Chapter 4 #2
I pulled on the straps and secured my quiver along my spine, then looped my bow over my shoulder. I needed to hunt to clear my mind and avoid throttling Ace, but we also needed food. Nala needed a good meal and rest. I wasn’t leaving in a huff for the sake of being dramatic—that was just a bonus.
Peering around the side of the cabin, I spotted a deer path leading into the bushes.
I pulled back my shoulders and set out to follow the trail.
My boots pressed into the wet dirt, churning up more earthy scents, and my breath condensed in the cold air as little puffs of white.
Following the tracks of the deer let my mind wonder, and the tension in my shoulders eased away with each step.
Could Orion be a part of this? Was Ace right and my relationship with the healer blinded me to his involvement?
But if Orion was involved, why did he heal me? Why did he heal Nala? The hunters tried to kill me and Orion’s actions contradicted what little we knew about the people hunting us.
But why did he return to town? Was he truly going back to heal others and grab the healing balm despite my clear communication of not needing any?
Did he have something else he needed or wanted to protect from the hunters or the king’s men?
His healing balm was sensational but as far as I knew, no one else knew about it. Was that what he wanted to protect?
And where was my brother? Did the same people who killed the coroner attack him?
Was he okay? If he was in hiding, he should’ve been able to sneak away by now, surely.
And why did he have the stolen supplies in his cabin?
Logic suggested he was supplying the rogue hunters with food and clothing, but my heart couldn’t accept my brother being involved with the same group who’d tried to kill me multiple times. With the same group who hurt Nala.
Would Paul ever return to town? Would I?
Our location had never been a secret, but if we went back to Perga, we’d have to set up a better warning system. We’d become too lax with defense.
Dirt crunched, soft and deliberate. I froze mid-step, heart thudding in my ribcage like it wanted to bolt ahead of me.
A branch snapped somewhere to the left—not the careless crack of a squirrel, but heavy and intentional.
I sank low into the shadows of a large hemlock, my fingers brushing the mossy ground for balance. The forest held its breath with me. Even the wind stilled instead of sending its usual warning.
A low huff fractured the tenuous silence.
I slowly lifted my head, careful not to rustle the dry leaves clinging to the bushes around me. The undergrowth parted ahead, and through the dappled gold bands of sunlight, something large and white moved into the small clearing.
A gleam of blinding, ethereal hair shimmered through the trees, glowing where the sun pierced the canopy. My breath hitched, locked in my throat.
There she stood.
The unicorn.
Her luminescent body was sleek and sinewed. Magic danced off her flanks in shimmering ribbons, distorting the air like heat over fire. Her mane of feathers shifted with the lazy breeze, casting sparkling light to dance with the magic.
Huge, bottomless, and as black as a starless night, her gaze locked onto mine. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to. Something ancient passed between us in that silence, something I didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore.
I had unknowingly used her feathers as fletching for years.
Merely a myth to me until that fateful day when I rescued her from hunters in the forbidden forest, the majestic beast stood only a few feet away. Her horn caught the light, fracturing the golden rays into a shower of rainbow coloured light.
How many times had I walked past her hoof prints without realizing they belonged to her and not a horse? How many times had she moved in the shadows near me without me noticing?
My magic rose to curl around her. I froze, waiting for the unicorn to react.
Would she remember me? Or would she skewer me on the spot?
The unicorn snorted and lowered her head to munch on more vegetation. Ironic, since the pointed teeth hinted at a meatier diet. Maybe the unicorn was an omnivore, or maybe the fangs were purely defensive.
With one easy shot, I could fell the unicorn and yet she continued to graze as if she didn’t have a care in the world, as if she found comfort and safety in my presence.
The unicorn knew I’d never hurt her.
The air shimmered around her, thick with magic.
Warm and pulsing like the moment before a summer storm breaks, the magic curled and danced along the clearing, wrapping the unicorn in a veil.
That same magic resonated faintly along the fletching of my arrows.
I knew from memory how the magical hum prickled along my fingertips.
Just like I knew how the texture of her mane would feel.
Her downy feathers whispered in the wind, just out of reach, and my hand twitched, aching to stretch forward, to make contact.
But hunger gnawed at my stomach. I needed food. And as angry as I was with him, Ace needed food, too.
I kept my gaze locked on the unicorn, but I didn't lift my bow. I could never bring myself to hurt this magical beast.
A sudden crack—sharp and close—snapped through the silence.
I spun to my left, every muscle coiled and my bow half-raised. Nothing moved within the dense tangle of trees.
I crouched low again, heartbeat pounding in my ears. The cold air burned my lungs as I breathed, every exhale forming a small ghost of mist.
Still nothing.
I waited. A single leaf drifted down beside me, slow and soundless.
Cautiously, I turned back toward the clearing.
The unicorn was gone.
Not a rustle. Not a hoofprint. Not a shimmer left in her wake. Just the quiet hum of the forest returning to itself, and the lingering ache in my chest.
With a shake of my head, I clutched my bow and headed to the right to continue on the path.
Unicorn wasn’t on the menu today, but hopefully I’d find something else to feed us.
* * *
The sun had reached its zenith by the time I returned to Ace’s secret cabin. It hadn’t taken long to catch three rabbits, but circling back to hide my tracks had taken longer than I anticipated. We didn’t want any unexpected visitors.
I stomped up the short steps to the front door, the rabbits strung on a string and hung over my back. The door opened easily. Ace hadn’t locked me out.
I hadn’t rehearsed or even thought about what I wanted to say when I returned. Nor did I know what my next move would be. But when the door swung open, all thoughts and potential plans fled from my mind.
Nala.
Ace stood over my familiar, his dark brows pinching in, his mouth tight. He clenched his hands by his sides as he leaned down and studied my familiar.
She lay on her side on the couch, not appearing to have moved since I left hours ago. Her chest rose and fell, shuddering and shaking with each breath. A painful sounding wheeze escaped her snout with each exhale.
“What’s wrong with her?” I dumped the rabbits and my bow by the door and rushed over to Nala’s side.
Ace stepped out of the way so I could kneel by her side.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought she was getting better.”
I looked up in time to watch him run his hand through his hair, concern still pinching his expression.
“Is it the smoke inhalation?” I ran my hand down her fur.
“I don’t think so. She was getting better, and now she’s struggling to breathe,” Ace said. “I’m not an expert on smoke damage, but after improving, she shouldn’t suddenly get worse.”
I nodded, still running my hands down her flank so she knew I was here. My eyes stung and I blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling.
I would not cry.
I would not break down.
That wasn’t what Nala needed right now. She needed me to be strong and to think.
Nala raised her head and yipped.
I jerked back and watched as my familiar scrambled to her feet and hopped off the couch. She shook her coat as if she were wet and opened her mouth. Her tongue lolled out, and she panted, hard.
“Oh, no you don’t.” I stood and waggled a finger at her. “You were having a hard time breathing two seconds ago.”
Nala yipped and continued to pant.
She usually only panted after a hard run or during the hot summer months if she didn’t find shade to keep cool. She also panted when she was nervous or in pain.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, already knowing the answer but wanting confirmation. My familiar could be stubborn sometimes.
Nala whined.
I took that as a yes.
“I need to take her to Orion,” I said.
“Seriously?” Ace growled.
I turned to find him scowling at me.
“Onion already saw her and now she’s like this.” He waved his hand at my familiar, his movement sharp and jerky.
“Well, what the phaan would you have me do? I can’t just sit here and watch her get worse.”
Ace glowered, his dark gaze flashing and his body tensing as if he physically prepared for a fight. “I know someone.”
I rocked back on my heels. “What?”
“I know someone.”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
He shook his head. “I know someone, and they’ll ask for payment.”
“Payment?”
“It will be more than a pretty smile and fluttering those long lashes.”
I scowled at him and ignored the little flip in my stomach. I refused to react to him saying my smile was pretty. I was better than that. Stronger. “You expect me to take my familiar to an unknown location to see an unknown person and pay an unknown fee because you know them?”
He shrugged. “I guess it will have to be a trust exercise.”
“It’s a stupid exercise. Give me something. I need to at least know where I’m going or who I’m seeing.”
He shook his head again. “I can’t betray their trust. I can tell you more when we’re there.”
“You can’t betray their trust, but you can test mine?” I squeezed my eyes shut while my mind scrambled. I didn’t know Ace anymore. He wasn’t the boy I grew up with, that much was clear. Why should I trust him and doubt everything I knew about Orion?
“Nala, let’s go.” I bent and plucked my bow and two of the three rabbits from the floor.
“What are you doing?” Ace asked. “You need to trust me if we’re going to work together.”
“Trust goes both ways.” I flung open the door.
Nala brushed past me and walked outside.
“And I never wanted to work with you in the first place, remember? My life turned to shit the moment you walked into it, and I’m not dumb enough to ignore coincidences like that.
You ask me to trust you, but you’ve done the bare minimum to be worthy of that trust.”
“So you’re just going to leave and drag your sick familiar with you?”
Moving her could do more harm, true, but so could going to see some random mystery acquaintance of Ace’s or staying here and watching her deteriorate. Maybe this was a mistake, but only time would tell.
“We always worked better alone.” I stomped out of the cabin and slammed the door.