A House of Cloaks & Daggers (The Gift War #1)

10. The Forest of Eyes and Ears

Chapter ten

The Forest of Eyes and Ears

“ W elcome to the Court of Light.”

“This is an empty field.”

Wren’s nostrils flared. “No,” he tried again, voice straining. “This is the Court of Light.”

Fine . I crossed my arms over my chest and stamped my feet into the solid dirt. The Court of Light is an empty field, then.

It turned out that the glass wall I’d seen was not actually that at all, but rather a permanent portal into the realm of the faeries that was situated along the border of the Court of Light. According to Wren, there was an identical portal in every Faerie Court leading into some part of the mortal world, and they only existed to those who knew they existed.

When I had questioned him on how exactly I was supposed to believe that my family was safe with a ginormous portal only a few hours away from them, Wren explained that the Malum tended to create their own. Tiny rips in the world, he’d said, instead of the real thing.

He then suggested that I think of the glass wall as more of a gateway and refrain from using the term portal unless I was referring to illegal activity.

The real things—the gateways—were controlled by the High King of Faerie, Wren had elaborated when I hadn’t moved, and they were protected by runes, spells, and other enchantments far too complicated for my poor half-human brain to comprehend. The High King had to approve all inter-realm travel requests, and he was alerted every time someone ignored the rules and syphoned some of the gateway’s power to create a rip elsewhere.

I still hadn’t moved any closer to it.

Wren continued, blabbering that the Malum created a portal in Dante’s Bookstore through which the caenim had crossed, and John took it all in his stride because he had snuck over into Faerie through a similar rip when he was a boy. And if John could do it, Wren concluded unpleasantly without giving me a moment’s pause for breath, then I could stop standing there looking like a lochgrub and do it too.

Quite unceremoniously, he then proceeded to snatch my wrist, use it to pull me in front of him and, with both hands on my shoulders, the bastard practically threw me into the wall.

Through the wall.

It was like passing through a body of water with my eyes closed, though it happened so fast that I hadn’t had time to shut them, and I came out on the other side in the middle of what was quite literally an empty field. Lilac-coloured wheat stalks with translucent azure spikes extended as far as my eyes could see to the dark and distant horizon ahead, following the much lighter stretch of skyline in every other direction.

The glassy, wall-esque gateway reappeared behind me, rippling like the exhaust of a vehicle. And above…

“What is that?”

Wren followed my upturned gaze to the star-filled sky, glittering mutely like someone had dusted crushed diamonds over the spaces normally filled by clouds in the human world. Ether tinted a nebulous shade of rainbow all the way through the spectrum from violet to green to red, the crystalline haze directly above us rippled and shimmered, diffracting in waves like an ocean of colour.

“Should you have your hearing abilities checked alongside your IQ? I told you, we’re in the Court of Light.” Wren’s golden eyes, dimming down to a pale shade of lemon, rolled halfway back into his head as he threw a hand up towards the atmosphere. “What do you think it is?”

Light .

The sky was made of light.

Not illuminated by it, and not reflective of it.

Made of it.

I swallowed my pride. “I guess I was expecting more,” I lied with a shrug, and took my first step deeper into Faerie.

Wren’s eyes flared with an emotion that almost looked akin to hurt or disappointment, but then he blinked, and it was gone. “We’re on the boundary line. We have a long journey ahead of us before we’re back in any form of civilisation. Normally, I’d evanesce, but—”

“Evanesce?”

He smacked his lips together. “You know,” he began, holding his hand up, palm facing outwards. “Make like the breeze and sort of—”

With a swipe of his hand through the air, Wren vanished.

My eyes barely managed to catch his movements from one place to the next. He was standing a few feet away from me at first, completely real and physical, and then he was a fluid blur of dark clothes and sunbeams, finally reappearing in his full physical form before me, his face dangerously close to mine. I could taste the sweetness of his breath as it coasted over my lips.

He grinned, but then had the nerve to look annoyed that it hadn’t spooked me.

I held my ground, though part of me wanted to collapse.

Wren had teleported like catching a ride on an invisible wind. As he conceded and took a step back, I noticed that his light hair was wind-tousled, and his shirt was pressed against his body, the fabric hugging the curves of his athletic chest like he’d come out of a vacuum seal.

He followed my downward gaze and tugged the fabric loose, smirking.

At a loss for words, I simply nodded to convey my understanding that I could not do what he had done.

Evanesce.

Magic .

And so, we walked.

The pastel grasses parted, laying out an extensive pathway through the field for us. Wren kept his strides shorter to account for my bumbling human legs, but as we walked, the long grass lining the trail on either side tinkling softly like wind-chimes as they swayed, I found that it was easier to keep up.

It was as if gravity held less authority there.

Our silence was tense, and I highly doubted that it was due to the drawn-out physical exertion that my presence demanded of Wren. His legs were long and powerful, and he barely drew breath to spur himself on.

I, on the other hand, was panting by the time the darkness on the horizon finally took shape. My mouth was dry, and my skin was hot beneath its surface, though I could scarcely remember the cure for that as a vast, dense forest grew into the sky before us.

The trees were enormous—tall as skyscrapers, wide as houses. Their trunks were varying shades of black and brown, shale and grey. Some were smooth, others ossified with bark and calluses, and they all drooped with tangles of branchless leaves that looked similar to the fronds of weeping willows.

Close together, the trees left very little space between them. The small gaps glowed with a subdued viridity, more like a cavity than a trail leading into the forest.

The sound of the grasses clinking together faded as we approached, and a thick quiet fell around me like a silent hush of comfort.

“First hurdle,” Wren said, his voice tight. “Get through this.” He turned to give me a loaded glare. “Don’t say too much, don’t think too much—which shouldn’t be hard for you—and don’t let too much show on your face.”

My eyebrows raised as high as my forehead would allow them to go. “Excuse me?”

He rubbed his temple. “I call this the Forest of Eyes and Ears. It knows things about its travellers, and the last thing I need right now is for us to get separated or sent around in endless circles because it thinks you’re trying to find your way home.”

“I’m not,” I blurted, only half-convinced. I looked at the ground, my black boots coated in a scintillating sheen of gold, and then back to the forest. “It won’t.”

“Good.” Wren stepped over to me and curled his hand around my wrist. His touch was blooming with carnal magic, familiar and soothing, but I eyed him warily. Loosening his grip until his fingers were no longer overlapping, he slid my hand through his and left a solid bracelet of gold around my arm.

I swore at him as my eyes followed the chain attached to the manacle, all the way to his hands, where he was holding a similar circlet of gold and fastening it around his own wrist.

He held his hand up when he was done, jiggling the chain in midair, and gave me a roguish grin. “Humans can lie,” he stated with a one-shouldered shrug, as if it was any sort of excuse or explanation.

While delicately crafted, the gold bracelets and chain were unmistakably a replica of handcuffs, and fury simmered in my blood as the High Fae brute sauntered off towards the forest, towing me behind him like some sort of prized cow on a leash.

“This is not necessary,” I spat at his back.

Wren’s only reply was to shush me harshly.

My mortality—and mundaneness—weighed on me heavily as he tugged me along. It occurred to me that I was likely to die in Faerie, half-blood or not, because I could not match the effortless power he displayed. And if Wren’s power trivialised me so completely, what would the power of the High King of Faerie do to me?

Inching through a narrow passageway of wood barely wide enough for the broad-shouldered High Fae bastard to fit, the forest began to feel like a maze. The expanse of trees was so wide. I shuddered as I considered its potential depth, beating away the encroaching claustrophobia. I kept my breathing as even as I could while sucking in quiet gasps of air, too afraid that the wood might shift around us and pulverise me if I dared to speak or show my concern.

Wren vanished around a sharp corner, the shining gold chain grinding against the wood, and I followed him a moment later to find that where the maze ended, the true forest began.

In the midst of the thicket, the gaps between tree trunks left room for me to breathe. Dim sea-green light floated between the shadows of the brushwood and canopy, so thick and vibrant that the air almost appeared to have substance. The pathway straight ahead was clear, though obstructed by small mounds and hills, like solid waves rising from an earthen ocean.

Wren didn’t give me much time to survey the foliage before he pressed on, the chain between our wrists going taut. My footsteps were silent on the mossy ground, the sound of my heartbeat quietening as we ventured deeper into the forest. He did not look back or slow his pace, nor did he offer any leniency for the handcuffs linking us, keeping his arm firmly at his side while mine was pulled ahead of the rest of my body.

As we approached the first slope, I felt a mixture of dread and relief wash over me.

Dread because it was not a hill but a massive, unearthed root as tall as Wren and almost as steep as a wall. And relief because I knew there was no way we could climb it while our wrists were still linked.

Wren seemed to realise this too and came to a stop at the base of the gnarled tree root. I waited for him to magic away the handcuffs, trying to conceal my smile. However, when he turned to face me, his eyes were smouldering a mischievous shade of gold, and he put the pointer finger of his free hand to his lips.

And then he snatched me and hauled me over his shoulder.

Pinning my arm to my side with the rigid chain, his elbows locked around my knees as he crouched down and jumped.

He was jumping.

Over the root that was at least twice his size.

My stomach somersaulted as the world tipped upside-down. Warm air kissed the nape of my neck, threading through my hair and pulling it across my open mouth, and the firm ground became a depthless shadow beneath us. I pressed my face into the curve of Wren’s shoulder blade to hide my expression and hold in my scream, and I felt the muscles in his back ripple in response.

He landed gracefully on the other side, lowering me to my feet with equal ease. I swayed, and he clamped his fist around the chain, jerking me back into place without so much as a cautionary glance. I might have slapped him again had my dominant hand not been cuffed.

While I contemplated the act of violence in the minute that he allowed for us both to catch our breath, I noticed tiny little lights beginning to flicker within the underbrush and shadows on the tree trunks in sets of two.

The Eyes of the Forest .

They had no visible lids, nor pupils or irises, but somehow, they still displayed emotion—curiosity. They peered at us as if they didn’t realise that I could see them, too.

Busybodies.

I read the thought all over Wren’s face as he turned.

Abandoning my plans to assault him, I yanked on the chain in silent command and continued to trek towards the next obstacle in our course. Wren fell into step beside me this time, keenly aware that we had company—and probably quite proud that his stunt had attracted so much attention.

Well, I would not have it.

At the next wooden boulder, I came to an abrupt halt and whirled on him with an expression of the most determination and grit that I could muster.

I yanked on the handcuffs. Take them off.

He stared back at me impassively. No.

Take. Them. Off.

A slow, sensual blink. I. Said. No.

Fine!

I shrugged, casting my eyes around the shadowed Forest, and spoke to its watchful presence in my mind. I no longer wish to travel with him.

As if Wren had heard my thought too, his eyes flared with ire, and he moved to grab me—but the Forest moved faster.

In the blink of an eye, a tiny sapling rose from the soil between us, the sharp edges of its leaves glinting like steel, and sprouted open like a Venus flytrap. The gold chain links groaned and then broke apart as the sapling chomped down on them and burrowed back into the ground as soon as the chain swung free. The manacle fell to the ground with a soft thump.

My skin grew hot within the bracelet’s imprint as if someone was tracing a circle around my forearm with a fire poker. It was intense, yet not enough to cause pain. I didn’t even care that it left a tiny, scar-like indentation around my arm that glimmered faintly in the low light.

Smiling broadly, I brushed my hands together and glanced at Wren to see if his handcuff had been destroyed as well. It happened so fast; I almost didn’t spot the snakelike vine shooting down at him from the canopy until it was too late.

He sidestepped, swearing viciously as the vine hurled down like an arrow from the sky. Light flared on each of his palms even as he reached for the dagger sheathed at his side, and I could have sworn the entire Forest began to hiss at him in response.

Twirling the blade in his hand, Wren assumed a defensive stance as the vine adjusted its course and speared towards him again. He feinted left, then pirouetted to the right, bringing the blade down in a sharp swing and slicing off a chunk of the vine as it swooped past him.

The vine sagged on the floor as if it was feeling the pain of its wound, but then it was barrelling towards him like a rolling log, aiming to knock his feet out from under him. Wren jumped into the air, tucking his feet and somersaulting right before the vine pulled upwards, and landed with perfect, although entirely melodramatic, form beside me. He tossed the dagger into the air and caught it by the hilt like it was nothing.

“Take it back.” His smile was cheerful, but his voice was a low snarl. “Now.”

“Promise to forgo the handcuffs,” I bartered.

The Forest came after him again, a new vine shooting out from the underbrush and torpedoing between us. It wrapped itself around his legs like a constrictor, though he yelled and slashed it in half before it was done.

“Fine,” he agreed, exasperated. He kicked his legs free while a rock came hurtling out of the shadows, barely missing his head as he ducked. Pupils dilating, he raised his brows at me and shook his head. “No handcuffs.” He pointed at me with the dagger and looked me square in the eye. “You’re no fun.”

Another sapling shot up from the ground and knocked the dagger from his grip. He managed to catch it with his other hand, and then proceeded to stamp his boots down on the sapling like he was putting out a fire.

Holding back a snicker, I tried to give the Forest a grateful look. Thank you, but I’m okay now.

A vine came slithering up behind me, and Wren brandished his dagger again, halting only when I put my hand up to stop him.

“Wait.”

His face creased with annoyance, but he obeyed, holding the blade above his shoulder, poised to plunge into the vine.

It ignored him and his offensive posture, sliding in between us before it rose up in front of me like a snake. There were no visible eyes or ears this time, but I was consumed by the feeling of being studied as its thorny end hovered at eye level in front of my face.

After a moment, it lowered itself back down to the ground and gently nudged my heel.

Somehow, I understood exactly what it was saying.

Wren, however, looked to me for permission to stab it. I shook my head and gestured towards the path onwards. The veins in his neck protruded, and he gave me a beseeching look that almost had me laughing at him out loud.

Instead, I simply started walking again.

And, as I knew it would, the vine followed me. Escorting me in case I changed my mind again.

It did so for the entire journey out of the Forest of Eyes and Ears, much to Wren’s discomfort when he finally decided to stop pouting and caught up to my side. He was clearly bothered, which I considered an added bonus of my botanic chaperone.

When we at last made it to the edge, I turned around and stroked the vine in thanks. It leaned into the touch like a dog, and Wren’s disgusted expression almost made me laugh again.

I didn’t, though.

But I did smile.

Because for a moment—for the blink of two starry eyes—I felt the ever-present tension that had claimed ownership of my soul long ago slacken.

I forgot.

And when I remembered…

I was not so afraid.