a rough sigh, Harrison shook his head. “We need a plan B, and fast.”
“What about the fire ring?” Jack asked his wife. The firefighters were setting it up, even now. “Does it help at all?”
“I didn’t see any fire.”
Jack frowned, his gaze returning to Harrison’s. “What does that mean?”
“They have to be coming through early.”
Alarm flashed in the cop’s eyes. “I agree. They could be coming through any minute. And we’re going to need additional protection against the arrows.” He kissed his wife on the cheek, already springing into motion. “I can get us some helmets. And we’ll circle vehicles around the park to act as shields.” His voice floated back as he took off toward the police captain.
Harrison squeezed Larsen’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She met his gaze with traumatized eyes. “It never gets any easier.”
Hatred clawed at his insides. “We’re going to stop them, Larsen. I swear it.” His gut clenched. “You didn’t…?” He couldn’t finish.
“I didn’t see Charlie. I think I would have, Harrison. I think I’d know if he’d died. He told you he’d return with a fairy princess on his arm, didn’t he? We have to believe he will. Princess Ilaria is our only hope.”
For the hundredth time, he thought of that painting some nineteenth-century Sitheen had painted of a woman he’d never known, a woman Kade later confirmed was Princess Ilaria. That pale, pale skin and hair. Those bright green eyes. If she weren’t Esri, he might have thought her beautiful.
She was their only hope. An Esri was their only hope, and what did that say about their chances of success?
That they were next to zero, that’s what. His fingers curled into fists inside his pockets.
Even if the Sitheen resistance survived the night’s battle, they were in deep trouble.
He reached once more for his cell phone.
If only Charlie would call.
Princess Ilaria stood in the dark field beneath a sky filled with a million stars, and saw nothing but the fire branded onto the backs of her eyelids and seared into her brain. Memories, just memories, but she shook just the same. The flames circling her, creeping up her gown, crawling over her fingers and hands, burning the flesh from her bones. Not real memories, for the fire had never been real, only visions the Forest of Nightmares had created for her, had brutalized her with. Visions that bombarded her mind, still, although she was finally free of that miserable place.
The icy wind tore at her gown, snowflakes stinging her face and hands even as perspiration rolled between her shoulder blades. With a violent shudder, she fought the clawing memories, pushing them back, trying to grasp the fact that after three hundred years, she was finally free of the prison King Rith had consigned her to. A place she’d feared she’d never leave.
Long, curly hair blew into her face, yet she could do nothing but turn her head to escape the blowing locks. Her shaking hands were still tied firmly behind her back. She willed her heart to cease its terrible pounding. There was no fire here. Not yet, though she knew the human realm to be filled with it. Humans used fire for everything—safety from wild animals, heat to keep warm, a means to cook their food. She’d learned to endure its presence when she’d lived here millennia ago. But that was before the Forest of Nightmares.
Another shudder tore through her. At this moment, there was no fire. Nothing at all but the two people who’d come through the gate from Esria with her. The pair who’d captured her. Freed her. A human male and the female slave he’d nearly traded Ilaria for.
Only minutes ago, the human had carried Ilaria from the clearing in which she’d lived with her guards for three centuries, into that vile forest, then through the newly opened gate to the human realm. A gate she herself had long ago sealed.
If the gate hadn’t been located so close to the prison, she’d never have made it. She was certain her mind would never survive the journey through the nightmares for any length of time again.
It had taken her years to recover the first time.
She glanced at the pair kissing passionately only a few yards away. The slave, a Marceillian priestess, was still dressed in the lavender ceremonial gown that must have once belonged to her ancestors. The Marceils, the slave race of Esria, resembled the humans with their dark hair and tanned skin, though the Marceils were quite a bit shorter. This one had somehow become un-enslaved until one of Ilaria’s guards caught her, shearing her hair from her head and stealing the power she’d raised against them.
The human had surprised them all, refusing to leave the little slave behind.
Interesting, but of little import. Of far more importance was that at last she was free to pursue revenge and retribution against the one who’d imprisoned her, the one who’d ordered her mother’s death then set himself upon the throne in the queen’s place. The vile, dangerous Caller, King Rith—the only man in Esria capable of calling the dark power for which the stones of Orisis had been created, and enslaving not only the human realm, but Esria as well.
Never had she known a more dangerous man. If only her mother had seen the truth behind that smile. If only the queen had heeded Ilaria’s warning. She lifted her chilled face, her gaze turning to the vastness of the human heavens and the million points of light. Fifteen hundred years had passed since she’d lifted her arms to the human sky and called down the magic to seal eleven of the twelve gates between the worlds, leaving behind not only the six evil green stones of Orisis, but also the blue draggon stone, the source of much of the queen’s power and the key that opened all the gates. Unable to seal them all, she’d obscured that final gate, one deep in the Banished Lands, hoping no Esri would ever find it. For fifteen centuries, none had until the Esri, Baleris, found his way through. A few months later, the draggon stone passed through the gate, only for a few minutes, but it was enough. The draggon stone was the key that unlocked all the gates. Now all twelve were open and she had no doubt King Rith had sent men to search for the stones.
Stopping him would be difficult, if not impossible, for she’d left the stones with a human. Now, fifteen centuries later, they could be anywhere in this vast world. She had to get her hands on them before Rith did if she wanted any chance of thwarting him. Which meant she must escape her captors.
Ilaria glanced again at the couple. The kissing had ended, but they remained huddled together, soft words catching on the chill breeze. Words of love and commitment. She ought to be surprised, perhaps, that a human would fall so completely for a Marceil. Humans tended to fear anything or anyone different than themselves.
Then again, she’d taken the measure of this particular slave and found her to be a woman of uncommon courage. The man clearly recognized that. Perhaps he was without the fears and prejudices of so many of his race. Perhaps, in fifteen centuries, the humans had changed.
Regardless, the pair were wasting time.
“Why did you capture me?” Ilaria asked loudly.
The male looked up, tucking the Marceil against his side. “We rescued you, Princess.” With a soft oath, he reached beneath his tunic and withdrew a…She didn’t have a word for it. Though language came to her automatically, she needed to touch a human, a non-Sitheen,
