Captive (29 page)

SARAH WATCHED AS
a pair of eagles spiraled through the sky outside her window. She shivered, the sight
of them reminding her of the Morrígna��it was a memory that would always frighten
her, no matter how well the night had ended.

When there was a knock at her door, Sarah turned from the window.

“Come in.”

The door opened to reveal Micah. Sarah felt her stomach drop. The Arrow had already
visited her once that day, and Sarah didn’t feel prepared to hear more about how her
life wasn’t her own but instead was tied to some prophecy that the first Searcher
had died to create. It was all too much. And all Sarah wanted was—

“Tristan!”

Micah had stepped back to let Tristan enter the room.

Sarah ran to him.

He pulled her close, one arm around her back, binding her to him, his other hand buried
in her hair.

She heard Micah say, “I’ll leave you, then.”

Neither she nor Tristan responded.

They held each other for Sarah didn’t know how long. It could have been minutes or
an hour. All she knew was his warmth, his scent, his touch.

At last Tristan loosened his hold, but only enough so that Sarah could tip her head
up and meet his kiss. His taste was so familiar, and at the same time stirred her
blood as if it were something utterly new and exhilarating. His hands roamed over
Sarah’s body, reacquainting himself with the lines and curves of her form.

When their kiss broke, Sarah said, “I’ve missed you. Oh God, Tristan. I don’t have
words.”

“I know.” He kissed her forehead. “I was going crazy without you.”

Looking into his eyes, Sarah found love, but something new as well. She didn’t have
to ask what it was.

“They told you.”

He nodded.

“I’m so sorry,” Sarah said, pulling her gaze from his.

“Why?” Tristan put his finger under her chin, tilting her face up to look at him.
“What do you have to apologize for?”

She reached up to touch his face, tracing the shape of his cheekbones and jaw. “You
escaped. You’re no longer trapped on that island. I wanted you to see the world the
way you said you wanted to. But I’ve just led you to another prison.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?” Sarah’s throat tightened and she felt her eyes begin to burn with the
promise of tears. “The prophecy, Tristan, it means we can’t stay here. They want to
send us into hiding. We’ll always be guarded. We won’t be part of the world.”

“Sarah.” Tristan kissed the single tear that slid along her cheek. “I always knew
that I wouldn’t be part of the world. Not really. That was never an option. Bosque
knows who I am. Prophecy or not, he’ll be looking for me.”

Unconvinced, Sarah shook her head. “But I wanted to give you choices. To give you
freedom. And instead people you’ve just met are telling you that you’re fated to be
with me . . . to be the—”

Sarah couldn’t finish her thought. It still overwhelmed her as much as she assumed
it must intimidate Tristan.

“The father of the Scion?” He smiled at her. “The father of our child?”

She nodded, her pulse roaring in her ears. Simply finding Tristan, falling in love
with him, fleeing the island—it had all been so much already. And now this.

“Is that idea so unappealing?” Tristan asked, seeing her furrowed brow.

“It’s not that,” Sarah told him. “I just don’t know how to accept it. This isn’t what
I meant for us. I feel like I’ve trapped you.”

“I left Castle Tierney to be with you.” Tristan kissed her softly. “Not to see the
world. It was for you. As long as I’m with you, I am free. It will never feel like
a prison.”

“But the prophecy, our future,” Sarah said. “You’re not afraid of what it all means?”

“We won’t know what it means until it actually happens.” Tristan smiled. “But if there’s
a prophecy that says our child might someday end this war, I’d like to look at it
from the best perspective possible.”

“And what’s that?” Sarah asked, eyeing his increasingly mischievous smile with suspicion.

“The way I see it, this prophecy means we have our work cut out for us.” Tristan took
her hand and led her to the bedside. “And I don’t think I mind that at all.”

Sarah let Tristan push her down onto the bed. He slid her arms around his neck, parting
her lips as he kissed her. Letting her eyes close and sensation overwhelm her, Sarah’s
anxieties were swept aside by a wave of longing.

“I love you, Sarah,” Tristan murmured against her skin. “Whatever happens, whoever
we’re meant to be, that’s all I need you to believe and know. I will always love you.
You are my fate.”

Tristan’s lips moved along her neck and Sarah’s blood began to sing.

If this is my fate, I’ll take it.

The Forbidden Side of Nightshade is a new expedition whose course was charted with
skill and enthusiasm by an incredible group of people. I will be forever grateful
to Michael Green, who built a bridge from PYRG to Dutton; and for Brian Tart, who
was waiting to welcome me on the other side. This series is a work of cooperation,
with thanks owed to a roomful of people who were willing to make it happen, particularly
Don Weisberg and Jen Loja. Thanks to Richard Pine and Charlie Olsen, who always hammer
out the details. And to Lyndsey Blessing, who takes my novels on global excursions.

My editor, Jessica Renheim, has provided keen insights and unflagging encouragement
throughout the writing of this novel. The entire Dutton team brought enthusiasm and
incredible support to this new project, and I am thrilled to be part of the Dutton
family.

Friends and family continue to help me with each new quest. Thanks to Casey Jarrin
for always believing in me. Jill Santopolo’s care keeps me hopeful and sane. David
Levithan brings music and joy that energize my stories. I benefit immensely from the
company of writers whom I am honored to call friends: Sandy London, Eliot Schrefer,
Beth Revis, Marie Lu, Jessica Spotswood, Michelle Hodkin, Elizabeth Eulberg, Kirsten
White, Stephanie Perkins, Brenna Yovanoff, Marie Rutkowski, Ally Condie, and so many
others whose talent is a constant inspiration. Thanks to my parents for unconditional
love. Thanks to Garth and Sharon Liu Robertson, whose love let me believe again. And
finally, thank you to all the feisty women in my life who’ve led by example and proven
that love does not mean surrender.

A. D. Robertson
is a
New York Times
and internationally bestselling author. Prior to becoming a full-time novelist, Robertson
was a professor of early modern history at Macalester College, a background that informs
her books’ compelling blend of mythology, history, and lore. She grew up in northern
Wisconsin and now lives in New York City.