Chapter 28
Vera
Iyank the sleeve of my shirt from the grasp of a scraggly bush with pursed lips as I follow Ikar up a rocky, weed-infested incline.
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or maybe it’s the nightmare that still nags with images of dead Tulips whenever I close my eyes, but I’m in no mood for the gloamy forest today.
What would I give to see the bright color of a healthy butterfly…
even just a few patches of soft grass rather than the spindly, spiky twigs that claw and scrape at my boots?
I have a stash of items for my future shop, and I occupy myself by mentally examining each one, debating which I would, in fact, trade to see something other than gloam and half-dead vegetation.
We reach the top and Ikar’s deep voice breaks me from my contemplative musings. “The arrows.”
We stand beside what I can only describe as a never-ending, tightly woven fence of thick, gnarly, unnaturally bent and twined trees that grow as tight as a twisted rope and climb high above us.
Ikar points ahead, and I’m tempted to rub my eyes to see if it really is the three gold arrows glinting in weak evening sunlight.
Ikar picks up the pace, motivated by the sign that we’re not actually lost. “We should be close. Just need to cross this somehow.” He eyes the tight-knit trees with a frown as he continues forward.
“Wonderful.” Forced cheer in my voice belies the rush of nerves racing through my belly. We’re one step closer to finding the nymphs, who will likely lead us to the dreaded flower. On the other hand, we’re also one step closer to escaping this blazing forest—I’m going to choose to focus on that.
As we search for a gap wide enough to accommodate Ikar’s breadth, I stop and peer through a small opening, curious what awaits us on the other side. The forest looks healthier somehow, if we can get past this tree border.
“This look like a fence to you?” I take one last look through the opening before I follow him as he examines the tight weave for a place to pass.
Ikar shrugs. “Of sorts.”
“Usually when there’s a fence, it means you shouldn’t go through it,” I say dryly.
“We have to. The velvet widow set us off course, and we don’t have time to find a way around. Besides, the three arrows indicate this is the right direction.”
“This part does seem to look a bit healthier…” I observe the rich brown colors of the trunks and a few flowers sporadically springing from forest grass with bright color that appear even more beautiful because of the lack these past days—looks like I don’t have to trade one of my trinkets after all.
I’m tempted to pluck one of the tiny flowers from the soil and keep it, but I can’t; this forest needs all the life and color it can get.
So after reaching down to touch the soft petals, I continue moving along the treeline.
There’s still gloam around us here, but not as much. It reminds me of the forest in Moneyre that I’m used to, well, aside from this tree fence that doesn’t seem to end in either direction. Never seen one of these before.
Ikar’s expression is pensive, as usual. It’s entirely too attractive, so I do my best to keep my focus on our surroundings instead of him—which is a feat in itself.
He can be difficult to read when talking isn’t an option, which reminds me of the ache I feel over the absence of comfortable conversation we once shared.
I’m aware of him walking several feet ahead of me, and at times, I wonder if I feel the whisper of his magic that runs so much warmer than mine.
It makes me skittish and grumpy as the day goes on, trying to maintain a facade of perfect indifference when it’s the complete opposite of what I feel.
Ikar’s mood doesn’t seem to be much better than mine. I maintain the necessary distance between us, always responding politely when needed, but it seems as if he’s even more broody than he usually is. Whatever the cause, it seems both of us are frustrated.
Why does he have to be the high king?
A rustle nearby pulls me from my thoughts, and I’m positive I catch movement from the corner of my eye. “I think that branch just moved.” I eye a long, twisty branch suspiciously, but all I see is Rupi hopping from tree limb to tree limb, happy and completely carefree, above us.
“Oh, look, that one did too,” Ikar says dryly, then in a more serious note, adds, “I know you want to find another route, but this is it.”
I stare at the branches cautiously. “No, really though.”
“You’re going to scare yourself if you don’t quit,” he warns.
I want to assure him that I am not, in fact, scared. But that would be a lie, and my self-imposed distance I’m suddenly beginning to regret keeps me from sidling closer to him for protection, so I keep quiet while I eye the trees warily.
Ikar is already focused on something else as he stops and eyes the width of a space in the trees. “This spot should work.”
He removes my pack from his shoulders and pushes it through the gap easily, then turns to the side to squeeze between a space barely wide enough for his broad chest, but he makes it through just fine, aside from a few bits of bark left on his shirt from the tree.
If he can fit through, my petite frame should be a breeze.
I turn my shoulders, left side first. It should only be a couple of side steps, but as soon as I begin to step through, my right wrist snags on something behind me, and why does it seem the gap is more narrow than it should be?
I wiggle my right hand—it feels as if I accidentally slipped it into a hole, but I don’t recall feeling one.
I twist and pull, but the friction of tree bark only serves to scrape the sensitive skin of my wrist. I tug a bit with my body weight a few times and only feel my wrist joint click uncomfortably.
There’s not much space between these two trees where I’m stuck, and it’s difficult to maneuver in a way to free myself.
“What’s wrong?” Ikar asks. He steps closer, and my magic reacts. I imagine he’s already reaching for his sword—it’s what he always does at any sign of danger. I’d be irritated at myself for knowing him so well, but right now all I’m concerned about is getting free.
“I’m fine. Just a bit stuck.” I’m proud of the absence of panic in my voice.
But it doesn’t feel fine—somehow it feels as if my hand is more stuck than before.
I don’t have enough space to turn my shoulders to get access to my arm so I can investigate, and I’m unable to see anything in the near darkness.
If I were prone to claustrophobia, I’d begin feeling it about now.
How is it that I got stuck and Ikar made it through just fine?
I can’t even turn my head to look at him without scraping a few layers of skin off the tip of my nose.
“Where?”
I wiggle my fingers even though he can’t see them. “My right hand.”
He steps near my right side. “I’m going to reach across and see if I can loosen it.”
I offer a strangled gasp when his chest presses against my shoulder as his hand and arm slide past my stomach, searching for my stuck hand on the other side.
He finds my wrist easily, and his fingers gently search for a way to free mine.
He smells really good. Too good. And why does my mind jump straight to considering how close this is to a lover’s embrace?
He’s bent rather awkwardly, but still. It doesn’t help that my magic is sizzling with him so close.
I force myself to keep my thoughts straight and go back to trying to slip my wrist free, but it still doesn’t budge. My magic is raging against the wall of my control, and I feel it all beginning to waver.
“I don’t think it’s working.” My voice comes out sounding a little breathless because I can feel his face very near my neck, and it reminds me of the kisses he left there just days ago.
“It’s not.” His voice near my ear sends delightful, traitorous shivers dancing across my skin.
We stay in this near-embraced position for another moment while I question all of my decisions to stay away from him. Is being the high king really all that bad?
I gather my dignity and coherence, along with my traitorous magic. “Too bad it didn’t work. You can move away now.”
“You didn’t mind being so close a couple weeks ago,” he reminds me with a voice so low and deep I just know he’s trying to torture me.
It’s working. Drat him. Why does he insist on reminding me as if I’ve forgotten? Suddenly I’m grateful my face is stuck between two trees and hidden from sight as a hot blush colors my cheeks. I push a shoulder against his muscular chest, fighting my desire to stay close to him.
He doesn’t budge.
“I’m also stuck.” I can just imagine the roguish glint in his eyes as he says it.
He tries to shift to give me space, but with one arm snug between me and the tree and him bent at an awkward angle, it’s not happening.
I panic. His nearness is too much for my resolve, and a feral need to escape rises within me.
If I can’t have him, I can’t be near him.
Also, this tree may be trying to eat my hand, and I’d like to keep it.
I continue pulling, more forcefully now, jerking my arm like a cornered animal, but in the process, my shoulder knocks his chin upward and he curses.
“That is not helping,” he growls.
He’s right. It seems like he’s always right. Drat him twice.
I pull at my wrist again.
“Can you be still for one moment?”
I can, but not because he asked me to. He’s a king, and I don’t take orders from him. But I’m positive I feel the tree move, and I freeze. It doesn’t release us, but slowly changes shape, twisting and creaking all around us.