Chapter 17
The ambience shifts entirely the moment we cross the invisible border of Mystic Forest. Urgency and dread fight for dominance, twisting together into something that keeps the nerves tight and the heart uneasy.
The hair on my arms rises, my body bracing for a threat I cannot see, and the rare silence among my companions tells me they feel it too.
The air thickens with every step, smothering freshness and swallowing sound. It is as if the forest closes its jaws around us.
A whisper of metal scrapes the quiet. I glance back. Nulok has drawn his weapon. I am ready to scold him for his paranoia, but the fear in his eyes stops me cold. Jestin signals sharply for him to sheath it.
We exchange looks. A nod.
We move on.
You could always portal us away, Aidon murmurs inside my head, his tone carrying mockery.
You do not need to rub it in.
Oh, I can rub, darling.
Crunch.
I look down. A crown of vines, flattened under my boot. My stomach drops.
“Have you just crushed a Faerie gift?” Aidon’s voice abandons all subtlety. Someone gasps, likely Nulok; I expected more restraint from the rest. Jestin should not have brought Nulok; he is not a warrior.
“Pick it up,” Riven orders, voice urgent, and closes the distance between us. Fortunately for him, his ‘do it, do that’ attitude goes to my lower belly, so I bend to pick up the Faerie crown from the green carpet.
I crouch and gather the fragile remains from the mossy carpet. Up close, it is unmistakable, woven flowers now broken.
Not wanting to worsen the insult, I collect the fragments and tuck them carefully into my satchel.
Great purchase, that one, Aidon hums.
“We need to come back and ask for an escort,” Nulok states, and I wholeheartedly agree.
Jestin’s sharp look answers before I can. Whatever silent exchange passes between them works, because Nulok straightens and says no more.
The path unfolds as if the forest grows it beneath our feet. There is no way to plan ahead, only to follow. The ground is soft and treacherous, muffling not just our steps but every sound around us.
No archive in Rhodria has a complete record of the forest residents. Travellers often found themselves dead before they managed to leave the land. Their discoveries vanished along with them.
My power strains against its leash, flooding my mind and clouding reason. Not ideal when danger breathes down my neck.
Too bad I need my full wits.
If I were alone, I would piss myself.
Fortunately for me, my backup is far more intimidating than the creepy surroundings, even if the uneasiness seems to be radiating out of the air. Like silence before a storm, but with a bitter aftertaste.
No birds. No rustling leaves. No life.
Nothing.
Only us, trespassers in a forest that tolerates but does not welcome.
Once in a while, I glimpse offerings of flowers, pinecones, fruit, crystals, even gems. At least the little folks are too simple to question the inherited urge to please their Lady.
Not only do we have few allies, Aidon hisses in my head, but you insult the one who does not know better than to serve you.
Gorok created Little Folks as a gift for Beriganders. They’re determined to please us, marked with stamps upon their tiny souls.
It backfired. They were too persistent, too eager, too easily offended. The Fourth High Queen decided to banished them into the woods.
Many Queens tried to recall them to the palace, but few could stomach their intensity for long.
Now, it is a tradition that on coronation day, each new Queen chooses only one Folk to serve her for life. Their gifts are ‘choose me, please’ messages.
Something hits the ground behind me with a solid thump, shaking me from my thoughts.
I spin.
Nulok lies on the moss, his dove-blue eyes wide open, staring at the canopy above. Too still. Too quiet.
“Hey, buddy?” Jestin’s voice cuts through the sickening quiet. Bane and Riven exchange looks, drawing their weapons. But Nulok stays quiet.
Jestin drops to his knees beside him, hands trembling as he checks for breath.
My heart stops and then restarts, painfully slow, and I search for the closest hand to steady myself, gripping it like I am holding on for dear life.
And I am, for Nulok’s. For the Fae who never let me feel unwelcome, who shared stories on paper, who first believed in me when the rest only saw my temper and doubted I belonged. He always saw past the layers of expectation. He saw me. The broken pup who needed to be accepted.
And he did just that. Accepted me.
“Come on, buddy,” Jestin whispers, shaking his shoulders, but his head sags.
Just like Trisha’s did.
I do not move. Only Aidon’s firm grip on my hand keeps me from losing my shit.
All the while the forest watches. The air holds its breath as we wait for his chest to rise. The seconds feel like an eternity.
It does not.
It will. Any minute now.
Bane mutters something I cannot catch.
Riven’s roar shatters the stillness. “Cover each other’s backs.”
His command snaps us back into motion.
I turn away from Nulok. I cannot look at him. Not if he is… My power surges, pounding at the inside of my skull, begging to be unleashed. I hold it in. Even if I do not want to. Not when Nulok lies there. The copper of his hair like spilled blood on the soft green beneath him.
Emotions threaten to flood me, but I refuse to be useless now. I do not want to grieve ever again. He is fucking alive. My eyes were playing tricks on me.
We form a protective circle. Riven and Bane flank me, their wings stretching to guard. Jestin shields our rear, his glass blades whirling as if searching for a target. Aidon’s form molds into something with wings and soars above us, cutting through the tree crown with furious grace.
All that time, the forest listens.
Then, it sings.
A sound threads through the air, high and sharp, almost pleasant. I tilt my head, confused. The tone climbs higher.
It is addictive, like salt on the tongue that burns but makes you crave more.
“Do not listen!” Someone screams.
I clap my hands over my ears, but the sound is already inside me, vibrating behind my eyes. I drop to my knees, every nerve itching with that unbearable, seductive pitch.
I try to summon a soundproof shield, but before I can form it, warmth trickles down my ear, thick and wet.
Blood.
And then, nothing.