Chapter 7
I’ve never felt more exposed.
The black leather breeches cling like a second skin, tracing every movement and every curve of my body. It’s not that I’m a prude, but I’m not used to parading my thighs through a castle full of watchful eyes. Or my ass.
Still, there’s nothing to do but square my shoulders and wrap myself in false confidence like armor.
Nalina doesn’t seem to give a damn what anyone thinks of her.
She may be grumpy, fearsome, and unapologetically herself, but there’s something to admire in that kind of defiance.
I bunch up my red cloak and carry it under my arm, refusing to let anyone see me shrink.
The sun hasn’t risen yet, and already there are a handful of townspeople in the castle at dawn.
Sleepy-eyed men carry stacks of logs toward the kitchen.
Yawning serving girls rush after them to cook breakfast for anyone who wants it.
I’m far too nervous to eat, so I skip the kitchens and head straight for the front gates.
When I get there, Tristan is waiting, leaning against the stone like he’s been there for hours. He looks perfectly at home here in this dark, crumbling castle with his black clothes and silver Wolf pin. He tilts his head when he notices me. His dark hair falls over one eye. “Took your time.”
“The sun has barely risen.”
“But it has risen. Hence, it’s after dawn.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You didn’t exactly give me a precise time.”
He stands straight, brushing the stone dust off the back of his shoulders. “Noted for tomorrow.” He pauses, seeming to finally notice what I’m wearing. His eyes travel down my legs and back up again.
I stand firm. “I heard you insisted.”
He merely nods, then walks out the door. Reluctantly, I follow as I throw my red cloak over my shoulders to brace against the cold.
For all his whining about it being past dawn, the sky is only barely lightening.
Thankfully, it isn’t snowing and there’s only a slight breeze.
The world is silent as we trudge across the snow-covered ground, toward the stables.
But instead of continuing toward the horses, who snort loudly in their stalls, he opens what appears to be a storage shed.
I wait outside as he knocks things around wordlessly.
After several moments, he emerges carrying an armful of weapons.
He tosses me a tarnished silver sword. I barely manage to grab it without slicing my hand.
He watches me with a pained expression.
“What?” I demand, straightening. “I wasn’t exactly trained with a sword.”
“No,” he says. “I seem to recall you are more adept with knives.” His eyes drift down my legs again, to the ankle of my boot where I hide my moth-engraved knife.
My skin flushes as his eyes trail the length of me, but I lift my chin, refusing to shy away from his lingering gaze. Heat builds low in my belly.
Tristan raises an eyebrow at me, questioning. “I assume you have your vicious blade hidden down there?”
I cross my arms again. “You’ll just have to find out.”
A sly grin crosses his face. “Don’t tempt me.”
I refuse to blush at the implication. “What exactly are we doing today, anyway?”
“Hunting,” he says as he grabs a sling of arrows, followed by one of the bows.
“Hunting?” I balk. “I thought you were supposed to train me in endurance.”
“Exactly.” He nods toward a hook on the inside of the open door.
It’s cluttered with a variety of sheaths, holsters, and buckles.
I grab a thick leather belt and tie it around my waist before sliding the tarnished sword into its scabbard.
It hangs against my leg, clunky and annoying.
How does anyone get used to wearing one of these?
Tristan pulls the sling of arrows over his shoulder with practiced ease. “The best way to build stamina is by doing something practical. There’s nothing more irritating to me than jumping around and lifting bags of flour to build muscle when you could do something useful.”
“Like hunting.”
“Precisely.”
I sigh and take the bow from his outstretched hand. I pull it over one shoulder like I’ve seen hunters do in Caerwen.
He watches me with those storm-gray eyes. “Our hike across Llwyn and through the Spires was a good start. At least you’ve built up some muscle in your legs …” His eyes drift down again. “And lungs.” His eyes move higher, lingering on the swell of my breasts beneath my wool shirt.
I stiffen, instinctively wanting to wrap my red cloak around myself like a shield. But I stop. That urge belongs to a girl I no longer am, a girl trained to be modest, obedient, pleasing. I refuse to be that person. I’m done with being someone I’m not.
Instead, I keep my arms at my sides. Let him look. The secret truth is, I like it when he looks at me that way.
When Tristan’s eyes meet mine, I stare him down, daring. The heat low in my belly smolders a little hotter, despite my hatred for the Wolf.
He turns and heads toward the looming battlement wall surrounding the castle grounds. When we reach it, he pulls a lever and a heavy door reinforced with iron swings open.
Alarm shoots through me as I remember what happened last time we were outside the castle walls.
“We’re going out there?” I ask, trying to mask my fear. “What about the corpse wolves?”
“They mostly stick to the south.” He points west, toward the tree-lined forest. “We’re going that way.” He walks through the heavy doorway and, reluctantly, I follow.
Out beyond the castle’s walls, the world is white.
We trudge through the knee-high snow, across a wide valley.
In the distance, the dark western forest waits.
I scramble after him, the sword thudding against my legs with every step.
After the third time I stop to readjust it, Tristan stomps back toward me.
“We’re never going to get to the hunting grounds if you can’t even cross a meadow without pausing.”
“You’re the one who insisted I wear this infernal thing.”
He reaches for my waist. Fingers brush the curve of my hips beneath my red cloak as he adjusts the scabbard on my belt. The shift angles the sword away from my legs. His eyes drift back up to mine.
“There,” he murmurs, his voice low. “That should feel better.”
His hands linger there, beneath my cloak. Heat seeps through the fabric of my clothing, blooming across my skin. I’m hyperaware of his touch. It burns and aches with something forbidden. I shouldn’t feel this way about the Wolf. I hate him.
Still, I hold his gaze longer than is strictly appropriate.
He pulls his hands away and steps back, but I don’t miss the way his fingers stay splayed, like they’ve been burned. Without a word, Tristan turns toward the trees. His boots carve a path through the snow.
As the world lightens around us, my eyes dart to the cloudless sky above.
“If you’re thinking of running, I would reconsider.”
I jump, irritated that the Wolf seems to be able to read minds now. “And why’s that?”
“This area is enchanted to keep most of the storms at bay. But it doesn’t go beyond a few miles’ radius from the castle.” He points to the east, where dark clouds seem to roil above the turning sea.
“And I’m supposed to believe you?” I ask even as my eyes dart to more ominous clouds hovering above the Spires in the south.
He studies me. “I think you already do.”
I roll my eyes. “If there’s an enchantment protecting this place, then why is this crumbling castle continuously battered by storms?”
“I never said it was strong enough to keep out all the winter storms.” Tristan pauses at the tree line, peering through the branches for a path to follow.
“Even the strongest, oldest power can’t protect us from the worst the world has to offer.
” He gives me a long look. “I assure you, to leave is certain death.” He pushes past a bushy fir and holds the branch aside for me to follow.
Inside the forest, it’s like another world entirely. Pine needles glisten in the rays of sunlight that fight their way past the canopy overhead. Snow makes the branches droop, as if every tree were bowing before a dance. The silence here is less ominous and more … peaceful.
“Who even has power strong enough to enshroud an entire castle in a protective circle?” I ask.
“The fae.”
This stops me in my tracks. “The fae?”
He nods. “It’s why we’re all trapped here, in this ‘crumbling castle’. It’s the only place left that’s safe for us. Everything else was taken or destroyed by your ancestors.”
He doesn’t say it to be a jibe, but I feel a stab of shame anyway, even if there’s not much I can do about the past. “I thought there weren’t many fae left.”
“There aren’t.” He takes off one of his leather gloves and presses it to the bark of an old tree. “And those that remain no longer have that level of magic.”
“Then how …”
“It’s been enchanted for centuries, Red.”
My eyes grow wide with wonder. “But power doesn’t work like that. Power doesn’t linger.”
“We’re not talking about human power, Red. Fae magic. It’s different from ours.”
“But that sort of power … the amount of strength it would take for it to last centuries …”
“Was immense. Yes.”
My mind whirls. No wonder light and shadow power still live on in our blood. It lingers, like booming thunder echoing off mountains.
“That’s impossible,” I whisper in awe.
“For us, yes.” Tristan shrugs. “But the fae were far more powerful than we could possibly understand.” He nods toward the heart of the forest. “Come on, we’ve got tracking to do.” He moves beneath the trees, his footsteps muffled by the snow.
We walk west. Our tracks leave a trail for us to follow when we return, but something tells me Tristan doesn’t need them. By the way he peers at the trees and crouches to the ground in concentration, he seems to know this forest as well as the castle.
“We can’t go much further in this direction, or we risk leaving the protective barrier,” Tristan says, his voice quiet.