22
Valen
Tania returns long after the others have drifted off to sleep, but not me. I’m awake, waiting.
We need to talk.
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she unrolls her blanket and settles in—as far away from me and the others as she possibly can—and closes her eyes. She’s been keeping the link dulled since what happened outside the Summer Court, and it’s killing me.
Our time out here—free from the prying eyes of the estate—is limited. I’m desperate for every moment. She doesn’t realize this, but I understand how she feels. Cut off. Adrift. Untethered. She’s trying too hard to hide it from me, so she doesn’t see I feel exactly the same way without her. But while she’s still searching, desperate for a place to belong, I’ve already found my peace—in her.
If only she’d allow me to have it.
Suveo said the mist doesn’t cause problems. It only brings to light deeper issues that are being repressed.
“So Wren really did want to jump Gen. Good to know.”
This cannot be allowed to fester between us. Not now. We’re on our way back to the estate. The moment we arrive, things will be complicated again, and adding to that would only make things harder. It’s bad enough that she’s shutting me out, but I don’t want this thing to poison us. It can’t.
I do not now, nor have I ever, viewed you as my pet.
“I know. I didn’t mean that.”
You did. At least on some level, she did. Somewhere along the way, during one of the many shitstorms we’ve survived together, I did something to make her feel that way.
“Look, I’m not sure what to say here—”
Tell me you love me. It sounds so desperate, which turns my stomach, but I can’t help myself. The distance between us in this moment feels like an entire ocean, and I’m drowning in it.
“You know that I do.” She rolls over so that she’s facing me. Underneath her exasperated expression is longing. A kind of pain I understand all too well. She dips her head for a moment, and when she lifts her gaze back to mine, it’s softer. More vulnerable. “But things are different now. They’re going to be even more different when we get back. I know you rely on the link, but maybe…”
Maybe what?
“Maybe we’re just too different.”
I don’t believe that. We knew this would be complicated. Since when do you give up when things get hard?
“It shouldn’t be this hard, Valen.”
A small amount of sadness bleeds through. Anything that’s worth it is hard.
“I will always be a druid. The Fae will always see me as an enemy. I will never have a place among them.”
I don’t believe that.
“Deep down, a part of you does, though.”
She’s right, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Not again.
“You said it yourself. The mist only brings out problems that were already there.”
After we win against Aphelian—and we will win—we’ll figure this out. We’ll figure this out and we’ll find a way to be together.
“How can you be so sure?”
Because the one thing in my life that I’m sure of is us. You. Me. Together. Like I said, we can do anything.
Something akin to contentment trickles down the link. “You’re lucky you’re nice to look at.”
Hmm. Stare all you like. I could take my shirt off. Would that give you peaceful dreams?
“Nightmares, maybe. And not just me.” Her gaze flickers to Gensted and Wren, sleeping soundly on the other side of the fire. Daroose went off hours ago to find dinner. “I thought we were trying to win their trust—not terrorize them.”
Goodnight, Fungus.
“Night, Valen.”
…
In the morning, we begin the last leg of our journey. We’ve decided to take a shortcut through Rotting Ledge. It was barren land in the days before the Great Drain, uninhabitable by even the simplest creatures, so it should be safe enough—and it’ll shave almost a week from our travels. I don’t trust Wren, and sleeping with one eye open is starting to take its toll. I just pray we make it through the forest without any more surprises…
We reach Rotting Ledge just before nightfall the following day. The air is stale, and the sky is stormy, and every so often there’s a booming clap of thunder. We hike across the rocky mountain range and find an alcove nestled into the side of the cliffs that should afford us enough shelter from the blustering wind for the night.
“This place is depressing,” Gensted says. He leans back and pops a piece of old fruit into his mouth.
“It’s not that bad.” Daroose plucks something small from the rocks. An exceptionally fat slug. He licks his lips and takes a bite, green ooze dripping down his chin. “The food is certainly better.”
Wren pales and swallows, then turns away, gagging.
“What’s the plan?” Gensted stretches out on the threadbare blanket he packed. “When we get back to your land.”
“Yes,” Wren says, leaning forward. She’s settled on a large rock and is rubbing her feet. “How soon will we receive our magic?”
“I don’t know much about the transfer itself,” I say. “But we’ll need to do it soon after arriving.”
“And how long do you estimate that to be?” Gensted stretches, then sneaks a quick peek at Wren.
“I say we’re about two weeks out.” That will leave us roughly a month and a half until Aphelian’s deadline. “Maybe less if we push ourselves and avoid trouble.”
Gensted laughs. “I haven’t known you long, but I feel like trouble finds you—no matter how hard you try to avoid it.”
He has a point.
“Let’s get some sleep. We’ll head out at dawn.”
There’s a murmur of agreement as everyone settles in for the night. As I lay back on my bedroll, I hope Gensted hasn’t jinxed the rest of our journey.
…
The sun is barely up when we head out the next morning. Everyone is eager to leave Rotting Ledge behind, and I estimate we should be clear of it by the end of the day.
We travel in relative silence for several hours, the only noticeable sound being Daroose and his incessant humming. After a while, though, there’s something else…
I glance back at Tania. We’ve been walking single file through a narrow, rocky trail for the last hour. I’m at the front, with Wren and Daroose behind me. She and Gensted are bringing up the rear. Do you hear that?
“Hear what?”
Every once in a while, there’s a scraping sound. Not footsteps, exactly. It’s much lighter than that. And faster, too. I think there’s something back there. Do you think—
“Shh. I’m listening.” She hesitates. “I hear it…”
An animal? It seems unlikely. There’s nothing much living out here.
“I’m not sure.”
We continue moving, and I keep my eyes on the path ahead, not wanting to alert whatever is out there that we’re onto them.
“It’s getting closer.”
Should we say anything to the others?
“I don’t want to start a panic. Besides…it sounds small.”
The plant creatures were small. And venomous.
“That’s a fair point. Maybe we—”
Something darts across the trail in front of me—a small, bright blur of white and brown—and scampers up the rocks to my left.
“What was that?” Gensted pushes his way to the front, stopping beside me. He spins, wildly scanning the area. The blur streaks in front of us again—this time, though, the sound of a young girl’s laughter rings out.
Daroose joins us at the front. “Is that—”
Tania shoulders past him. She moves to the front of the line, spreads her feet, and listens. “Quiet. Everyone.”
Something scrapes against the dirt. Behind us. To our left. Our right. There’s more laughter, then another white blur.
Tania pivots and twists, reaching forward as the thing passes. There’s a surprised yelp and several colorful curses, and suddenly she’s holding the arm of a young girl.
“If you don’t let go of me—”
Tania turns her to face the group. “You’ll…?”
She has white-blond hair and a heart-shaped face, there’s a large bruise covering her right cheek, and her lips are dry and cracked. She lets out a feral scream and thrashes, but Tania maintains her grip.
Wren approaches from the back, smiling. She bends down and offers her a canteen of water. “What are you doing out here all alone?”
“Why should I tell you?” she replies, sticking her pinkie finger up—an extremely rude Fae gesture. With her free hand, she lashes out, sending the canteen flying sideways. The Spring Fae gasps and staggers back.
There’s another, louder clap of thunder, and the heavens open, rain pouring down. Daroose curses, and Gensted sighs. Within seconds, we’re all soaked.
Wren, Gensted, and Daroose scramble to a section of rocks a few feet to our left. There’s a tiny outcropping that sort of shields them from some of the spray. But Tania stays where she is with the girl, her hair flattened and water dripping down her face. The girl snarls and glares at her. She’s stopped trying to pull free, drawing herself up and meeting her gaze with challenge. The rain falls even harder, and the girl smiles. She tilts her head to the sky, stretching out her free hand. As each chaotic droplet touches it, they’re instantly turned to sleet, bouncing in every direction.
“What the—”
Our eyes meet, and the girl smiles even wider. Chaotic, brazen—and completely wicked. She holds out her small, dirty hand, and in the center of her palm, a tiny, hovering snowflake appears. It dances around for a moment before dissolving in the rain.
Is that…
“She’s—”
Just like me…?
“You…” I walk toward her. I’ve always thought I was the only one… Bending down so I can look her in the eye, I say, “How is this possible? You’re… You have magic.”
She says nothing, staring like I just told her she has some contagious disease.
“Um, sorry. I’m just really surprised.” I take several steps back from the girl. The others have ventured out from under the outcropping, watching in stunned silence. “I thought I was the only one with magic.”
“Not as special as you thought, huh?” The girl folds her arms and snickers. “That has to be a blow to your unbelievably large ego.”
Oh, she’s a real joy…
Tania lets go of the girl’s arm. I half expect her to run, but she stays where she is. “What’s your name?”
The girl scowls at her for a moment, then seems to deflate some. “Suria.”
“What are you doing out here, all alone, Suria?” I ask.
Her expression falls, and she drops her gaze to the ground. After a moment, she lifts her head and shakes it. Just once. “I don’t know.”
“Well, how long have you been out here?” I ask.
“I don’t know that, either.”
That’s a little weird…
Tania ignores me and stays focused on Suria. “What about your parents? Do you know where they are?”
“They’re dead,” she says with absolute confidence. There’s a glimmer of something wet in the corner of her eye, but she lifts her chin and turns away so we don’t see.
So, she doesn’t know how she got here—or how long she’s been here—but she knows her parents are gone.
“We can’t leave her here.”
I know. She has magic. We need her.
“We can’t ask a child to fight for us.”
No, but there are other ways she could help. Besides, we need to know more about where she came from. History said Fae magic would eventually return. First me…now this girl? Maybe there are more. Maybe we’ve already turned the corner. Tania…this could change everything.
She nods once, then turns away, a whisper of sympathy fluttering between us.
“We can’t leave you out here all alone,” I say to the girl. “You have to come with us.”
“Oh yeah?” She turns back to face me, then leans forward and narrows her eyes. “I’d like to see you make me.”
I stare at Suria. “Make you—you can’t possibly want to stay out here, all alone. Starving…”
The girl’s eyes widen, and she licks her lips. How long has it been since she’s eaten? Drank? “You have food?”
Tania reaches into her pack and pulls out the last, small bit of stale bread she has and hands it to me.
I take it, then cautiously hold it out to the girl. “We do. And we’ll share it with you—if you agree to come with us.”
She eyes the bread but doesn’t take it. “Come with you where?”
“Back to the Winter Lands,” I say.
“Does everyone have Winter magic, like us?”
“Nope,” I say, straightening. “You and me? We’re special.”
She looks me up and down, then folds her arms. “I am, maybe. But you?”
I sighs. “Listen, kid…”
“Suria,” she says, still glaring. “Stop referring to me as kid .”
Oh…this is going to be fun .