“Don’t you see?” she said, gripping him by the arms. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“Screwup,” came another hiss.
“Waste.”
“Ignore them,” Isobel urged. “Tune them out. Focus on me. On what I know you know in here.” She pressed a hand against his chest—his heart.
“I can’t fight them.” He shook his head without looking at her. “And I can’t send them away with a thought. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“You don’t have to fight,” Isobel said. “Not when they only have as much power as you give them. These things answer to you. To your deepest thoughts. Your unconscious desires. Please, say you understand.”
“I’m afraid I do,” she heard him mutter, his eyes at last shifting to hers.
“I need you,” Isobel said through gritted teeth. “She is losing and she knows it. Why else would she send them?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Trouble letting go?”
“Hey.” She gave him a stiff shake. “You are mine. So don’t you dare let her win. Do you hear me?”
“If anything will help,” he said with a sad smile, touching her cheek, her scar, “that might.”
Panic clenched a cold fist around Isobel’s heart. She started to speak again, to remind him once more how much she loved him. But she didn’t get the chance.
The Nocs converged on him.
Cut off and thrown back, Isobel plowed into Gwen, who caught her and held her tightly.
“Varen!” Isobel screeched, struggling to free herself as the Nocs tore into their prey.
39
Redoubled
Though Isobel continued to fight against Gwen, her actions grew weaker with every passing second, enabling Gwen to pull her away from the carnage that, by this time, had already accomplished the worst.
Dying as quickly as it had begun, the chaos of noise and movement, of shrieking and slashing, subsided to nothing.
Stillness took the place of the mayhem and, not daring to breathe or blink, Isobel ceased her struggles.
Gwen’s grip on her eased. They both remained in place, staring into the clouds of white that had risen thick enough to hide the onslaught—and now, its outcome.
The curtain of soot thinned. Hours seemed to pass while Isobel scanned the haze, searching for something—anything—to make sense of.
She stiffened when, from nowhere, more dark forms emerged in her periphery.
Reluctantly Isobel broke her gaze from the dissipating fog, her eyes catching those of the towering figure who now stood beside her.
Confused by his sudden presence, Isobel frowned, trying to place the stranger’s sallow face, his rigid features. She’d seen him before, she thought dimly. He’d seen her, too.
In the Gothic cathedral of Varen’s palace.
This man had been one of the two shrouded figures standing in the shadows, whispering about her. The man who had removed his hood. One of the Lost Souls?
“Isobel, who are these people?” Gwen asked.
Tearing her gaze from the man’s black stare, Isobel glanced all around to see that the forest now held as many shrouded forms as it did trees.
Robed and hooded, grim-faced and onyx-eyed, each held a weapon at the ready, their assortment of arms ranging from swords to axes to spiked clubs, maces, and even scythes.