Chapter 18 Mav
MAV
Hooves squelched in the mud, birds chattered overhead, and every so often a breeze would rustle the leaves. Quinn rode ahead, her cloak trailing a comet’s tail behind her. I let my horse lag, partly for the quiet. Mostly because every jolt of the saddle tugged at the wound in my side.
The forest quieted.
Not a peaceful, sun-dappled hush. No, this was a barbed, threatening silence.
I reined in my horse, senses tingling, that old, familiar itch crawling up my spine—the one that always came right before something went wrong. My hand hovered near the hilt of my sword. Quinn turned in her saddle, glancing back at me with her brows furrowed.
Something on the edge of the trail caught my eye. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light—a darker patch of shadow between the trees.
Then it moved.
A creature burst from the underbrush in a blur of fur and fang, snarling and frothing.
Black fur bristled in thick, ragged clumps, framing a body too massive to be wholly wolf and too lean to be wholly bear.
Finger-length claws gouged the earth with every step.
Its maw gaped wide, jagged teeth flashing, a low snarl rattling through its chest that was less animal and more nightmare.
It lunged for Quinn’s horse, Clove.
The beast struck with a wet, splintering crack. Clove reared, screaming, his hooves thrashing wildly as he bolted backward. Quinn pitched from the saddle, skirts twisting as she hit the ground hard. Her body crumpled in a way that made my heart stop cold.
“Quinn!”
I drove my heels into my horse’s flanks, ignoring the fresh flare of pain in my side as I pushed him faster.
When I drew close enough, I leaped—boots slamming against the earth as I ripped my sword free mid-air.
White-hot agony shot through my ribs the moment I landed, sharp enough to steal my breath—but I didn’t stop.
Couldn’t. Not with Quinn on the ground and that thing still breathing.
The monster turned on me, its black, oil-slick eyes gleaming, blood already painting its teeth.
“Come on then,” I growled, lifting my blade.
It charged. I ducked beneath its snapping jaws, slicing upward into its flank. The beast shrieked.
Branrir barreled in from the right, his sword arcing in a brutal swing that shattered the beast’s hind leg. “It’s a Morhound!” he bellowed.
“It needs to be more dead!” Vesper yelled as he scrambled up a tree to safety.
Thistle darted in from the other side, oversized thorns slashing into the beast’s side.
It raked claws across Branrir’s chestplate and snapped at Thistle, tearing through the hem of her cloak. I dove back in, driving my blade deep into its shoulder. The creature howled, staggered, and whirled—lunging straight for Quinn.
Throwing my full weight into the beast’s side, I slammed it off course as Branrir roared and brought his sword down in a bone-cracking blow that detached its skull from its spine. The creature collapsed in a wet heap, steam curling from its open jaws.
I dropped to my knees beside her. “Quinn—” My voice cracked as I reached for her. “Are you hurt?”
She pushed herself halfway upright, dazed. Her hair was tangled with leaves, blood staining her arm, but she appeared unharmed.
“I am fine—” She winced. “The fall knocked the wind from me.”
A tide of relief slammed into me. I pressed a hand gently to the small of her back, grounding her. Grounding myself. And to my stunned, unguarded delight—she leaned into me.
Quinn settled against my chest, then startled upright. She gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. I followed her gaze.
Clove lay on his side, chest heaving in shallow, frantic jerks, blood pouring from a wound behind his foreleg. The horse’s hind legs kicked weakly, hooves scraping against the damp earth.
“Oh no,” Quinn whispered. Her voice cracked as she crawled toward Clove, throat tight. “I am so sorry. I am so desperately sorry.”
I started forward, but Branrir caught my arm, shaking his head. “Let her.”
Though I had no idea what the man meant, I listened.
Quinn knelt beside the horse, resting one trembling hand between Clove’s dark eyes. Her other lifted, her palm open to the sky. She took a deep inhale. The air was charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
She was summoning her magic.
Twilight.
It was…breathtaking.
Silver light shimmered over her skin, as if moonlight shone from within her. From her palms, veils of color unfurled—greens and violets and rose-gold hues, rippling and shifting like the aurora across a winter sky.
Clove stilled. His shudders slowed. Breathing eased. His glassy eyes fluttered closed—not in terror, but in quiet peace. And then, finally, the horse fell into a deep and final sleep. Painless. Gentle. The kind we all hope for.
The magic faded slowly, retreating into her like the tide. Quinn sagged forward, resting her brow against the Clove’s neck, her breath hitching once.
I’d lost all ability to speak. I’d seen temples gilded in gold, Saints memorialized in glass, hurricanes of Hearth flame, and fields harvested the same day as planting at the bidding of a Hedge.
None of it prepared me for this.
For her.
And I was helplessly, thoroughly undone.
The forest returned to stillness. Quinn moved away from Clove’s unmoving body and sat propped against a tree. She drew her knees to her chest, hairline damp with sweat. She didn’t speak as Thistle crouched beside her and dabbed at the gash along her arm with a clean cloth.
“Head looks fine,” Thistle said, brushing aside a few stubborn strands to inspect the bump above Quinn’s temple. “You’ll be sore. But you’ll live.”
“Good,” I muttered, too low for anyone but her to hear.
Quinn glanced at me, a faint huff escaping her nose, as if even that small sound cost too much energy. Breathless, she said, “I need a moment to gather my strength, and then I shall walk.”
The moment the words left her mouth, something in me lurched. “No,” I said immediately. Too loud. Too fast.
Her brows lifted along with everyone else’s.
“I meant…” I cleared my throat and returned my sword to its scabbard. “You should ride. With me.”
A pause stretched.
Branrir pressed his lips together. Thistle looked between us with far too much amusement. Even Vesper, perched smugly on a low branch, cocked his head, savoring the spectacle.
I scrambled for an explanation. “Because of the tether,” I added, aiming for logic. “And it’s safer. In case anything else attacks.”
Thistle’s mouth twitched. Branrir outright grinned.
“Ah, yes,” Vesper muttered. “The tether. How noble.”
I ignored them.
“Are you sure?” Quinn asked softly, her uncertainty lacing every word. “I would not want to impose—”
“I’m sure,” I said, cutting her off.
The decision was made. We gathered what we could salvage from her felled horse—blankets, saddle bags, a crushed bit of dried fruit—and redistributed them between the remaining mounts. Thistle loaded Branrir’s steed, then gave me a pointed look as she passed.
When I turned, Quinn was waiting beside my horse, chewing her lip. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her cloak like she was trying to quiet her own thoughts.
“Front or back?” I asked.
She hesitated, then softly, “…Front.”
That single syllable nearly stopped my heart. I stepped closer, offering my hand. She took it. Her palm was warm and clammy, but her grip was steady as I helped her up. She settled into the saddle with only the smallest wince. I swung up behind her—and the rest of the world dissolved.
She was everywhere.
The faint scent of lavender clung to her hair. Her warmth soaked through my chest, radiating outward in steady waves. Every breath drew her spine against me. My knees bracketed hers. When she shifted slightly—when her shoulder leaned into me, whether by accident or not—I nearly forgot how to exist.
She shivered. Goosebumps rose along her arms. I saw them. She didn’t pull away.
I tightened the reins in my hands. “You all right?”
“A little dizzy,” she admitted. “Would you mind if I…leaned back?”
I was fairly certain my voice cracked. “Yes. Of course. Absolutely.”
She eased against me, cautious at first, then rested her head beneath my collarbone. I closed my eyes for a beat, steadying my breath.
This wasn’t fair.
How could something feel so simple and so damn complicated at the same time?
Every inhale drew me to her. Every word I didn’t speak balanced on the edge of confession.
And Saints save me, I wanted more.
The path narrowed as we rode on. The storm hadn’t broken yet, but it pressed against the canopy, brooding with thick, gray clouds. I sensed it in the drop of pressure, in the static clinging to the air.
Quinn hadn’t moved much since we set off again.
I cleared my throat. “What you did back there—your magic…”
She tensed. “What about it?”
“It was beautiful.”
A pause.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I added.
She exhaled slowly. “Most people have not.”
“Still. It was…” I searched for the right word. “Gentle, but strong.”
Quinn gave a soft, dry laugh. “It is not very useful,” she said. “Or, I suppose it could be more useful for darker purposes, but I would never employ it for such measures. The best thing I can offer is a sort of temporary peace.”
“That’s useful,” I said quietly. “More than you know.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Do you believe offering someone peace counts as power?”
“I think it’s the rarest kind.”
A soft smile lifted her cheek as she faced forward.
The first low rumble of thunder rolled through the trees, distant but growing, a warning carried on the wind. A gust swept down the path, sudden and cold. Quinn shivered, instinctively pressing closer to me. I tightened my arms around her.
If I were a Hearth, I could have warmed her from the inside out—pushed the chill away with a thought. But I wasn’t. All I had was body heat, borrowed courage, and the sinking realization that I was already in far deeper than I had any right to be.
“You’re cold,” I murmured.
“I am fine.”