“Two-thirds of a bottle.”
“I don’t suppose you could . . . just a sip?”
“A time stoppage is a major spell,” I told him. “I’m usually wiped for as much as a day after. And that’s assuming I start from somewhere good, not already bottomed out. Getting me back to the point that I could do anything would probably take as much extra stamina as shifting us here.”
“Meaning we’d have only a third left.”
“And considering how wildly successful we’ve been so far—”
“We’ll trust the net,” Rosier said sourly.
We just sat there after that, staring at the rain, waiting. I didn’t know what Rosier was thinking, but I wasn’t contemplating the view. I didn’t know what threshold of power use Gertie needed to home in on us, but it didn’t really matter. Whatever it was, I’d just blown the hell out of it.
She was going to be on top of us in—well, probably seconds after we landed. Maybe a minute or two if I was lucky. Which meant I needed a plan—and a good one—already in place before that happened.
But how was I supposed to get one here, suspended in the air, like a damn bird in a cage? I needed information. I needed the lay of the land. I needed alternatives—
And suddenly, I had them, a cascade of five—no, six—different options falling in front of my eyes, like a spliced-together video on fast forward.
“Slow down!” I said, because I was a little freaked out, and because I could barely see anything.
“What?” Rosier asked.
“Nothing.” Because they’d listened. Or my power had, because this looked like the series of images I’d seen in my head the first time I tried to shift. But instead of a fall of centuries, I was looking at one made of minutes that had now slowed to a crawl.
And which, with a little concentration, I managed to rewind back to the beginning.
The first sequence showed a group of women sneaking through tall grass. Staying low, staying in the shadow of a cliff, staying almost invisible. Until they were forced out into the open in order to approach our web-encased cart, which did appear to have survived the fall. It was still intact, anyway, and framed by two screaming horses and a white-faced slaver, who was floundering around in the web and screaming, too.
Something that only increased when he spied the women. He began babbling almost incoherently, and then pleading, and then screaming again. All of which was abruptly cut off by an arrow through his throat.
The man fell back, caught by the web, until the women did something that made it dissolve. The wagon fell another story or so, a final jolt that had screams coming from inside again. While the web became a heavy fog that billowed up on all sides, spreading out over the valley, helping to hide us.
But not well enough.
The women ran forward, some killing the horses, to shut them up, I assumed. Others grabbing the merchant, checking him for a key he didn’t have. Several others jerked on the door, found it open, pushed their way inside. And began to reassure the traumatized slaves.
Which might have worked better if not for the deluge of arrows suddenly coming our way.
I watched as if from a distance as the women outside the cage were skewered, dead before they fell, while the ones inside cursed and started slinging spells. The fog dissipated to show an advancing party of fey, dozens strong, emerging from behind what looked like every damn tree. And then—
I looked away, switching abruptly to the next scenario, trying to ignore the blood-soaked carnage that flipped quickly past my gaze.
But the next one wasn’t any better. I saw myself, Rosier in my arms, running for the tree line as soon as we stopped bouncing in the net. Saw me get maybe a quarter of a mile before being nabbed by a large party of men. Saw me back at their camp, tied up beside a fire, while a circle of them gambled with some dice. Saw one win, heard him shout, felt him grab me—
And then I was fast-forwarding again, past scenes of my shift being ripped in two, of my naked body splashed with firelight, of me being forced to my hands and knees while the victor came up behind me—
I looked away, only to come back to a different group, this one with a pack of dogs, chasing me through the trees.
And then another, grabbing me as I splashed across a river, in the last direction possible from this starting point.
And, finally, of me staying put while the battle raged outside the cage, while blood dripped off the roofline in front of my eyes, while a fey ducked inside, eyes cold and assessing, and while a woman beside me with a bone sticking out of her leg was put down like a dog. I screamed, and someone grabbed me, holding me down as I twisted and fought. And broke away, panting and sniveling, my nose running, my eyes wild—
And finally managed to focus on Rosier, his own eyes huge and worried, watching me from across the still-suspended cage.
“Are . . . are you all right?”
I swallowed, staring around. At the glittering curtains of rain. At the floating bodies of the women, still caught in free fall. And at the path I’d just carved through them, scrambling to get away from things that hadn’t happened yet.