The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3)

The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3) Page 43

“You’ll come back to me,” she whispers in a voice as cold as the icy water itself. “When there is no one else to trust, you will have to.”

“Did you find what you sought, Lady Hope?” Asha asks as I return to the Cave of Sighs.

“Yes,” I answer bitterly. “I know all I need to know.”

Asha leads me down a corridor of faded frescoes and into a cave I remember. Carvings of lush-hipped women and sensual men adorn its walls. They draw me even though I blush at their nakedness. I spy something I’ve not noticed before. It is an engraving of two hands clasped in the center of a perfect circle. It is familiar to me though I cannot say why, like something glimpsed in a dream. The stones seem to speak to me: This is a place of dreams for those who are willing to see. Place your hands inside the circle and dream.

“Did you hear that?” I ask.

Asha smiles. “This is a special place. It was where the Order and the Rakshana would come as lovers.”

The word brings another fiery blush that will not cool.

“They would place their hands together inside the circle so that they could walk in each other’s dreams. It forged a bond that could not be broken. The circle represents love in eternity. For there is no beginning and no end. You see?”

“Yes,” I say, letting my fingers trace the circle.

“They would come to test their devotion. If they could not walk in each other’s dreams, they were not destined to be lovers.”

Asha leads me down the Temple’s colorful corridor. I wait for her to ask me about the magic and the alliance, but she doesn’t. “I do mean to form an alliance and bind the magic to us all,” I explain without her prompting. “But there are matters I must attend to in my own world first.”

Asha only smiles.

“I shall share it. You have my word.”

She watches as I leave. “Of course, Lady Hope.”

I make my way alone across the poppy fields and down a dusty lane hidden beneath the green lace canopy of willow trees. Their delicate leaves sweep against the ground with a comforting swish. I take a deep breath and try to clear my mind but find I can’t. Circe’s warnings have found a home there. I shouldn’t have gone. I shan’t make that mistake twice. And Pippa? Perhaps there is a reason she couldn’t cross. Perhaps there is a chance to save her still. That thought makes my steps lighter. I’ve nearly reached the end of the lane when I hear the faint pounding of horses.

Through the willows’ curtain of green, I spy a quick flash of white. One horse? Ten? Are there riders? How many? The leaves shift, and I no longer see anything. But I can hear the pounding getting closer. I lift my nightgown and run for all I’m worth, feeling the path hit hard against the soles of my feet. I slip between two trees and dart into the wheat field, parting the slapping stalks with my hands. Still I hear it. My heart beats its refrain: Don’t look behind you; don’t stop; run, run, run.

I’m nearly to the statue of the three-faced goddess that marks the ascent to the secret door. Gulping for breath, I turn the corner. Zigzag through the sentry stones, those watching women. Up ahead, the mossy hill gives no indication of a door. Behind me is the steady pounding of that unseen rider. I fling myself at the hill. Open, open, open…

The door appears and I push through, and the sound of horses fades. I race through the firefly glow of the passageway and out onto the lawn. The light settles and the door vanishes, as if it had never been there at all.

Atop Spence’s roof, the gargoyles sit on their perches, keeping watch over everything. With their shadowy backs pressed against the moon’s light, they seem almost alive, as if their wings might unfurl and fling them into flight.

The tingling starts in my hands, and before I can take my next breath, it’s coursing through my blood with a power that brings me to my knees. The magic is strong. It surges like an animal that must run. I’m panicked; I shall be devoured by it if I don’t let it free.

I stagger into the rose garden and run my hands over the sleeping buds. Where my fingers trail, the flowers burst into a symphony of color unlike anything I have ever seen—deep reds, fiery pinks, creamy white, and yellows as bright as summer sun. When I finish, spring has come to every rose. It has come to me, as well, for I feel magnificent—strong and alive. Color blooms inside me, a newfound joy.

“I did that,” I say, examining my hands as if they were not my own. But they are. I brought forth roses in my world with them. And that is only the beginning. With this power, there is no telling what I can do to change what needs to be changed—for me, for Felicity, and for Ann. And once we have secured our futures, we’ll forge an alliance in the realms.