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Then something moves.
A figure turns toward me, a tall man in long robes. For a sickening moment, I think he’s one of the Brethren, but his hoodless robes are tailored and fitted rather than loose and billowy, with decorations around the cuffs and throat.
His blue-gray eyes lock onto mine, and he seems as shocked to see me standing here as I am to see him. He has long brown hair spilling around his broad shoulders, a handsome face with thick brows, a long, regal nose, and a mouth with a full, soft-looking lower lip. I’ve never seen this man before. I’ve never even seen anyone like him before, a man with authority in his bearing and intelligence sparkling in his eyes. Right at this moment, his expression is perplexed.
The man reaches out for me, and suddenly there’s so much yearning on his face. My own hand lifts to meet his.
Is this real?
Our fingertips almost touch—and then the vision snaps out of existence.
I open my eyes in Biddy Hawthorne’s cottage, overbalance on the rickety stool, and fall in a heap on the ground. The basin of water and herbs tips over and floods the floor.
“Did you get your answer?” Biddy asks mildly, watching me struggle on the ground from her seat in the armchair.
Who was that man?Wherewas he? Did he have anything to do with my family? Perhaps they could be near him, but there was no one else close by that I could see. I wish there had at least been a window so I could tell if he was in a forest or a town or up a mountain. His clothing didn’t look like anything I’d seen on a villager or a lord or even the Brethren, so perhaps he was in another country.
But more importantly, why did I see him when I was hoping to see my family?
“You could have warned me you were going to do that,” I grumble, getting to my feet and watching water drip from my clothes. “Was that your vision? I didn’t see anything I wanted to see.”
“Mayhap you saw something that youneededto see.”
What Ineedis to find my family. “Are visions supposed to look back at you?”
Biddy’s eyes open wide, and I realize that no, they most definitely are not supposed to do that. She leans closer to me, her eyes narrowing. “Have you been having dreams, girl?”
I suddenly feel hot all over. “No. Well, yes. Everyone has dreams, don’t they? Last week I dreamed that I turned into a maypole and everyone in the village decorated me with flowers and danced around me.”
I can tell from the old woman’s severe expression that those are not the kind of dreams she means. She means strange dreams that feel like being flung violently into darkness withthingsthat are hungering and trapped and desperate to escape. I don’t like remembering those dreams.
There’s raucous cawing overhead, as if ravens are swooping and wheeling over the cottage.
Biddy’s gaze is blank and fixed, and she’s staring at something outside this room. “He’s hunting you.”
Trepidation skitters down my spine. “Who?”
“The mountain prisoner.”
I glance toward the door, expecting someone to come crashing through it right that second.
The vision I had just now—if it was a vision—was that the mountain prisoner? The floor seemed to be carved from stone, though I could see little but darkness beyond the flickering candlelight.
I thought that dragons were only a story until a few days ago, but now I’ve taken a ride on one. If the king under the mountain is looking for me, I’d better get moving. I don’t need him adding to my problems.
Biddy searches among the clutter on the table at her elbow, grasps something small, and thrusts it into my hand. “Take this and keep it safe. Use it if you ever need to hide from him.”
The object she’s given me is a bottle made of murky glass and sealed with wax. Inside is a dark green liquid. A shiver passes down my spine.Use it if you ever need to hide from him. Hiding seems like my only chance to survive. “How do I—”
Biddy half lifts herself from her seat, her expression frantic. “Put it away, girl. He’s coming.”
I shove the bottle down the front of my stays. Footsteps grow louder and louder. Terror seizes my throat as I remember the frightening places from my dreams, and I wonder if I’m about to be dragged beneath the mountains and into the darkness.
The door rips open, and my heart plunges through the floor and then rebounds back up and lodges in my throat.
4
Zabriel
