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“Lily Proctor,” she replied.
“Where are you from?”
“Salem, Massachusetts.”
The sachem raised an eyebrow at Lily in surprise. “Massachusetts? We haven’t used that name for this territory in hundreds of years. Not since the Great Witch Trials.”
Rowan made an impatient sound, and the sachem raised his hand for quiet. “This isn’t Lillian, Rowan,” he said.
“But it is her,” he argued. “Every cell in her body…”
“Is exactly the same,” the sachem finished for him. He put a hand on Rowan’s shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. “I believe you and I trust your skill as a mechanic completely. But impossible or not, this girl isn’t the Lillian we know.”
“How can you be so sure?” Rowan asked pleadingly.
“Because this girl has never killed anyone,” he said with certainty. “Look in her eyes, Rowan. There’s no death there.”
Rowan looked away, chewing on his lower lip. “You willing to bet your life on that?” he asked.
The sachem smiled indulgently. Lily could tell that if anyone else had questioned him this way, the sachem would have lit into him, but for some reason he had more patience with Rowan. She wondered if they were related. They both had the same sweeping brow and strong features, and they projected a similar strength.
“We both heard the stories of spirit walking when we were kids, Rowan,” he said gently. “All Outlanders do.”
“We hear them, and then we grow up,” Rowan replied. “Do you honestly believe that she isn’t Lillian?”
“Do you honestly believe she is?”
“I don’t know.” Rowan looked at Lily, and his dark eyes softened with uncertainty.
“Is this one still powerful?” the sachem asked.
“There’s none stronger,” Rowan responded immediately.
“Can she do everything that Lillian can?”
Rowan shrugged. “Maybe. With training.”
The sachem crouched down stiffly in front of Lily. An old brace that spanned from the thigh to the calf kept his right leg straight. Something awful must have happened to his knee to require that much hardware, and Lily wondered what it was. “I’m Alaric,” he said, introducing himself.
Lily nodded once, but was too intimidated to say anything back. Alaric touched her broken ankle with his fingertips, and Lily gasped, tears springing to her eyes.
“That’s definitely broken,” he said. Alaric removed his hand and stood. “Get to work on that ankle, you two,” he ordered in Rowan and Tristan’s general direction. “And Lily?” he added
over his shoulder. “In the morning, I have some questions for you.” Alaric paused to look at Lily, shaking his head. “The shamans were right. Who’d have thought that?”
The sachem chuckled to himself as he and Caleb disappeared into the dark outskirts of the camp, leaving Lily with Rowan and Tristan. She exhaled slowly and realized that she’d been half holding her breath under Alaric’s intense scrutiny.
Rowan knelt down at Lily’s feet, avoiding her eyes. He stripped off his jacket and began rolling up his sleeves. His face grew pensive as he considered her ankle.
“I’ll get the phosphorous and chalk,” Tristan said, and turned to go.
“And bring iron,” Rowan called after him. “The marrow’s smashed.”
As Lily watched Tristan hurry off, she barely bit back the urge to call after him and beg him not to leave her alone with Rowan. But as she watched Rowan staring at her ankle, her fears about whether or not he would take this opportunity to slit her throat drained away. He was completely focused on her injury.
Rowan placed his fingers on her ankle and pressed gently, but unlike everyone else who had prodded her sore spots, he didn’t hurt her. In fact, she felt some of the pain diminish. Rowan’s willstone flared with a strange, oily light, and the campfire behind him pulsed brighter and then dropped to an almost imperceptibly duller intensity. Lily felt heat under her skin—heat and a slackening of the swollen pressure in her ankle. She felt something like hot fingers prodding the muscle and sinew around her bones. Then the hot fingers dropped deeper and started rearranging the bones themselves like they were nothing more than another kind of stiff tissue. It didn’t hurt, but the sensation was so foreign and off-putting that she tried to pull away from Rowan’s touch.
“Easy,” Rowan said, his deep voice rumbling.
