18. Ash
Ash
As we traveled deeper, the forest grew thick and crowded. The branches tangled above us, and the shadows felt heavier. Every sound seemed to echo, as if the woods were listening to our every step.
My attention sharpened with every shift in the underbrush, every snap of a twig, every flicker of movement at the edge of my vision. Between the villages was where things lived.
Things that hunted.
Most of them kept to the darker hours, but not all threats followed rules.
Bandits didn’t care about daylight; they cared about opportunity.
And this place reeked of it. The signs were there if you knew how to look.
Broken branches that didn’t match the wind.
Tracks that didn’t belong to animals. Silence where there should’ve been birds. Tense territory.
When the sound of rushing water reached us, I pulled my mare to a stop and swung down from the saddle. Behind me, the carriage creaked as it slowed.
“What is it?” Claire’s voice called, one hand fanning herself from the heat.
“We’re crossing on foot,” I answered, already moving toward the riverbank. “Barefoot.”
Caspian was quick to follow along. He’d already gathered his horse’s reins, leading it forward with a steady grip.
Claire hesitated. “Why?”
“This river has a history,” Caspian stated, his tone tighter than usual.
“What kind of history?”
“The kind we’ll explain after we’re across the river.” I gestured toward the ground. “Come on, get out of the carriage. We don’t linger here.”
There was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but she didn’t argue.
She stepped down, more surefooted this time.
She was adapting. The thought should’ve meant nothing to me.
It didn’t. Not really. Because in maybe a few weeks, she’d be in Norwich and draped in silks, being waited on hand and foot, living a life where she didn’t have to think about where she stepped or what might be watching from the trees.
The image formed too easily, of Claire laughing in a tavern one night—spinning, unguarded, alive—and then that same woman softened into a polished and distant possession, batting her lashes at Garrick like he was worth admiring.
My jaw tightened. I didn’t like it. Didn’t like the thought. Didn’t like—
I cut it off.
It was not my problem and not my concern.
I stepped into the river first. The water was wide here and shallow enough to cross.
The cold water rushed over smooth stones, clear and fast, the current tugging at my boots the moment I stepped in.
My mare hesitated behind me, ears flicking forward, but she followed when I tugged firmly on the reins, placing each step carefully between the rocks.
“Damn,” Caspian muttered behind me as he stepped in. “This water’s freezing.”
“It’s mountain runoff,” I shot back. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know, water less committed to my suffering.”
Pushing against the heavy current, we moved forward as the roar of the river swallowed every other sound.
When I glanced back, I saw Claire following close behind.
She lifted her skirts with careful precision to keep them out of the rushing water, her brows now drawn together in deep concentration as she picked her way across the slick stones. Trying very, very hard not to—
“Oof!”
It happened fast. Her foot slipped on a slick stone, and she lost her balance. Moving without thinking, I stepped forward and caught her by the waist just as she fell, pulling her safely against me.
Water splashed as my footing shifted, but I held firm. For a heartbeat, the world went still. Pressed against me, she was closer than she had ever been, her warmth a sharp contrast to the cold, rushing current. Her skirts were hitched up just enough for her skin to brush my side.
While one hand still tightly clutched her dress, the other fisted in my shirt.
Panic and adrenaline seemed to fade as she caught her breath, leaving her eyes wide and her cheeks with a stunning flush.
With her lips slightly parted as if she’d forgotten how to breathe; I found it impossible to look away.
For a second too long, I simply held her there.
“Best keep moving,” Caspian called from ahead.
I loosened my grip just enough to give Claire space again. “Careful,” I muttered, guiding her back onto firmer footing.
The current still pulled at our legs, but I stayed close this time as I reached back for my mare’s reins, keeping one eye on Claire as we finished the crossing.
Step by step, we finally reached solid ground.
Leaving the rushing water behind for the quieter sounds of the forest, I led my horse onto the bank.
Claire looked back at the restless, silver river winding through the trees.
Her gaze followed it north, all the way to the snowcapped mountains rising in the distance.
“So…” Claire said after a moment, her voice softer now, “what was the river’s history?”
I glanced at Caspian. He glanced back. There it was—that look. I had to bite back a grin.
“It’s called the River of Soles,” I explained, keeping my tone perfectly even.
Claire’s head snapped toward me. Her eyes widened. “The River of Souls?” she echoed, her voice dropping, like even saying it too loudly might summon spirits. “Why? Did something terrible happen?”
“Oh, yes,” Caspian chimed in from beside me, his expression grave in a way that was almost convincing. “Very grave, indeed. It’s sacred ground.”
I caught his eye. Barely. We were both holding it in.
I cleared my throat as I swung myself back into the saddle. “There were many skirmishes here,” I began, settling into the story easily. “It is the Wilds, after all. But this river in particular, soldiers would attempt to cross…”
“And the enemy would wait on the other side,” Caspian added, his voice dipping lower.
Claire’s attention was locked on us now, completely drawn in.
“While they were crossing…” I paused, just long enough to let the silence stretch.
Claire swallowed. “Did they… die?” she whispered.
I let the beat hang for half a second longer.
Then, I answered, “No.” I shifted in the saddle, one hand resting loosely on the reins as I looked down at her. “They had gotten a lot of snow that winter, so by the time spring came, the river was overflowing, the current strong. As they crossed, they lost the soles of their boots.”
A pause.
“Soles,” I clarified, just as her expression began to twist in confusion. “The soles of their boots got swept away in the current. S-O-L-E-S.”
Caspian broke first with a laugh that cracked through the air. And that was it before I lost my composure too, breaking out into laughter. Claire’s face was perfect. She’d gone from horror, to shock, to confusion and now irritation was settling in, her lips pressing together into the most—
I stilled.
Huh.
The most adorable pout I’d ever seen.
“River of Lost Soles, you mean?” she snapped, lifting her chin, though the flush on her cheeks betrayed her. “It’s a play on words!”
“The most magnificent play on words,” Caspian agreed, still grinning. “When we first heard it, we had to come see it ourselves, didn’t we, Ash?”
“Absolutely,” I said, not even trying to hide my grin. “Few people ever cross this river, considering it divides half the continent from each other. I couldn’t pass up the chance to share its lore.”
Claire huffed and turned away, gathering her skirts as she made her way back toward the carriage. I watched her go, still amused as she climbed inside, clearly determined to be displeased. The door shut a little more firmly than necessary.
Silence followed as we set back into motion. For a while, she said nothing. Then, just loud enough to reach us, Claire muttered, “It is rather funny, I suppose.”
I huffed a quiet laugh under my breath, shaking my head as I turned my attention back to the road.
Yeah. It was.