Chapter 23
Blaze
‘Tell me how you became a Healer.’
I’m sitting cross-legged on a tree stump, watching as Fox forages through the undergrowth. His hair is still wet from bathing, damp strands framing his face.
‘Really?’ He tries not to smile. ‘That’s your question?’
I nod, resolved.
Fox slides Soulkiller from his belt and uses it to slice a few long stems before stuffing them inside his satchel. Then he says, ‘My grandmother was a Healer.’
I gasp as he brushes his fingers against mine.
The woman in the memory looks remarkably like Kestrel Calloway, only older.
Green eyes, auburn hair streaked with grey, sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
She wears a leather apron with a dozen pockets of varying shapes and sizes.
I edge closer to discover that each contains something different – flower cuttings, soil samples, a handful of emerald-coloured beetles, even a baby mouse.
The woman smiles softly, then fades into nothing.
Fox clears his throat as he draws back his hand.
‘She taught me everything I know. About medicinal herbs, edible plants, how to treat a wound. I was younger than your brother Renly when she first took me out into the forest. I’d help her dig for roots, gather pine cones, scrape sap from tree bark.
Then we’d take it all back to her workshop. ’
Another light graze of our hands and I see it – a poky little hut lit by firefly lanterns, the shelves crammed with pots and potions.
‘She made all sorts of remedies – elixirs and tonics, tinctures and salves,’ Fox continues. ‘And she would take them to those in need.’
‘She didn’t sell them?’ I ask.
He shakes his head as he kneels to inspect a patch of wild mushrooms. ‘My grandmother never charged. Most of her patients were Fidra, and many couldn’t afford to pay for medicine.
But often they would give her something in return, anything they could spare – a loaf of bread, shoelaces, that kind of thing.
’ He smiles a little, remembering. ‘And she didn’t just treat people; she helped animals, too.
A wild dog that had been mauled, a bird with a broken wing.
She would take them in and nurse them back to health. ’
‘She certainly sounds very different to my grandmother,’ I muse, biting back a grin.
‘She was different from everybody,’ he says. ‘She was one of the most extraordinary people I ever knew, and yet she lived so simply. Lived off the land. She used to tell me that the forest has everything we need to survive, so long as you know where to look.’
‘And how do you know where to look?’
Fox pauses, considering the question, then shrugs. ‘I can show you, if you like.’
I return the shrug in what I hope is a nonchalant manner. ‘All right.’
Fox chuckles as Cedar nudges him gently with his muzzle.
‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you could speak to that horse,’ I mutter as we set off through the trees.
‘What a vivid imagination you have, Storm Weaver,’ Fox says mildly.
The morning air is cool and fresh, heavy with the scent of wild garlic. I pick my way across the forest floor with newfound ease, having gradually grown accustomed to the tangle of roots and twisting plants that once threatened to trip me up at any given moment.
I catch Fox watching me. ‘What?’
‘You just seem like you’ve got used to it, that’s all,’ he says. ‘Being here.’
‘Being here in the Wildlands or being here with you?’
‘Both, I suppose.’
I smile sweetly. ‘I confess that I now consider you to be merely aggravating as opposed to wholly insufferable.’
Fox lays a hand on his chest in mock gratitude. ‘High praise indeed.’
‘As for the Wildlands,’ I continue, ‘I can’t say that I hate it here. In fact, I find it strangely … peaceful.’
‘Peaceful,’ he murmurs.
The dappled white-gold light filtering through the branches dances across his face. I watch as he absent-mindedly reaches out his gloved hand to skim every tree we pass, as though marking an invisible trail.
It’s not long before we slow to a stop.
‘This is as good a place as any,’ Fox declares, crouching to examine a patch of jagged purple plants. ‘Shall we start with roots?’
‘Ah, so it’s your grandmother I have to thank for all those root stews,’ I say dryly.
‘Precisely.’
I kneel beside him in the undergrowth, close enough to breathe in the scent of fresh mint and pine.
‘Now, this one is called burdock,’ he begins. ‘Not only can you eat the root but it can also be used to draw out toxins in the blood.’ His voice is animated, almost boyish. ‘Then over here we have bull thistle, which is similar in appearance and good for joint pain.’
Arrowroot. Evening primrose. Mandrake. Goldenseal. Wood sorrel.
I listen intently as Fox explains the healing properties of each, telling me which parts are edible, which aren’t. Some he digs up and shows me, then pockets for later use.
I point at a cluster of pinkish flowers. ‘What’s that?’
He pulls the stem from the earth, exposing the slender roots beneath. ‘Valerian. Grind it up into a powder and it can help you sleep. Helps with headaches, too.’
‘And that one?’
‘Cowslip. Reduces swelling. And see over there? The white ones? That’s wild carrot.
Not to be confused with poison hemlock. It’s important, when learning which plants are edible, to make note of the ones that are deadly – particularly those that appear deceptively similar to others. You know those currants you like?’
I nod. I couldn’t help noticing that the fruit has been in regular supply ever since I mentioned my partiality. More peace offerings.
Fox produces what look like three identical berries from his pocket and holds them out to me. ‘Pick one out of the line-up.’
I frown uncertainly. ‘The … left?’
Fox shakes his head. ‘Moonseed.’
‘Middle?’
‘Nightshade.’ He smirks a little at my disgruntled expression. ‘False familiarity. Never underestimate nature’s ability to trick. Some weapons are made; others grow.’
‘You sound almost admiring.’
‘I suppose I am. I admire the fact that a tiny berry can kill as easily as a knife, and sometimes faster.’
He tosses the berries over his shoulder.
I shake my head incredulously. ‘Your grandmother really taught you all of this?’
He nods, twirling the stem of a fern between his fingers.
‘And what of your grandfather?’
‘He was a woodcutter,’ Fox tells me. ‘He built her workshop, built her a home.’
Once again, I find my hand in his. I see a little cottage by the Creek, with a smoking chimney and crooked stained-glass windows.
‘We used to spend whole summers there,’ he says. ‘My sister and me.’
I watch a girl with hair like autumn leaves swinging upside down from a branch, toasting bread on a bonfire, sleeping soundly underneath a chequered quilt.
All of a sudden Fox’s grip tightens, and the warm glow of memory is replaced by a gust of ice-cold wind.
Another vision swims into focus – Freya, eyes bulging with terror, suffocating to death.
Fox drops my hand as if it burns him and takes an unsteady step back, his expression tight, tortured, a muscle throbbing in his jaw.
I can almost see the cracks beginning to form, fault lines spreading across his chest from the gaping hole in his heart.
For a moment I think he might be about to break.
I don’t know what to say, so I opt for a distraction.
‘Oh, I like these ones,’ I blurt out, pointing at a group of the tall thimble-shaped blooms I’d preferred to Hal’s roses. ‘What are they?’
It works. Fox blinks and exhales, and I watch as the pain slowly drains from his features. ‘Those?’ He leads the way to the patch of wildflowers. ‘These are foxgloves.’
The corners of my mouth twitch.
He arches a brow. ‘What is it?’
‘Please tell me that’s your full name.’
Fox stares at me. Then, as if he can’t help it, he laughs.
I’m about to smile back when, all of a sudden, the air is filled with the unmistakable sound of voices.
‘You should’ve seen the size of its teeth!’
‘Please, it’s no match for my spear.’
‘Take it easy. Remember, the Baron wants it alive.’
‘I reckon one that big is worth ten pieces of silver.’
‘Then we’d better catch it, hadn’t we?’
Through the trees, I can just make out a group of burly men heading this way.
Fox swears under his breath. We weren’t expecting to encounter anyone this deep into the woodland. The nearest province is still several days’ ride away.
My stomach lurches with panic.
‘Hunters,’ Fox mutters. Then, ‘Want me to deal with them?’
‘Are you asking me if I want you to kill them?’ I clarify, horrified.
He shrugs. ‘That or severely incapacitate.’
‘No. No, I do not want you to do either of those things. Besides, I thought we weren’t supposed to be using our gifts.’
Fox looks a little disappointed, but nods grudgingly. He may be handy with a dagger, but I imagine even he would struggle to hold off five heavily armed men without magic.
‘Then we hide,’ he says. ‘This way.’ He grabs my arm, pulling me into a dense thicket.
‘Ouch,’ I hiss as a branch rebounds off his shoulder and hits me in the face.
But Fox doesn’t stop, tugging me further into the bushes as the men draw nearer. I let out a gasp of pain as my hair catches on several thorny briars.
He turns at the sound. We’re pressed together, so close I can feel his heart beating.
‘Hold still,’ he murmurs.
Gently, he untangles my curls one by one.
All of a sudden, the sharp snap of a twig causes me to violently whip my head round.
I stumble forward into Fox, who catches hold of me before taking a small step back as he tries to steady us both.
Only the ground is uneven, and he loses his balance, falling flat on his back and breaking several branches on the way down.
I land hard on his chest a split second later, knocking the wind out of us both.
‘Did you hear that?’ The man’s voice is uncomfortably close.
‘What?’
‘Listen.’
I freeze. The copse is thick, but I can just make out a pair of boots trampling through the patch of foxgloves, coming to a stop less than five yards away from where we lie tangled in the undergrowth.
Instinctively, I raise a hand, sparkling white frost already glistening at the ends of my fingertips, but Fox grabs my wrist and pins it tightly to his chest. I glare at him as I try to wrench it free, but he just shakes his head in warning and presses a finger to his lips.
Against my own better judgement, my gaze lingers there.
For a moment I allow myself to remember what those lips felt like that night in the maze – crushing into mine, trailing down my neck, teeth grazing lightly across my jawline, my pulse point, my collarbones.
Then I push the memory away. Because it never should have happened. It was a case of mistaken identity, nothing more. I thought he was Hal. I would never have kissed Fox like that had I known it was him beneath the mask. I would never have kissed him at all.
The ice coating my hand has slowly melted into his shirt. I can feel his heartbeat under my palm, the hard planes of his body under my own. Our faces are mere inches apart. I can’t escape. I can barely move for fear of being discovered.
I glance away, inwardly cursing the blush creeping up my neck. My arm shakes with the effort of propping myself up. I don’t have long before it gives out.
Careful not to make a sound, I grit my teeth and shift my weight ever so slightly.
I hear Fox’s sharp intake of breath as I move against him.
His gaze locks with mine. He swallows.
That’s when a gruff voice sounds, startling us. ‘We’re wasting time. Let’s go.’
‘But I swear I heard –’
‘Must’ve been a squirrel or something. Come on, this way.’
We listen as five pairs of boots begin to retreat, heading west through the forest.
Slowly, Fox releases his grip on my wrist. ‘That was close,’ he says.
‘Too close,’ I agree, privately wondering whether we’re referring to our run-in with the hunters or the proximity of our bodies.
Fox is looking at me expectantly. I blink, blushing harder, then scramble to my feet.
‘What do you think those men were looking for?’ I ask as he pulls himself up and follows me through the tangle of branches.
‘How should I know?’ His voice sounds a little rough. He clears his throat. ‘But I suggest we head back to the camp before whatever it is makes an appearance.’
I nod, ducking out of the thicket, then stop dead in my tracks.
‘I think you might’ve spoken too soon,’ I whisper.
For there, framed among the trees, its muzzle stained with old blood, is an enormous wolf.
It’s a beautiful beast, as grey as a winter’s day.
As it moves closer I notice a pattern of distinctive silver markings on its brow, as well as the row of razor-sharp claws protruding from each of its four paws.
A pair of yellow eyes fixes on us, unblinking.
Fear lances through me, scattering my anchors. My breathing turns ragged as I fumble for my dagger.
‘No,’ Fox says.
I glance at him, stricken. ‘What’re you –’
He takes me by the shoulders and pushes me firmly behind him. ‘Stay here. No sudden movements.’
Then he turns back to the wolf. Its hackles are up, teeth bared in a snarl, incisors gleaming in the dappled sunlight.
It growls in warning as Fox begins to inch forward.
‘Stop,’ I hiss, but he holds up a hand to silence me.
What does he think he’s doing?
Suddenly the wolf tilts its head, its ears pricking, as though listening to something, then begins to prowl closer.
I gasp as Fox slowly drops to his knees.
For a long, breathless moment, they stare at one another. Then, quite inexplicably, the wolf turns and darts away through the trees.
‘How … how did you do that?’ I stammer.
Fox gets to his feet, dusting himself off. ‘Call it a gift.’
My mouth opens and closes in bewilderment.
‘What?’ He shrugs. ‘I’m good with animals.’
My tone drips disbelief. ‘So you’re an animal tamer now, too?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. There’s nothing to stop it coming back here and tearing us to pieces. But don’t worry. That wolf is far from the most dangerous thing in the Wildlands.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘Then what is?’
Fox grins as he reaches out to pluck a stray thorn from my hair. ‘I’m looking at her.’