Chapter 24
It was getting harder to find the good paths through the woods.
Every time she thought she’d found a path forward, they ran into a dead end where the shadows deepened and the trees felt wrong.
The air smelled different whenever they hit the rot—heavier and foul. The healthy trees whispered in warning.
Go back. Go back. It’s not safe for you here.
And she would turn away, searching for another way forward.
She listened constantly to the trees now, connected to them so deeply that she was only half aware of the horse beneath her and the man riding silently at her side.
The trick was finding the clear path while avoiding the familiars. Casrian said they didn’t like the light, so she kept to more sparsely wooded areas. He said they preferred to hide in areas that were already claimed by rot, so she did her best to avoid that too.
There was just so much rot.
“We need to make camp,” Casrian said.
They were the first words he’d spoken to her in hours. It took her a moment to disengage from the trees to focus on his scowling face.
“You’re tired,” he said. “We need to stop. I’ll backtrack for water.”
She shook her head. “There’s a cave ahead.”
It was just a little hollow in the hill, but at least it would offer some protection. There was clean water nearby for the horses.
As much as she’d worried about the trees leading her astray, they hadn’t done so yet.
She’d got the sense of it—which trees were still healthy and which had been taken by the rot.
She could see it in the web, the golden threads disappearing into darkness.
It worried her that the threads still stretched between them, the good trees connected to the bad.
She thought maybe that was how the rot spread.
Casrian searched her face. “How do you know?”
“It’s just up there.” She pointed at the hill. “That way.”
And she moved forward before he could ask any more questions.
The rain began to fall, the soft tap-tap of the droplets hitting the leaves making it hard to talk anyway.
When they reached the cave, Casrian dismounted and checked it for animals.
“See if you can find dry wood,” he ordered. “I’ll look for water.”
He started walking in the wrong direction.
“Water is that way,” she called, pointing toward the stream the trees had told her about.
He frowned, but turned around.
Maybe she should have held her tongue and let him find the stream on his own, but she didn’t want him wandering around in the woods for longer than necessary. It wasn’t safe.
She found some wood that wasn’t yet drenched.
Casrian retrieved water and together they settled the horses.
He built a fire. She went to the water to wash.
She took the liniment oil with her and rubbed it onto her bruises and sore muscles.
Casrian made tea and forced her to choke down some of the leathery meat.
When he offered to hold her while she rested—for warmth since the night was cold and wet and the fire small—she settled into his arms as if she belonged there.
He set his sword beside him, unsheathed, and pulled the blankets over them both.
After a while, he said, “You haven’t been this way before.”
It wasn’t a question, but she answered him anyway. “No.”
“How are you choosing the path?”
That question she didn’t answer.
He shifted her in his arms so he could see her face. His dark eyes glittered in the flickering light from the fire. “Do you have any charms you haven’t told me about?”
“You threw them all away, remember?”
He made a soft noise in his throat. Not agreement or acceptance of the answer, just acknowledgment that he’d heard it.
“I’ve tracked witches into the woods,” he said softly.
“Not on this part of the border. But there’s a stretch to the south where the Black Woods reaches further.
Witches seem drawn there. It’s impossible to avoid the rot when we go after them.
You have to just press through it and hope to come out the other side before dark.
Even seasoned woodsmen struggle with it.
We send out scouts in pairs to try to find a clear path. ”
She hoped to find a clear path to the fort after they found his men, but suspected they’d have to go through the rot eventually. The trees were hungry in the direction of the river. They breathed more like animals than like vegetation.
She shivered. Casrian stroked a warm hand down her spine, which only made her shiver again.
“If we’d gone straight south following the river, we’d have run into more of the rot,” she told him. “We’re not moving straight toward the witch anymore, so we’re avoiding the worst of it. I’m trying to find your men. I’m not leading you in circles.”
“How are you doing it?”
“I haven’t cast any spells if that’s what you’re asking. We’ve been together all day, and you’ve been watching me like a hawk.”
“I’m just trying to understand.” His brows drew together.
“There are still some things I don’t understand, you know.
I’m not such a pompous ass as to believe otherwise.
” She snorted, and the corner of his mouth tugged up in a smile.
“I know there’s more to the world than what they teach at the Academy. ”
He let that hang there like an invitation. It was a trap big enough for a bear. She could practically see the glint of metal. There was no way she was stepping into it.
“I’ve always been good at finding my way through the woods,” she said, willing him to believe her. “Some people just have a good natural sense of direction.”
“Like your mother has a gift for herbs and healing.”
“Yes. Like that.”
Her mother didn’t talk to cucumbers the way she talked to trees, but she did have a knack for growing things.
Lifting a lock of her hair, he coiled it around his finger. He frowned as he released the curl and it slid free.
“It’s said that all fae had an affinity for an element of nature. Some could control the weather, some command animals to attack. Some were good at reading patterns or binding spells into glyphs and charms. Some of them had an affinity for growing things.”
She focused on keeping her muscles relaxed. Pressed as she was against him, he would feel it if she so much as twitched.
“My mother isn’t fae.”
“She is though,” he said. “You both are, even if the blood is thin.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “My ears are round, not pointed. My eyes aren’t slit. Besides, the fae are all gone. No one’s seen any of them for years, not even out here on the border.”
He hummed and traced the tip of his calloused finger over the curve of her ear. Like he was testing the truth of her words.
“My mother’s worked hard to learn everything she could about her craft. She shouldn’t be punished for the things she’s good at. How would you like it if I said your skill with a sword was evil?”
He smiled faintly. “Some people think it. I’ve killed a lot of things with that sword.”
“Evil things.”
“Witches have affinities too,” he murmured.
“At the Academy, they teach that a witch’s affinity is awakened by the demon who possesses her, but I’m beginning to think that may not be correct.
Maybe the affinity is there all along—in the fae blood—and the demon corrupts it as it corrupts everything it touches. What do you think?”
She didn’t answer right away.
“I think I’d rather not talk about demons right now,” she said. “Let’s skip the bedtime story for tonight.”
He stared down at her, not wanting to let it go. He was smart and curious, had probably been thinking about this all day. Part of her wished she could talk to him about it. He clearly knew things about magic she’d never learned.
The other part remembered him branding her mother.
After a moment, he sighed and said, “Fair enough.”
She let out her breath and turned to look at the fire.
“Just be careful, Rowan.” His arms tightened around her briefly and then relaxed. “Please.”
She must have fallen asleep because the next thing she knew, she was stretched out on the hard ground. The fire had died to embers, and Casrian was crouched at her side. She startled awake, and his hand squeezed her shoulder in silent warning.
“I heard something,” he said in a bare whisper. “I’m going to check it out. Do you have your knife?”
She nodded, following his gaze to the dark woods. The night was very still, but she heard something moving out there beyond the small circle of light cast by their fire. A soft rustle of leaves broke the heavy silence, followed by the snap of a small branch.
She eased her knife from the sheath in her boot and held it up for him to see it. He nodded and moved away, slipping out from their shelter and into the dark.
She could see their saddles and bags, the shape of the horses tied just outside their shelter. Beyond that, there was nothing—just tree trunks rising through the patches of fog. The horses shifted their feet as if they were uneasy.
She let the blanket fall from her shoulders and retreated until her back rested against the rock wall of the shallow cave.
The rain had stopped, though water still dripped from the leaves. She heard the far-off cry of an owl, and then, much closer, the definite snap of a branch. There were footsteps moving toward her.
She thought about retrieving her bow, but it was so dark. She wouldn’t be able to shoot until whatever it was entered the light, and by then it would be too late.
She crouched, hands trembling, every muscle in her body drawn taut. There was a thud and a grunt. Someone shouted, but it wasn’t the captain.
Then came the clash of metal. More voices. Someone running.
A man burst from the woods at a full run.
His feet tangled in a fallen branch as he crashed into their campsite. His eyes were wild, white all around. A thick beard obscured half his face. He seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
Then he scrambled to his feet. “The horses, and I’ll leave you be. I need to get out of here.”