Chapter 10
HADRIEN
Was this tiny human truly volunteering to go into the forest with me?
“I fly,” I said, dismissing her foolish idea.
Lilia recoiled slightly, then glanced at the darkening sky. Her expression tightened as if considering the option. Another silly one.
“Don’t even think of it,” I said.
She arched a brow and met my gaze. “I’m not. Tell me which way to go and I’ll meet you there.”
I exhaled with an exasperated whoosh. “Are you always this reckless?” I motioned toward the dark forest. “Or do you often wander the woods after dark?”
She tightened her lips. “It’s not reckless if it makes us safer.”
I grunted and rubbed the back of my neck. She had more courage than I thought, but was still a nuisance. “This way, Little Thistle.”
I didn’t expect her to follow.
Just as I hadn’t expected her to be so bold as to offer to go with me to see the wards.
Yet, the sound of her cloak swishing around her ankles and her footsteps crunching twigs and fallen leaves echoed behind me.
Yes, I’d chosen to walk instead of fly. Why?
Perhaps it was a test to see if she would actually follow as she’d volunteered.
She’d flinched when I’d told her I flew to the wards, and yet she didn’t back down.
I had to admit, I liked this little spark in her, that flicker of hope—something that had died in me long ago.
Yet, here I was leading this young woman into La Forêt de Veillepierre.
With a rustle of her cloak and snapped twigs, she caught up to me. “Why did you call me that?”
“Call you what?”
The sound of her breath was audible, as she’d hurried to keep up with my much larger stride. “Little Thistle.”
I let out a mirthless laugh. “Because I’ve seen you pick some in the gardens. And you’re a pain in my side.”
The dense forest pressed in from all sides, its heavy branches creeping onto the overgrown path.
Something scattered over the leaves ahead, a small creature seeking food or refuge.
An owl called from deep within the trees.
I’d patrolled this land for years and recognized the familiar sounds and the scents of the earthy soil and fragrant pine.
I followed the well-worn path, which I usually traversed overhead.
“If it’s meant to be an insult, it’s not,” she said.
“Oh?” I replied, only semi-curious.
“No. Thistle is not only nutritious, but beneficial to the soil, birds, and pollinators. They can also be used for medicinal purposes.
“They also prick your skin if you touch them,” I retorted.
She didn’t say anything for a good thirty seconds. “If I’m such a pain in your side, why make me stay?”
“You know why,” I replied. “I won’t rehash that. We’re almost to the first marker.”
A column of pale stone rose near the eastern tree line, its surface carved with symbols that had eroded with time. I stopped before it and folded my arms across my chest.
“The wards run along the perimeter,” I said without turning to her. “Seven markers, which is where my ancestors and I have concentrated our protective magic.”
From my peripheral vision, I caught how she reached out and touched the carvings with her small hand. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. I turned to see her lips part. She brushed her delicate fingers over the stone. I took a sharp inhale and straightened.
“I sense energy.” She reopened her eyes and pulled her hand away. “But it’s weak. I can’t read it. The stone is so cold.”
“It should be warmer. When the wards were strong, its energetic heat would reach me from ten paces away.” I stepped closer to her, scenting her fragrance. I caught notes of lavender and Liliacs, like the gardens in full bloom—and something earthy—wild and feminine. And frustratingly enticing.
She rose and the moonlight caught on the pale curve of her cheek and neck. “How long do we have?”
We. She said it like we were a team. What an odd little human. I’d trapped her here and yet she was willing to help repair the wards—and by doing so, help me.
“Before they fail entirely?” I exhaled, a rough sound. “Two months? Maybe less.”
She turned in a semicircle, her brows furrowed as she appeared deep in thought. She stood still, quietly assessing the crumbling ward marker the way a healer might examine a wound.
Yet, a very strange woman, to be alone out here in the forest with me, with barely any light overhead. The sounds of the woods echoed around us.
“Are you scared, Little Thistle?”
She fixed her eyes on me. “Of course,” she admitted with an earnest expression. “But I’ve learned to shove it away.”
Intrigued, I asked, “How?”
“Necessity,” she declared with a huff. “When you’re struggling to survive, there is no room for fear.”
I nodded, understanding all too well. “Is it that bad where you live?”
“Yes.” She nodded gravely. “The queen has squeezed all the resources out of us, hoarding it all for herself and her loyalists.”
The queen. I snarled, my hands curling into fists. Then I realized how terrifying I might look to Lilia, especially in our surroundings, and softened my expression. “Are you afraid of me?”
She stared at me and pursed her lips. “I was at first.”
“And now?”
She cocked her head. “Like I said, there’s no room for fear. Only survival.”
Gods of Stone, she had the attitude of a soldier, compartmentalizing what needed to be done for the mission. Begrudgingly, I had to admit I respected that.
But not to her.
She planted a hand on her hip. “Let’s start with sage.”
“Sage?” I repeated.
“Yes. We’ll burn it at the base of each marker to clean out corrupted energy.”
I grunted and crossed my arms.
“What?” she demanded, appearing confused.
“An herb,” I said flatly.
“Why do you say it like that?”
I snorted. “Because it’s just a plant. That’s not magic.”
She gestured with a raised hand before lowering it to her hip. “It’s not just a plant. Everything in nature carries its own energy. The right combination, placed correctly—”
“The ward markers were forged with ancient magic,” I countered. “Not an herb for cooking.”
“Then why are they failing?” She stepped toward me, her chin tilted up with sassy defiance. “If your ancient magic was enough, you wouldn’t be standing here with me.”
My nostrils flared. I had no answer for that, which irritated me. “Your plants will not be enough.”
“You don’t know that,” she said, not backing down. She was so close now that I could feel her warm breath on my bare chest and see that unmistakable fire in her hazel eyes.
“I know magic,” I snapped.
“Then use it!” She spread her hands out in exasperation.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” I seethed, moving so close our bodies nearly touched, and stared down at her. “Night after night. And then you come along.” I gestured abstractly out toward the surrounding woods. “Thinking if you burn a few herbs, we’ll all live happily ever after.”
“That’s exactly my point.” She punctuated her statement by jabbing her index finger to my chest. “You stand here like a stubborn”—she pursed her lips—“monument. Hard as stone and waiting for defeat.”
I grabbed her wrist to drag her hand off my chest, but the warmth of her hand in mine stopped me.
Her skin was so soft, like rose petals. I held her longer than I should have, then abruptly released it, somewhat rattled.
Her tiny hand seemed to leave an imprint in mine, and I closed my fingers at my side to capture that sensation.
Her chest rose and fell with quickened breaths that came through her parted lips. Had that sensation jarred her as it did me? Slowly her gaze returned to mine. “You tell me the wards are failing, that there’s no hope, that you’ve tried. Do you know what I think?”
I straightened, determined to school myself not to react to this frustrating woman. “I suspect you’ll tell me, regardless.”
She didn’t react to my sardonic tone. “I think the problem with your magic is you.” She said it quietly, which made it land with a harder thud than if she’d shouted it.
“Magic requires energy. Belief. And you”—she gestured at me with a sweep of her small hands—“you’re showing none of that.
If you are convinced of defeat, then guess what? You’ll find it.” She nodded once.
Her words struck deep. “Well, aren’t you just the model for positivity?” I scowled.
“Maybe.” She rolled one shoulder but held my gaze. “Or maybe a soldier who’s decided the battle is lost before it’s even started doesn’t have the same fight as one who’s sure they can win.”
I stared at her. How dare she use battle analogies on me? After what I’d been through. After what I’d lost. After a thousand nights of staring down at the soldiers whom I was supposed to protect.
“You are infuriating!” I turned and stormed away from her back toward the castle. It was a mistake to even try with her. A mistake.
“Where are you going?” She rushed to catch up to me.
“Anywhere else.” I unfurled my wings, pumping them as I prepared to ascend. Let her find her way home in the dark. See if I cared what happened to her out here in the forest. Let it swallow her up. A groan rumbled deep in my chest. With seething rage, I muttered, “Away from you.”
Lilia gasped. “Hadrien, no.”
The gentle plea in her voice crawled under my skin. She reached my side and placed her hand on my upper arm.
I glanced at her small hand on my biceps and paused, struggling between the urge to take solace in the sky and the unexpected response to her touch.