Chapter 43
Lumi POV-
I wake to cold sheets and an empty bed—panic flares in my chest. I scramble to sit up, eyes darting around the room, half expecting to see the ash and scorched earth from my dream still clinging to the corners of the ceiling.
The cabin is unnervingly silent.
“Andrik?” My voice comes out so small I hardly recognize it.
No answer.
He left? I feel like a piece of my soul is missing. I know that’s ridiculous—we’ve known each other for days, not lifetimes—but the logic doesn’t stop the gut-wrenching feeling that something is wrong.
Bimby hovers in a low, drowsy circle over the lavender Andrik left on the dresser. Her wings let out a faint, mournful hum.
As I step out of bed, I almost trip over Saevael, who winds tight, anxious figure-eights between my feet.
What is going on?
Toffee chirps from the weathered oak table near the window, his dark eyes are fixed on me. The playful menace from the bath last night has been replaced by a forlorn, brittle otter. His little paws tap a distressed rhythm against the wood. Tap-Tap-tap
“Where is he, little guy?” I ask softly.
He chirps twice, then scurries to the bedroom door, clawing at the wood.
My chest tightens. He wouldn’t leave without telling me. Not after last night. Not after the promise he made: “I will end him, Sael?n, I swear it on every star that watches us.”
A cold realization washes over me—he’s hunting.
I move toward the hearth to rekindle the fire, and find a folded piece of birch bark resting on the stone. It’s weighed down by a sprig of lavender and a few delicate, snowdrop petals:
Sael?n,
I didn’t want to wake you. You needed rest after last night. Your body is still healing, and the fever will rise again. You’re probably already feeling it creep back up.
There’s a pouch of crushed winter-leaf by the tub—empty it into cool water; it will draw some of the heat from your blood.
Please eat what I’ve left for you. There’s honey by your mug.
I am close, walking the perimeter to ensure the wards are undisturbed and checking for any sign of him.
You are safe. Stay inside the cabin. Please.
I’ll be home soon.
— Your vaer’sh?n.
My heart stutters at that word. Home. A concept I haven’t let myself touch since the day Anna’s light went out.
My fingers curl tightly around the bark. He’s out there alone, tracking a man who knows how to slip past everything in this forest without making so much as a sound.
I press the note to my heart and glance at the door. A giant rune is etched into the grain. It’s beautiful—shimmering gold ink that pulses like a slow, steady heartbeat.
He must have carved a final layer of protection before he left. I press my palm to the design, and iciness seeps into my skin—so familiar it brings tears to my eyes.
Toffee sits next to it, his tail flicking like a metronome. I know Andrik asked me to stay, but something inside of me is screaming that if I don’t find him now, I never will.
I may be safe in here... but I have a feeling he may not be.
I take a slow step toward the door. Toffee lets out a growl, a warning I’ve never heard from him.
Saevel lunges, darting in front of me, and rams his shoulder into my shin. It’s not enough to hurt, but it’s enough to make me stumble back.
“Hey!” I blink down at him, but he’s already circling me, pressing his body against my ankles like a living barricade.
“Saevel, move! We need to check on him.”
He looks up at me, and for a second, all I can see is Andrik’s soul in his eyes. There is a shimmer of pleading in them.
I try to take another step. Saevel shoves me again, more firmly this time. A low, throaty hum rises from his chest.
“You’re not letting me go, are you?” I whisper.
He leans his full weight against me, securing me to the floor of the home he was told to guard.
I exhale shakily and lower myself to the floor, my resolve crumbling under the weight of a fox who carries part of Andrik’s soul. Saevel crawls into my lap and lets out a contented purr.
“Okay,” I murmur, scratching behind both of his ears. “I’ll stay. You win.” His tail flicks once, and then he nudges his cold nose into my growling belly.
He’s like Andrik, alright—stubborn, and entirely focused on my comfort.
“Okay, let’s go see what he made us, hm?”
I walk into the kitchen and find enough food to feed a small army. He’s left enough for three meals—just how long does he plan on being gone?
Toffee hops into the kitchen, his little webbed feet pattering on the floorboards.
“Hungry?” I ask. He chirps and jumps onto the table, curling up beside the plate.
I feed Saevel and Toffee pieces of sweet fruit while I wait for the tea to steep. Andrik left a special blend—chamomile, and something that smells like winter. He always thinks of everything. He builds a world around me so I don’t have to face the one outside.
I eat slowly, trying to pass the time more quickly, but my mind is a runaway train. Andrik was right about the heat; it’s simmering beneath my skin. By the time I finish, I feel like hours have passed.
3:30 p.m. It’s only been a little over an hour.
Just take a bath. He’ll be back by the time you’re done.
I walk into the bathroom and reach for the pouch of herbs, emptying them into the tub as pale petals and crushed mint leaves swirl into the depths. The water shimmers with a sudden, supernatural frost that curls along the rim.
I slip in with a sharp gasp. It’s freezing, but for a while the ache does quiet. I close my eyes and visualize rh?en’ka moving through the trees on his way back to me.
He’ll be home soon.
The relief is short-lived. I sink deeper, pressing my palms to the bottom of the tub, but the frost is melting. The water is warming from the heat radiating off my skin.
I dress quickly, pulling the tunic he wore last night over my head. The scent of cinnamon and leather washes over me, deepening the ache.
He said he’d stay close, but it’s been hours.
I grab one of the romance books I packed and crawl onto his side of the bed. I giggle thinking how jealous he’d be that I’m reading about a different species of monster—a warm, plant monster at that.
I try to read, but the words blur. My eyes keep darting to the clock.
6:13 p.m.
The air in the room suddenly feels heavy, like the oxygen has been sucked out. Something is wrong. Andrik wouldn’t leave me this long.
I run back downstairs, my heart hammering in my chest. As I pass the front door, I notice the rune has turned red.
Thin streaks of crimson are dripping from the carved lines, trailing down the wood like severed veins.
It’s no longer pulsing with a comforting glow—it’s sizzling like sugar boiling over a fire.
A malodorous copper scent hits me, and my stomach turns—blood.
Saevel is already on edge, pacing near the hearth. Toffee’s tail is fluffed out like a bottle brush, his little body coiled so tight around my foot I can feel his tiny heart racing.
The room goes silent. The ticking of the clock stops. Even the fire dies, the flames winking out in an instant.
Thud.
Something hits the porch outside. I flinch, eyes flicking to the boarded windows.
I crack the door open just a sliver. Nixie is there, perched on the top step, his feathers reflecting the dying light in oily, violet-black sheens. His mismatched eyes are locked onto mine.
He doesn’t caw or move. He just stares at me with a terrifying, ancient intelligence. His beak opens, then closes, but no sound comes out.
A single feather detaches from his wing and drifts to the floor. It hits the stone with a sharp clink. The sound is crystalline and cold, like a glass flute shattering on the ice.
“Nixie,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Is he ok? Where is—”
And then I hear it.
The scream.
It rips through the trees like a storm, splitting the sky open. It’s distant, muffled by the thickness of the birches, but I would know that resonance anywhere.
It’s Andrik. And it’s not a cry for help; it’s a raw, guttural warning.
Saevel pounces toward the threshold with a snarl that sounds more like a saw cutting through bone.
Toffee leaps down from the table, scurrying into the deepest shadows beneath the bench.
A streak of iridescent light plunges down the stairwell—Bimby. She’s vibrating so hard her outlines are a blur of color. She orbits my head like a frantic satellite, before finally settling in my hair.
Behind me, the rune on the door finally gives up. It shatters, wood splintering in spiderweb lines like cracked glass.
Saevel snaps his jaws onto my pant leg, his small fox-body tensing as he tries to drag me back into the house, but that feeling in my bones from earlier has reached a deafening pitch.
I don’t think. Thinking is for people who have time. I tear my leg from Saevel’s grip, grab the nearest coat, and shove my feet into my boots.
Bimby darts ahead of me, a tiny, glowing spark leading me straight into the maw of the forest.
“I’m coming!” I scream into the freezing air. The light from her wings reflects off the frost, turning the path into a trail of diamonds.
She’s lighting the way for me, just like she did for him all those years ago.