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Rowan pushed the pace, never letting them stop for more than a few minutes at a time, his eyes constantly darting through the trees, scanning for Woven. At dusk, Rowan built a fire and threw a handful of herbs on the flames. Their fragrant smoke smelled almost like a citronella candle, used to keep mosquitoes away in her world.
“Barely enough for one night,” he whispered to himself, scowling. Rowan looked up at the looming canopy of branches, his face pinched with fear. “But it should keep the Woven away for a few hours.”
Lily hardly registered what he’d said. She was so tired and numb she stretched out on the ground and fell instantly into a nightmare-filled sleep. She woke several times with a shake, seeing Gideon’s twisted baby face above hers and only fell back to sleep because of the steady, soothing pressure of Rowan’s fingers wrapped around her ankle.
It was late afternoon the next day before the shock had faded enough so that Lily could speak. “Did I bring the soldiers to the camp?” she finally asked, barely able to raise her voice above a whisper.
Rowan didn’t look at her as they walked along. “You can talk normally. No one’s following us.”
“Is it my fault?” she asked again, needing to know.
“No. It’s mine. I should have insisted we moved camp that night after Juliet showed up, even if the elders were on their way.”
“Do you think she told Lillian?” Lily asked, unable to believe any version of Juliet would do something like that.
“No. But Juliet’s not the stealthiest woman in the world. She could have been followed from Salem. Considering how fast the attack came, I’m pretty sure that’s what had to have happened.” Rowan angrily kicked a pinecone aside. “I should have fought the sachem harder about moving the camp.”
“Are they okay? Can you tell if Tristan is still—”
“Tristan’s fine,” Rowan replied impatiently. “He, Caleb, and the sachem are all out of danger.”
“Why you?”
“Why me what?” he asked, confused.
“Why did you agree to take me out here and not insist Tristan do it? You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” he said gruffly. “And Tristan is city bred. He wouldn’t last a day out here on his own, although I’m sure you’d have preferred his company to mine.”
“I didn’t say that,” she replied quietly. She actually felt safe with Rowan. There was something about him that made Lily think he could protect her from whatever lurked out there in the shifting darkness between the enormous trees.
Lily stared at his profile for a few moments, trying to decide if she should keep questioning him when he looked so forbidding. He had a straight, aquiline nose, and full, well-defined lips. His skin was a light-caramel color, and his cheekbones were high and sharp. It was a strong face. He was very handsome, she decided, but his fierce expression made him almost impossible to approach.
“What?” he finally asked, his tone just short of snapping. Lily looked away, and silence drew out between them. “What?” he repeated, more gently this time.
“Are you, Caleb, and Tristan related?”
“Not by blood,” he replied. “We’re kin of a different kind.”
“But you can all mindspeak with each other, right?”
“Yes. When we have to.”
“Why wouldn’t you do it all the time? It seems really handy.”
He glanced over at her, his eyes measuring her. “You can’t lie when you mindspeak, or hide how you feel. Sometimes people need to keep things to themselves.”
“Were you mindspeaking with them just now?”
“No. Not at this distance,” he said. The corners of his mouth tipped up with a little smile. “I’m not you.”
Lily couldn’t decide if he was giving her a compliment or making fun of her. She didn’t understand Rowan, and she had no idea how to read him.
“Our willstones are tuned to each other. That’s why we can mindspeak. We are what’s called stone kin,” he said, surprising Lily by offering the information. “But only a powerful witch can sync up her willstone to other people’s and get into their heads from a large distance.”
“Into their heads?” Lily repeated, not sure she liked what that implied.
“That’s why they’re called willstones. The crystals get keyed to a person’s unique brain waves. Once a crystal is keyed, it answers to the will of its wearer, directing and amplifying a mental want or desire. Everyone here wears them.”
