Chapter 14
The rest of the day passes with Alexus riding just within sight, a speck in the distance.
Over more miles than I can count, he never looks back.
I decided to follow him for as long as possible, then figure out how to find Winter Road myself, because I can’t let him win.
He’s all but shattered my memory of Nephele.
I fear I won’t recognize my sister in the least when I see her again.
He’s also created a weakness inside me that didn’t exist before.
The Witch Collector is more than handsome, his face created to slay with a glance, kissed and blessed by the gods themselves.
That face, combined with that gentle way of his, delivered from beneath all that tempered power, does awful things to my mind.
Even when he’s angry with me, my body responds in ways it shouldn’t, perhaps only because I need comfort. I hate everything about it.
But more than anything, I hate that he thinks I need him. I don’t. Not even for this journey. In fact, I don’t want to need anyone anymore.
Ever.
The further I travel, the more my plan to follow Alexus disintegrates.
The thick trees grow even more densely spaced, and the air gathers a bitter chill, the dim light of day falling to twilight.
At times, if it wasn’t for Mannus’s steam and breath or the chinking bridle or the clanking of the oil lamp strapped to Alexus’s saddle, I would be lost as to which way to go.
Frostwater Wood is a confusing place, even without enchantment.
No matter which way I turn, it looks the same, especially under the gray cloak of dusk.
Shadows creep into the wood, coming to life like forest wraiths crouching and crawling along the edges of my vision.
Eerie sounds drift from behind me, sending an invisible touch trailing along the back of my neck, enough to make me shiver.
All too soon, the Witch Collector will melt into the darkness, and then I’ll truly be on my own.
That’s what I thought I wanted, but now, with twilight descending, I must admit that I was—am—being foolish.
There are many things I cannot do, and I fear crossing Frostwater Wood alone is one of them.
As much as I would rather eat tree bark, I have no choice but to go along with Alexus’s plan, but I must catch up to him first, while there’s still a sliver of daylight.
I urge Tuck onward, but she’s nothing like Alexus’s horse.
Mannus, familiar with Frostwater Wood, rides hard and swift across the rough terrain, but my mare, even if obedient, is slow and unsure of every trot.
I can’t blame the poor girl. It’s like we’re heading into some unholy world.
The boughs are silhouetted by the bruised light of coming dark, and night creatures wake and stir in the undergrowth and shadowy treetops.
And when a cold breeze from the north snakes through the wood, a fine frost settles over the earth. It’s enough to intimidate anyone.
Tuck and I press on, regardless of the cold and falling night, but we don’t make it far. After another hour or so of riding, I eventually lose sight of Alexus when he cuts a hard left around a tangled thicket.
When Tuck and I round the bend where Alexus disappeared, I yank the reins and bring the mare to a halt. I listen intently for Mannus’s hooves and search the darkening wood for any glimpse of my former companion, but he’s nowhere to be found, and I’ve no notion where I am.
With a sickening knot tightening my stomach, I try to urge Tuck onward again. Maybe I’ll spot Alexus as we ride deeper into the wood. The mare refuses, though, the darkness a barrier she will not cross.
I’m not one to give up easily, but I also know when I’m beat. I decide to stop trying to force Tuck to do anything, and instead, use the day’s last light to find a place to bed down until morning.
As I dismount and grab Tuck’s bridle, it isn’t lost on me that this delay could cost me dearly. By the time the sun rises, I might never find the Witch Collector again.
I lead my mare across the uneven earth to a bed of pine needles scattered beneath a lofty tree. Filled with the most nerve-rattling dread, I huddle there against the tree trunk, wrapped in the night’s shadows, and look toward the sky. The moonlight is so weak out here.
I can’t stop myself from flinching at every sound rustling the treetops or gasping when a distant wolf howls or some chilling, hair-raising noise I can’t place shatters the quiet.
My only comfort is that I’m not alone. Not really.
Tuck, much to my surprise, lies down beside me and lets me lean against her flank, soaking in each other’s warmth.
Though I try to think of anything else, my mind drifts toward memories of the attack.
Every time I close my eyes, I see my mother or Mena or Finn or Hel, and it’s just too much to bear.
The blood. The death. The burned bodies.
The flames. I would give anything for a chance to change the past. To warn my village before it was too late.
Wiping hot tears from my cold cheeks, I bury my chilled nose in the hood of the Witch Collector’s cloak.
I’m thankful for this comfort, too, even though the fabric is saturated with his scent.
Rich spices, dark wood, and—honey, perhaps.
It seems there’s no escaping him, even though he’s probably halfway to Winter Road by now.
The next morning, I’m frigid and stiff but still alive. There were no wolf attacks in the night. No deadly creatures creeping around—that I know about.
After I find a small burbling spring for Tuck to drink from, I pull an apple from my pack and eat half before sharing the rest with my horse.
It isn’t much, but our provisions are meager.
I’m not sure how we’ll survive this journey with what little sustenance we have, but food is something I can think about scavenging now that I have the blessing of daylight.
Using a stone, I crack open several black walnuts that the wildlife has yet to find and drop them into my pack. Then Tuck and I set off, heading north into the trees.
I scour the forest as we ride, searching for any sign of Alexus or Mannus. Horse droppings give me hope. It’s from one horse, not a dozen, which means I’m not following the prince’s soldiers.
We ride for hours, the day passing far too quickly.
I mark our trail as we go, stopping to carve marks into the trees and build small cairns of stones so I might find my way back to the thicket should we need to return and try again.
I’m no hunter like Finn’s father, but I know it’s best to leave yourself a map, however crude.
Later, the shift of the sun across the sky tells me dusk is coming.
I’m so tired and sore from sleeping on the ground, and I’m hungry, too, but I’m scared to eat what little food I have left.
I settle for a bite of bread, some bitter walnuts, and a few sips of water while Tuck nibbles on sparse tufts of grass.
As we eat, I lean against a pine tree and stare east, back the way we came. Dozens of black birds roost in the treetops, their beady eyes watching me as closely as I’m watching them. They’ve flown at our backs all day. Never ahead.
Like they’re following me.
Are these the prince’s winged demons? Were they left behind without their master?
The image of the Prince of the East stalking toward me on the village green, that black crow perched on his shoulder, flashes across my mind.
I shake off the chill the memory causes, though the hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I mount Tuck.
It’s the ruffle of wings behind us that won’t let me feel anything but trepidation as I urge her into a trot.
Nightfall will arrive all too soon, and I fear I’ll have unwanted company watching from the trees.
When twilight settles over the wood, I push Tuck harder, my heart beginning to pound with dread.
I know I can’t outrun time, but an acute sense of desperation fills me when nightfall’s shadows arise behind every tree once again.
When I was a girl, I had nightmares about being lost inside this forest, and now, here I am, alone amid a sea of timber, the wood darkening with my every ragged breath.
I’m not going to find the Collector. I might not even find Winter Road.
But I must keep trying.
I tug the reins to the left and guide Tuck around a rocky outcropping.
Unexpectedly, the mare slams to a halt, nearly sending me careening over her head.
I hold tight and rock back in my saddle as terrible howls echo through the forest, sending a burst of crows flying from the treetops at our backs.
Blessedly, they fly north, and their cawing fades.
Pulse racing, I peer up at the foliage blocking most of the sky.
With a sigh, I rake a shaky hand through my hair, clearing the strands from my eyes, and will my heart to slow.
I inherited my father’s hot head, a trait that has often led me into quite the predicament, though perhaps none so dangerous as being trapped in this damned forest all alone.
“I didn’t take you for such a difficult student, Bloodgood.”
Startled, I whip Tuck around and reach for my dagger, only to find Alexus sitting casually on Mannus’s back, hands resting on his saddle’s pommel.
My heart swells with relief.
He’s here. He’s here.
He did come looking for me.
A shaft of early-evening light splinters the forest’s canopy, illuminating him enough that I can make out the smug look on his face. Though I want to throttle him for sneaking up on me like this, I cannot deny the overwhelming sense of deliverance I feel in his presence.
I ride into the soft light. “And I did not take you for a trickster teacher, Collector,” I reply with quick hands. “I suppose we were both wrong.”