“We should inform the Morning Star before we—”
“I said, burn it!”
Then, in a weaker voice, she whispered, “Not Lace. Tell me he doesn’t have Lace.”
“Well, she’s not here. Perhaps she escaped. Like you did the night they attacked you. She’s just as smart—”
“Her terror whispers on the night wind, Aunt. I can feel him, ecstatic, joyous, and earth and sky tremble.” Night Shadow Star looked sick. “Red Wing? I need to leave here. Take me home.” And to Blue Heron’s surprise, she added, “Please.”
* * *
Fire Cat stepped in out of the rain and found Night Shadow Star’s diminished household staff huddled on blankets, eyes downcast. They looked any direction but toward him as he stopped long enough to pick up a piece of firewood and toss it on the dying flames in the central hearth.
Since the night he’d been captured, it seemed that there was no end to the spiraling madness. Not even the stories the barbarians told around northern winter fires of the Windigo could have prepared him for the impossibility of his current situation.
He straightened and walked back to Night Shadow Star’s sleeping quarters. He paused at the half-open door, calling, “Lady?”
“What is happening?” she demanded, a flat tone of defeat in her voice.
He stepped into her room, glancing at the small hickory oil lamp, its wick supporting a single wavering flame. She sat on her bed, legs drawn up to support her chin, her arms wound around her shins. The way her long black hair had fluffed out in the damp air seemed to frame her face. Her eyes appeared larger, darker, like bottomless pools that overshadowed her delicate chin, pursed full lips, and straight nose.
The sight of her stopped him short, stirring conflicting emotions within his breast. The image she conjured was of vulnerable beauty and femininity. Had he not known her, the impulse would have been to pull her close as he placed protective arms around her.
A response totally at odds with good sense given the influence of the Underworld creature that he knew hovered near her souls. Or the fact that she was a participating member of her pit-viper’s nest of family, drowning as it was, in blasphemy. If only someone else could have been inside that magnificent, charming, and sensual body.
“Lace’s palace is burning like a torch. Middle of the night like this, raining like it is, no alarm has been raised. The Keeper should be most of the way up the stairs to the Morning Star’s palace. Assuming she hasn’t slipped on the slick wood and tumbled…” He winced, immediately regretting the words.
“I suspect she’s more sure of foot than you give her credit for, Red Wing.” Night Shadow Star narrowed an eye as she shot him a hard look.
“The Tonka’tzi has already made the climb. She’ll be made aware of your sister’s disappearance—and what has happened—as soon as the Keeper can tell her.”
Night Shadow Star’s full lips twitched as if unspoken words lay behind them. Once again, her eyes fixed on the distance, visualizing something beyond the limits of this time and place. “For a lying Red Wing, you have a way of speaking truth.”
“It might have only been wishful thinking that the Keeper had slipped on the stairs.”
“I was referring to what you said in Lace’s room. To hate someone that much, and that violently, you once had to have loved them.”
“Something like that.” He paused. “Who loved the Four Winds that much? Unless you’re Four Winds, most people seem to bear a distinct dislike.”
He saw the barest reflection of pain in the set of her mouth, her gaze growing even more distant.
For long moments he stood there, silent, leaving her to roam the visions and memories in her head.
Finally she took a deep breath, a decision behind her eyes. “I need you to stand watch for me, Red Wing.”
“Stand watch? You think the monster is coming for you next?”
She nodded absently. “If I’m right, he has to. But it won’t be tonight. No, I need to dance with Sister Datura, I need her to help me see.”
“See what?”
“If I am right.”
“About?”
“About who the monster is.” She extended her long legs and stood from the bed, her hair falling over her shoulders like a mantle. “I need you to ensure that no one enters to slit my throat, and to call for Rides-the-Lightning if I lose my way back to my body.”
Standing face-to-face, he gave her a crooked grin. “You’re entrusting your life to me? Talk about a twisted and knotted understanding of the way things are.”
She gave him a conspiratorial smile, one filled with a sad irony only he could comprehend. “Maybe you’ll discover that you’re not the kind of man you think you are, Red Wing. You can cut my throat yourself, knowing when my body’s found he’ll get the blame. It will be easy to vanish into the night never to be heard from again. Maybe you’ll give in to your brutish male needs and rape me while I’m helpless? You’ll have ample opportunity to determine the best way to avenge yourself and redeem Red Wing honor.”