Circe. Please, please, please. Help me.

The screech of the ghul makes her ears bleed, a raucous shriek that throbs in her head. Something hot and wet hits her cheeks. Tears. She's crying, clinging to the statue. Please!

The ghul catapults into her and her back slams against the hard stone floor as claws tear at her shirt. She can't look at it, can't open her eyes as she cries, but her hands fling out in every which way, anything to throw it off. Its tattered flesh is gooey and gray beneath her hands, the shreds cold and dangling.

The ghul is hauled off her body, and she scrambles away, unable to find her footing as she crawls frantically to Circe. It tussles with someone else behind the statue, screeching and screaming and the sickening slice of skin. As tears bubble in her throat, dribbling down her face, she lets her magic seep through into a flame that sparks in her palm, and she chucks it at the ghul.

It squawks in pain and turns back on her, two hollow sockets pinning upon her, its sharpened teeth set in a snarl, forever exposed by a torn open hole rather than a mouth. It hobbles closer in its cattywampus creep on all fours, the claws of its hands ticking against the stone. She inches back slowly, too frightened to make any sudden move, trying yet failing to swallow her tears.

The ghul stops. It sniffs through its nose, and its head snaps to the side, tilting as it picks up a scent. It slides to Circe's feet, and as her gaze follows its track, she spots it. A honey golden gleam at her feet. A gemstone. An amulet. It glows brighter.

With no better idea, she sparks a flame in her hand and flings it at the amulet. It shatters and light fills the air, golden heat searing her skin as she is thrown back, a deathly screech ringing through the blast.

But all she sees is gold. A bright, brilliant eruption of gold and amber, and through it, in the distance, the silhouette of a person.

Lonan jolts in her sleep as she hits the ground, though the ground is too soft for it to be stone. No. This is the cushion of a bed, which she curls into, refusing to awake. She's in bed, at home, not in the rubble beneath The Ruins. However, as the unfamiliar scent of the pillows pervades her nose and as the light seeping through is realized to be much too warm for home, she groans. Right. She's in Alybe, in the western Sun-Dried Desert, far, far from the rainforest. Her joints are stiff, like they're made of a creaking wood cluttered with cobwebs, grouching as she stretches. At least the bed is warm, though, and the sheets soft. She lulls where she is, cheek squished against her pillow and curled up beneath the blankets, eyes lidded and only half-awake. Maybe just a minute more of rest. She can get away with a minute.

"Morning."

Or not.

Lonan turns her head to find Tannier in the doorway, already up and dressed, eyes bright as though he's been up for a while. She glances at the hall behind him, but she can't see any windows, so she mumbles out a question;