He’d drawn that on her! She wanted to know what each rune meant. To re-create them. “Will that speed up your healing process?”
He nodded. “Necessary because my partner has delayed us.” In a surly tone, he said, “I reacquainted myself with curative combinations—when I treated your broken body. Without a single word of thanks from you.”
He was making her feel like a bitch. To be fair, he’d only wanted to kill Desh to protect her. And he had saved her from Nïx. Because of Rune, they were on the Valkyrie’s trail.
Yet Jo had kind of broken all his stuff. Guilt weighed on her. “Thank you for helping me.”
He wasn’t listening, his attention on her face. “You don’t wear a glamour.”
“Not quite sure what that is.”
“Some creatures use spells to enhance their appearance. I thought the shadows around your eyes and the pale skin were part of your look.”
“They are.”
“Good,” he said. “Good.” Seeming to drag his gaze away, he checked his side. Beneath that symbol, his bruises were fading. “No wonder your tracing felt so peculiar. You made us intangible first.”
“Yep. I can make things I touch turn to air, if I want them to.”
“The ramifications . . .” He was clearly working out all the angles. “Is it easy to possess others?”
“As easy as breathing. I sometimes call it ghosting. I ghost into a shell.”
“How many shells have you ghosted into?” He drew his shirt back on, then slung his bow over his chest.
“Tons. I hang out in them.”
“So I was just another shell today.”
She shrugged. She needed to steal a memento from him. Unfortunately the talisman was out. “Shouldn’t we get a start?”
“This conversation is in no way over. We’ll revisit it later.”
“Just like we’ll discuss how you’re not going to hurt Desh once the day ends.”
Rune pointed his finger at her, opening his mouth as if he was about to lay into her, but then he just scowled.
In the distance, she heard excited voices. A tour group? Their enthusiasm was contagious. “Come on, Rune.” Jo waved at one of the mountains. “Time to climb!”
His irises flickered as he gazed up and up and up. “Can’t wait. . . .”
THIRTY-NINE
Rune’s harried thoughts weren’t enough to keep his mind off the yawning drop beneath his feet.
He and Josephine had navigated carved steps to reach the Plankway in the Sky—a wooden path thousands of feet in the air, affixed to the side of the sheer mountain, one of the steepest on this world.
Strangely, the lift that would’ve saved them hours of ascent was out of order.
Senseless thrill-seeking humans were about, so he and Josephine couldn’t trace to the top. Besides, he couldn’t see where to land, and he’d never been there before.
He sidled along the narrow path, cobbled-together from scrap boards. The plankway had no railing, just a length of chain stretched across the rock face for a handhold. He gripped it with clammy palms. The sun beat down on them, and sweat dripped from his forehead, burning his eyes.
Rune had few true fears; acrophobia, the fear of heights, was one of them.
Ahead, Josephine bounded along, utterly fearless.
Utterly surprising.
Rune’s determination to bed her had only deepened. Her show of strength fueled his desire, but sex would also bind her to him—and therefore to the Møriør.
His mission had expanded: kill Nïx and recruit Josephine. And once Rune did, would the brother follow his sister to their side?
The Møriør could have two hybrids of unimaginable power.
He lost sight of her around a sharp bend. Not far behind him, adrenaline-pumped mortals laughed and yelled to each other.
He transferred his sweating grip from one chain to another. He was seven feet tall; these boards weren’t intended to hold someone of his size.
When Josephine skipped back to him, the planks vibrated just from her scant weight. The rusted bolts attaching wood to stone squeaked.
Perspiration dotted her forehead and misted her thin T-shirt. Tendrils of her shining hair were damp. Sun struck her face, and he marveled anew that she was a day-walker. In the light, she seemed as delicate as gossamer, her pale skin slightly pinkened. She was exhilarated, her eyes appearing even brighter against those seductive shadows.
He was glad she wore no glamour. Her looks were forever unique to her. He could stare at her spectral face for hours.
“Up ahead, the view is sick! You can see miles down.” She’d discovered his discomfort and delighted in giving him grief. “There’re no more planks. It’s just little foot holes carved into the rock. Hmm. Your feet are really big. I wonder if they’ll even fit.”
Josephine could float or ghost or whatever she called it. She could all but fly.
When she casually leaned a shoulder against the rock and crossed her arms over her chest, he wanted to snag her close.
“Why are you afraid? If you fall, you can trace right back here.”
“I’m not afraid. I’m . . . cautious. I’ve told you I didn’t grow up with the ability to teleport. My cautiousness developed during my childhood.”
“But you can trace now.”
He knew that. Yet phobias weren’t rational. “This is not my natural element.” He’d been born and raised to labor in the fens, assassinate Magh’s enemies, and fuck her political targets. He was never supposed to climb mountains.
“Your natural element seems to be on top of nymphs. Starting to realize how limiting that is?” She gave him an exaggerated frown.