Chapter Twelve
Her scream rings through my head over and over and over.
“Solene, don’t,” Draven says.
“GRACIE,” I scream back.
He puts both of his hands up, his eyes pleading.
“Solene, wait, please.”
I turn around and take off running into the dark woods, away from Draven.
“GRACIE,” I scream, my voice raw.
“Help, Solene. Please, help me.”
“Gracie! Where are you?”
Deeper and deeper I go running into the woods, following the voice.
Branches are whipping me in the face, and my cloak is getting snagged on thorns as they try to pull me back. I keep running toward her voice.
Further and further into the dark woods I go.
I am running so frantic and fast that I do not see the giant root protruding from the ground. My foot catches on the root and I fly forward, my hands slamming into the ground in front of me, catching my fall.
Pain sharp and quick moves through my right hand.
I look down and see a rock jutting upward, covered in dark red blood that almost looks black.
My eyes move to my palm, seeing the deep slice cut through it.
My blood pours rapidly out of the cut and immediately soaks into the ground, disappearing completely.
Almost like the trees are claiming my blood as a willing sacrifice.
Deeper into the woods I hear the voice once more.
“Solene, please find me.”
The pain in my hand snaps my thoughts back into focus. Hearing the voice clearer and at a closer distance, it does not sound like Gracie at all.
I do not know who that is.
What have I done.
I stand up off the ground, holding my palm against my cloak in order to make the blood stop pouring out. The voice shouts again, even deeper into the forest this time.
I frantically turn in circles, looking at my surroundings. The trees all look the same and I do not remember the way I came.
I pick a direction and start moving forward, assuming it is the right one. My legs immediately start running as fear takes control of my actions.
My head whips to each side as I look around. I feel like I am back in the exact same place I started.
I stop.
Or is this somewhere else?
Panic creeps in slowly as each breath comes faster than the next. My pulse pounds loudly in my ears.
“Solene, when are you going to come find me,” the voice says, much closer this time.
I turn around and start to back up.
“They are coming for you,” it says from behind me.
I whip my head to the right hearing a tree branch snap. I start to move the opposite way.
“You are next.”
The voice is coming from the left of me now.
“You better run. They are coming.”
This time, the voice is coming from right in front of me. I scream with every bit of air left in my lungs. A shrill sound that pierces my own ears.
In a panic, I move backward. Before I can face forward to run again, my heel catches on another tree root. I land hard on my back, the fall knocking the breath out of my lungs. I turn to my side and start to heave, desperate to feel air fill my lungs again.
“They are coming,” it says, directly in my ear.
I scramble up right and use my hands to help me slide backward. Pain shoots through my injured palm and up my arm as the broken skin hits the ground with each push. My back hits the trunk of a tree as I turn my head back and forth. My breaths are leaving faster than I am taking them in.
“They are coming”
“They are coming”
“They are coming”
“They are coming,” it repeats over and over all around me.
I cannot tell which direction the voice is coming from anymore.
“STOP,” I scream.
I lie down on the ground and ball up in the fetal position.
My fingers inch down my leg, sliding the dagger out of its sheath and gripping it firm.
I press my hands overtop my ears in attempts to drown out the voices, but they won’t stop.
The metal of the dagger presses hard into the side of my face.
“They are here,” it whispers.
I open one of my eyes and see a shadow start to slither its way toward me. It reaches me, wrapping around me completely, like a cocoon.
A whisper sounds within my head: “He is coming.”
Large, strong hands grab around my arms, lifting me up. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, lifting the dagger up into the air. A hand wraps around my wrist, the grip soft, but firm.
“Open your eyes, little sun. It’s me.”
I hear Draven’s voice and open one eye, not sure if I can trust it.
He is kneeling in front of me, our knees pressed together as he holds me steady. His eyes are full of panic as his chest heaves up and down.
I slowly open the other eye.
Tears are streaming down my face, soaking into the collar of my shirt. He releases my wrist, peeling the dagger out of my hand slowly and placing it back into the sheath around my leg.
He places his hands on either side of my face. His thumbs stroke my cheeks, wiping away every tear that falls. It almost feels as if heat is pouring out of his hands as it flows through my body in calming waves. His shadows fall over us, stroking over my arms in a comforting caress.
I place my hands over top of his, our fingers interlacing. Tears continue to pour out of my eyes, my body shaking all over as a small sob works its way up and out of my throat.
“I am so sorry,” he says.
He leans his forehead into mine.
“So, so sorry. I should have never brought you here.”
He reaches down and picks me up, one arm under my knees and one around my back. Gripping the front of his shirt, I settle into him and hold it close to me, burying my face in it as I breathe in his scent deeply. It is the only thing confirming that he is real.
Tears continue to pour out until I have none left to give. I shut my eyes, not wanting to see any more of the woods.
Wind tickles my face as we move and when I open my eyes back up, we are at the horses. Draven places me gently in the saddle of his horse. I slump forward, laying my head on the horse’s neck and wrapping my arms underneath of it.
I watch as he walks over and quickly ties the horse I rode here to the back of his. He walks up next to me and in one solid motion, mounts his horse, landing directly behind me but he doesn’t so much as touch me.
He moves forward and wraps his arms around my front, pulling me to his chest. I try to move, but his arms do not budge.
Almost like he does not want to let me go.
I settle back into him, laying my head on his chest as my body still shakes. His chin drops down, resting on the top of my head. His breathing is fast but steady.
When close my eyes again, I fall asleep counting his heartbeats.
? ? ?
My eyes flutter open as I feel a sting in my palm.
I look around and see that I am wrapped in a crimson duvet and black silk sheets. I lift my right hand into the air, noticing tiny dried-up flowers tied to my palm. The petals of the flowers are a light blue.
I gently pull the end of the string, removing the flowers. Underneath lies a small pink line in the middle of my palm. Perfectly healed, but I still feel the pain.
“Noxthorn. It can heal small cuts or burns in a few hours.”
My head snaps up at Draven’s voice. He is sitting in a chair next to my bed, elbow resting on the arm of it as his hand holds his head up. His eyes are closed.
“That’s amazing,” I whisper as I gaze at my hand.
The gash in my palm would have needed stitches if I was back at home.
His eyes open. Honey colored irises staring deep into my own. He has dark circles lining underneath of his eyes.
“I am sorry,” he says.
“Stop apologizing, I do not blame you. I am the one who ran from you.”
He shakes his head. “I should have been more prepared. I should have told you strange things could happen.”
“What? You mean you should have told me that the Whispering Woods do indeed whisper?” I gently laugh.
He gives me a sad smile in return. “I do not think that was the woods, Sol.”
The incantor.
Before I can ask, Draven speaks.
“I took care of him.”
He pauses.
“He cannot hurt you anymore.”
I nod my head, knowing exactly what that means. The incantor cannot hurt me anymore because he is dead.
The realization of that should scare me, but it doesn’t.
But I have the sure feeling that just because the incantor is dead, does not make his words any less true.