46. Kira
Chapter 46
Kira
DON’T COME ANY CLOSER
S omething’s wrong.
My breath catches and my heart races inside its cage. Gods, what in the nine hells is coming for me now? I turn off the road and crash into the woods, wincing as branches snap beneath my boots.
It was bad enough when I passed the Golden Peaks Hunting Lodge this afternoon, just as the sun dipped below the horizon and the wind howled down from the peaks.
Some part of me knew what to expect. Everyone at the lodge called us late-season guests, after all, and winter is stalking these mountains like a wolf stalks a deer. Still, the sight of the Golden Peaks standing silent and empty, with their windows covered by heavy shutters and a massive chain through the handles of the front door, made something inside of me snap.
I already knew I was alone up here. The Daggers are uninhabited, and the only other human here is someone who already told me, in no uncertain terms, to leave and never come back. But perhaps I’d been clinging to some stupid fantasy after all, like that the Golden Peaks would open their doors to me or I’d see Reznyk sitting in the common room in his black cloak and we could start over again from the beginning.
But the lodge has closed for the winter. And I’m alone.
And then wolves started howling.
I pushed up the road anyway, despite the sound of wolves in the distance, as the moon rose above Desolation Peak and cast her white glow over the forest, making it look like I’d fallen into some other world, like the Lands Below, where legends claim an elven kingdom was trapped for five hundred years. Eventually, the wolves stopped howling. I tried to tell myself that was a good thing.
But now? I’m hunched in the shadows below a bunch of ragged pines, panting as my heart hammers against the inside of my chest. Something is wrong, but what?
The forest is strangely silent in the chill night air. There’s an occasional rustle in the leaves as some small, hidden creature searches for its dinner, followed by the distant call of an owl who must be keeping watch over the road. Slowly, another sound drifts through the still air in the valley. A low rumbling interspersed with clicks.
It’s such a familiar sound it takes me a moment to realize how strange it is to hear it here, in the Daggers. I’ve heard that click and rumble almost every day of my life, after all. There are always carriages clopping up and down the streets of Silver City.
I hold my breath as the hoofbeats grow louder. The carriage creaks and the horses’ harnesses rattle as the wheels rumble over the road. They’re moving fast, much faster than I would want to drive a carriage through the woods in the dark.
A moment later, it explodes from the shadows and flies past the trees where I’m hiding, a blur of black wood and frothing horses. I’m dimly aware of the gleam of polished metal, the clatter of hooves against stone, and the labored breathing of terrified animals.
Then it’s gone. The creaks and clattering fade, swallowed by silence. My heartbeat drums against the inside of my skull. The owl cries again, further away this time. Slowly, the little forest creatures resume their nocturnal scurrying. I step out of the trees and stare down the road, my mind as numb as my body.
Panic batters my thoughts like a moth throwing itself at a lantern. My teeth sink into my lower lip. I force myself to turn away from the road that just swallowed the carriage and keep walking.
There are no towns in the Daggers. No farms, no villages. This time of year, there’s not even a hunting lodge. There is no reason for a carriage to be on this road. Hells, there’s no reason for anyone to be on this road. Isn’t that why Reznyk lived here?
Lives. He lives here.
My eyes sting. In my mind, I see his cabin, the windows broken and the door smashed in. Blood on the front steps. Xavier huddled under the bed, terrified and hissing. Or sprawled across the cold grass, his spine snapped?—
And now I’m running. Tears leak from my eyes. My breath tears at the inside of my throat even as my mind howls it can’t be true, Reznyk is safe inside his cabin.
But why would there be a carriage?
I burst into the meadow where Tholious first told us we were going up the mountain, at night, in a rainstorm. The moonlight makes it look like this meadow is already filled with snow. All but the carriage tracks that cut deep into the grass.
And the woman.
My breath catches. I freeze. I’m trembling all over, and my heart feels like it’s about to explode.
The woman is making her way through the meadow very carefully, favoring her right leg, with her long, elegant skirts bunched in one fist. A tangle of loose hair falls down her back. Something comes out of my lips, but it’s not even close to human speech.
The woman stops. Her eyes meet mine. Her back stiffens. She drops her skirts and clasps her hands in front of her, a scowl on her face, something shiny held in her fist.
Oh. Oh, gods, she’s holding the smallest little knife I’ve ever seen.
After everything I’ve been through, from the Towers to the Next Best Gander to the smuggler’s boat to the godsdamned carriage that just tore past me, a woman in an elegant gown pointing a butter knife at my chest is just funny. I can’t stop the laugh that presses against the inside of my mouth, but I do try to turn it into a cough.
“Don’t come any closer,” the woman growls.
She holds the knife out like it’s a holy symbol and she’s facing a demon. I walk into the light, holding my empty hands out toward her. Gods, my feet hurt.
The woman steps back. The tiny knife trembles in her fist. Dirt streaks her elegant dress, and there’s something on the right side of her face that might be blood.
She’s a long way from home, Lady Lenore Castinac.
And she doesn’t look that much like me after all.