Chapter 17
Ash hands me into the carriage, then climbs in behind me. He sits opposite me, legs spread wide, elbow resting on the window. He props his chin up on his fist, staring at a tiny gap between the curtains.
I fold my hands in my lap and stare down at them. A thousand questions fill my mind, but I cannot ask them. My heart still thrums with the strangeness of forever goodbyes, denial beating like a drum in my breast. That cannot have been the last time I will see my family ever again. It’s unfathomable. I’ll never see my maids again. Never see the single portrait of my mother hung in Father’s study. Will my plants grow in Faerieland, or will they die?
My life is with my husband now. I steal a peek at him, find him exactly how he was a moment ago. His brow is drawn in a thin, tight line, as though he contemplates something serious and concerning.
I’m too nervous to ask.
It’s better to be quiet and watch, to take my cues from him. Right now, he’s not giving cues. I stay silent.
The carriage gives an unexpected lurch. I barely catch myself on the seat, splaying my hands to brace myself. Ash hardly moves. I let out the breath I was holding.
Then the carriage lurches again. Harder than before. I don’t have time to catch myself this time. I go flying forward, straight toward Ash. His head turns, eyes widening, right as I land with my palms on his chest, trying to stop my fall, my face just shy of his—our mouths nearly touching. He instinctively catches my waist, his arm wrapping around me. He gives a short swallow.
Then he blinks, and his mouth quirks. “Can’t restrain yourself around me? I don’t blame you, darling.”
I turn scarlet. I try to get a few words out, but I have neither a reply nor a willing tongue. I’m frozen, unable to move, trapped.
His expression softens, and he tilts his face up to nuzzle his nose against mine. Shock ripples through me, blazing across my skin. I blink twice, then again. Finally, my body obeys what I tell it, and I give a little push on his chest to put me back in my seat.
His hand catches hold of my wrist, and when I look up at him in surprise, he tugs me down to the seat next to him. It’s not exactly roomy, and even less when he spreads his arms across the back of the carriage, all but putting his arm around my shoulders.
“Well!” he says, and I’m not sure he knows what he intends to say.
I wait.
He swivels his head to mine. “Tell me one of your thoughts.”
Again?“But I told you two last night!” The protest is out of me before I can stop it.
“What can I say? I’m a greedy husband. So tell me one of your thoughts, or else I’ll kiss you.”
Panic bursts in my chest. Not bad panic—just . . . a thrill of something heady that is more than a little terrifying.
“Um . . . are we almost there yet?”
He snorts. “That hardly counts as a thought, but I’ll humor it because you’re cute. We have most of the day ahead of us. Once we reach Caphryl Wood, however, the rest of it will go much faster. We’ll be home by nightfall.”
My brain vaguely makes the connection that Caphryl Wood must be the name the fae have for the Long Lost Wood. The main thing I can think, however, is: cute?
It’s too warm this close to him. It would be better if I were on the other side of the carriage.
“Another,” he says, looking at me expectantly, as if he’s calling for a refill of his drink.
A tinge of boldness surfaces from some hidden part of me I didn’t know existed. “What if I asked you for a thought? Or else I’d kiss you?”
A wide grin spreads across his face. This travel day will end up going by much too quickly if he wears that often.
“If you did,” he says, ducking his head close to mine, “I might just have to see if you intend to make do on your threat.”
My stomach flips over itself. I should have known he’d say something like that. I sit up straighter, attempting to show him that he doesn’t ruffle me. “That will suffice for a thought from you.”
“Wait—no!” he protests, laughter edging his words. “I retract my words.”
I can’t help the tiny little smile that plays at my mouth. “No retractions.”
We stare at each other for a minute, until I blush and shift my focus back to my hands, and he goes back to staring out the window.
It’s not much later that Ash says he needs to speak with his steward and Rahk, but that he will be back shortly. I stay in the carriage, and can’t quite find the guts to peek out the window. Not until some time has passed and still he hasn’t returned. When I look, we’ve left the city far behind and travel on an old road through a wood thick with barren trees. Ash is on horseback, riding next to Rahk. Every few minutes, they exchange a few words, but they mostly seem quiet.
He’s uncomfortable around me, isn’t he? I suspect it’s similar to how I feel—uncomfortable, not unpleasant.
The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, the rumble of wheels on uneven ground, and the swish of the carriage’s red velvet curtains are the only things keeping me company.
When Ash does come back, it’s been a couple of hours. I’ve managed a dreary half-awake nap, but I don’t sit up from leaning against the wall when he comes in. He slides quietly to the opposite side of me, and I close my eyes again.
Except that I take little peeks of him here and there. He spends most of the time staring out the window, but every few minutes, he glances back at me.
I don’t know how to interpret this.
We don’t talk the rest of the way, except for a few words when a horned fae delivers a basket of packed food for a meal. I catch myself just before I startle and betray my instinctive fright. At last, a whistle sounds from outside, and Rahk comes to knock on the carriage door.“We’re at Caphryl, Highness.”
My heart quickens. I sit up straighter and smooth my hair. I’m about to meet . . . the rest of my life. Faerieland.
Ash shoots me a look, measuring my reaction. I try to keep my face blank and neutral, but when he holds out his hand to help me out of the carriage, there’s no disguising the slick of sweat across my skin. He doesn’t react, only takes my hand and helps me to the ground.
My legs ache when I land, and I discover my rear has gone quite numb. The chilly air burns my cheeks as I straighten my skirts and wipe my wet hands in their folds.
Then I look up.
Though the world is bright with late afternoon sun, the expanse of forest stretching before me is dark and forbidding. The trees tower high above normal trees, creating an imposing barrier between our worlds. Their branches are thick, with an impenetrable canopy of dark leaves, despite the season. We’ve pulled off the road, which leads right into the forest, the end of it swallowed by the tree line.
A wind picks up around our party. The horses whinny nervously, and a fae with small horns and bright cat eyes that must be the steward discusses something with the human carriage driver and footmen. Possibly about taking the horses back? Clearly, we’re not driving any farther.
The wind sharpens, whipping my skirts and yanking tendrils free of my hair. It smells different too, rich and tingly . . . almost like the color purple—if colors had smells. But there’s also a tang to the air, like spices in a drink, or a dash of rum in a cream sauce.
The fae unload my trunks—which are probably full of things I don’t need. It seems unfair to make the fae hoist them over their shoulders and bear the burden, but they’re the only things I have from my home. I don’t want to just leave them here.
It’s so dark.
On the wind, something hums, calls softly, like a whisper in the dead of night.The warmth I felt when my new husband nuzzled his nose into mine vanishes into nothing. Icy dread seeps into my toes, into my stomach, my shoulders.
I’m not supposed to be here.
This isn’t my world. This isn’t where I belong.
I’m wrong here.
I need to turn around, to go back to where I belong. I’ll die if I walk into the Long Lost Wood. I’ll be torn to pieces, or lost like the souls of drowned sailors.If I take one step past that tree line, I will never come out again.
I know it as deeply as I know my own name.
A hand on my low back jolts me back to awareness. Ash’s face is hard, the cut of his jaw seeming harsher, his ears longer, more pointed. His teeth just the tiniest bit sharper.I search for that sweetness I’ve been so surprised to discover, but it’s not there in his face.
It’s in his touch, however.
I look away, focus on the warmth of his hand at my back as he guides me forward. Toward the tree line.
Every step is a battle. I know this is my future, that this is where I must go. But every fiber in my being resists, telling me this is wrong, this is dangerous, this is my death. It takes everything in me to not turn around and run.
I take a deep breath, lifting my gaze to the trees, to the strange lights like fireflies in the forest.
I faced last night. I can face this.
Setting my shoulders, I keep pace with Ash and don’t flinch as we approach the forest. The wind picks up, slicing like ice against my skin. That tang fills my nostrils until I’m almost choking with each breath. When we reach the edge of the forest, the wind shifts into strange, wispy voices.
Let me taste your flesh, mortal.
Save us!
Fly away little bird, before his jaws snap your wings.
“Don’t listen to them,” says Ash.
I look up at him. His eyes are made of iron, flashing with darkness as his hair blows away from his face. When he speaks, the points of his incisors gleam.They’re definitely longer than they were before.
“Will you come with me, mortal wife?” he asks, holding out his upturned hand.
Something is different. Something is wrong. I swallow.
I trust him.Even if he frightens me.
I slip my hand in his and nod. He says nothing more, a grim satisfaction playing across his features.He takes a step, draws me after him—until we’re swallowed by the forest.
Everything goes quiet. There is no wind. No sound. No whispers. Barely any sunlight. Only an unending, hushed sort of expectancy. A pregnant stillness ready to give birth.
Ash turns around without making a sound. He issues a silent command, and Rahk is at my side a second later. His hand rests on the hilt of the sword at his hip.
Ash lets go of me and strides forward into the forest. At his footsteps, the trees . . . shift. They part, as if playing pieces on a board game, sliding away and clearing a path. The ferns covering the ground do the same until all that is before me is a wooded archway and a carpet of pine needles.
With a gentle pressure on my back, Rahk urges me forward. I obey, moving slower than my husband, who marches ahead through the living arch as if he is master over them.
Perhaps he is their master.
The rest of our entourage makes no noise as we pass through the forest, despite the trunks they carry. If I didn’t look back, I’d have thought they weren’t still with us.
Despite knowing nothing about him, Rahk is a comfort at my side. Ash trusts him, so I trust him, too. When the steward comes and takes my other side, not touching me but standing between me and the rest of the forest, I am extra grateful.
Ahead, the trees part before Ash, until they reveal a door. It’s a simple wooden door with a brass knocker. Golden light leaks around its edges and through its keyhole, as though opening it would reveal a small sun on the other side. Ash stands facing the door, legs wide and shoulders back as the rest of us catch up. He looks over his shoulder, finds me, and there’s something in his gaze that I do not recognize at all.
A shiver goes down my spine.
He reaches out, grabs the handle, and when he twists it, light bursts from the cracks in the door with blinding intensity. I find myself reaching out and gripping Rahk’s sleeve, turning my face away.
When I bring myself to look again, Ash stands in the doorway, backlit by brilliant gold light.
Then he vanishes.
Rahk gently moves me forward. When I look up at him, he meets my gaze, and there’s a question there. Do you wish to go before or after me? I point to him with a little wince. He nods and steps forward.
This time, I keep myself from looking away. As Rahk steps into the doorway, as the bright gold casts him in shadow, I suck in a sharp breath.
Behind his silhouette is a great pair of wings.
Then he’s through the door, and it’s my turn. The steward gives me an encouraging nod that juxtaposes his unsettlingly bright, slitted eyes. I grip my skirts as I force myself to take the few steps to the doorstep.
The door itself almost seems a part of the trees winding around it. When I take hold of the cool knob, there’s a rush of sound, of wind, of words.
Fly away, little bird! Fly away—far, far away. Return to your nest before his jaws snap your wings. Fly away, little bird!
I turn the knob and open the door.
The world beyond is not what I am expecting. Rahk catches me with a firm grip on my forearm when I stumble.
We stand on the rocky shore of a crystal sea. The late afternoon sunlight gleams off the water’s surface, refracting into blinding rays. Before me is a magnificent, white-stone palace set into the edge of a cliff. Its many floors, open windows, and arched doorways array in such elegance that is so unlike the gray strongholds I’m used to. This palace is one of luxury, with no fear of attack. Hanging gardens and gushing waterfalls cascade down the cliff face. A blustery, warm breeze whips around me—far too warm for the furs I wear.
And there is Ash, standing with his back to me, hands clasped behind him. I take a deep breath, then step to his side. He steals a sidelong glance at me and, in that moment, he looks more like the Ash I’ve come to know so far. Then he returns his gaze to the palace cut into the side of the rock.
“Welcome to your new home, Stella.”