Chapter 52
Chapter
Fifty-Two
When the world reforms, Aowen and I find ourselves in the hollow of a gigantic oak, likely one of the behemoths I spied from my bridal chamber earlier.
The ground is spongy but dry, covered in fallen leaves and branches, and there are a few narrow holes carved into the trunk that lead out into the forest.
“What just happened?” I ask, the end of my white silk wrap snagging on a splintered root. I rip off a good chunk in an effort to free myself.
Aowen frowns. “We’ll have all been scattered to different sections of the Eldergrove.” She flings off her red cloak to reveal a quilted leather jacket, two blunt daggers with serrated edges in her belt loops, and an awful, ammoniac scent.
I cover my nose. “God, what the hell is that smell?”
“Púca piss” is all she says. As if that explains why I’m somehow smelling the dried urine of several different types of animals. What is a púca? Where did she get its piss? How did she get it? The only clear answer is why—to mask our own scents from Torvil’s báshounds.
When she unzips the jacket, poor Vesper flies out coughing and gagging.
“Food!” she squeaks as soon as she’s recovered. She bumps her small head against my cheek. “Favorite food.”
I laugh. “I missed you, too, Vesper.”
“Go scout for us,” Aowen commands, slipping off her jacket and revealing a second, identical one underneath. Smells just as god-awful. “See if you can figure out our location.”
Vesper zooms toward an open knothole, nearly sliding out of the hollow before I can cry, “Wait!”
I unclasp Torvil’s bracelet. “Take this with you. Throw it as far away from us as you can get.”
Aowen raises a brow. “What is it?”
“Torvil gave it to me on the night he proposed. Insisted I wear it during the hunt. Fool thought I wouldn’t guess it’s enchanted to track me.” I point at the cloudy diamond. “See? Hopefully Vesper can buy us some time by getting rid of it.”
Aowen nods, impressed.
“Food,” Vesper chirps as she takes the bracelet. “Smart food.” She slips it over her head, wearing it like a necklace, then zips off.
Aowen removes her boots, then strips off her pants, again revealing another pair underneath.
She hands them and a jacket to me. Thank goodness, I’m starting to become immune to the stench.
“Here, put these on. Sorry I couldn’t bring an extra pair of boots as well.
” She grimaces at my slippers. “How they expect you to give chase in those things …”
“I think they expect me to wait here for slaughter like a good little lamb. Or at least, wait here while they slaughter each other.” Fear prickles down my spine. For Desmond and Sabre. For Lachlan, of course.
I shrug on the jacket, then the pants, which are a bit snug in the waist and too long. I have to roll up the legs, but I’m far more protected than I was in my bridal attire.
“You take the boots,” Aowen insists, shoving them in my face.
“No, I—”
“Charlotte,” she snarls, baring her fangs. God, she’s petrifying when she wants to be. “Stop with your self-sacrificing bullshit and take the fucking boots.”
I nearly confess just how much I’ve leaned into my “self-sacrificing bullshit,” then give her my slippers.
“I wish I had more time to teach you how to use this.” She hands me one of the weapons.
“It’s called a thorn dagger. And it’s better than nothing.
” The blade is barely larger than my hand, and a portion of exposed tang nestles between my fingers when she wraps them around the t-shaped hilt.
“When you punch with it, aim for the soft bits.”
I nod, grateful to at least know how to do that thanks to Lachlan’s lessons at the Eyrie. I tuck the thorn through a belt loop.
She takes me by the shoulders. “Every quarry before you was—what did you call it? A good little lamb. Quivering in place until a husband came to claim her. That is not what you’re going to do.”
She pulls a tendril of moonlight through a knothole, then twirls her wrist. Berries, pears, and several types of tree nuts pile at our feet. I help myself to the makeshift dinner as she continues.
“Sabre and I did some plotting while you and Lachlan were searching for the Bannrhorn fragment. Sabre’s focus will be protecting Desmond.
Meanwhile, you and I will determine our location within the Eldergrove so we can send it to them.
And if Torvil or his minions find us first”—she slashes out with her thorn—“they will die before he claims you.”
My stomach sinks with each of her declarations. “How are we going to send Desmond our location?”
Her brows twist. “You’ll tell Lachlan through the diamrhán. Obviously.”
Blood rushes from my face; I’m going to faint. “It doesn’t exist anymore. I … We … I asked him to dissolve it.”
Aowen takes several long, deep breaths. Like she’s trying not to snarl at me again. “Why, Charlotte?” she asks, more calmly than I deserve. “Why would you do that?”
It’s now or never. No one knows the depths of my feelings for Lachlan, how fiercely I ache for him. But the secret is poison. I need to excise it if I want to keep my wits about me. A necessity, now that I’ve plucked the lynchpin from Aowen’s strategy.
“Because I love him,” I whisper. “And it’s tearing me apart.”
Despite the fear and devastation on her face, her tone is kind. “It’s alright. It’s alright, we’ll just …” She examines the hollow, the ceiling. “I suppose we’ll need to venture outside.” Her lips twitch. I think a part of her is secretly pleased.
“To do the claiming ourselves.”