Chapter 22
Chapter
I have never been a man without words.
I know plenty.
But all fall short in her company.
The realm blurs into a kaleidoscope of color as I push through the field, each step drawing more and more pink-lit wings from a sea of cobalt blades. Everywhere I look, the dazzling glow of night guides me, bringing to light the enchanting beauty of a world I thought lost.
My steps turn to spins as I fall into a dance with the sharp wings of a dallying butterfly. Together we twist and turn against the frigid night air. Once. Twice.
We circle each other until the world around us melts away, and with it, for just a moment, goes the weight of everything yet to come. It’s the closing of a chapter I’ve only just opened. The beginning of the end.
“Thank you, friend,” I whisper to the fleeting thrum of the realm’s most delicate and deadly delight. And with my hands lifted above my head, I twirl one last time.
The butterflies answer, circling around me until my entire gown is glittering beneath the luminous show.
“Frog are you seeing—”
My feet falter to a stop, the words stolen with my breath. Words that pale in comparison to the confession waiting in my knight’s eyes.
One by one the small pink lights flit away, but in the hollows of my cheeks their color remains. For across the field, Frog has yet to move. He stands, with his hand anchored over his heart, watching.
Not in a way that duty demands. Not like a knight guarding his charge.
But like every instinct in him is urging him forward while the oath he made is holding him in place.
Even hidden beneath the hood and iron mask, I feel it.
A spark of something forbidden. Something unnamed.
Perhaps this is what terrifies him so? I wonder when a butterfly comes to rest atop his hood.
The small creature folds its wings and Frog freezes, lifting his eyes slowly as though he might see where its perched upon his head.
I watch with equal measures of concern and curiosity as the realm’s deadliest swordsman is out-dueled by its most delicate pair of blades. And there is no stopping the laughter that bursts from my lips.
Frog has the audacity to look surprised as he lifts a hand to shoo it away, jerking backward when his feeble attempts not only fail, but send it fluttering directly toward his face.
The sharp-edged wings are but a beat from the bridge of his nose when he loses his footing and falls into the tall grass.
“Are you—are you alright over there?” I ask between yelps of laughter.
He doesn’t answer.
Slowly, my smile fades. “Frog?” I take a nervous step forward when he springs up from an entirely new spot in the field.
“How? Did you…just—” Run? Is he running?
I gasp. Because yes, yes he is.
Right. Toward. Me.
“No!” I scramble for the hem of my skirts. Turn then bolt, listening for his heavy footsteps as they thunder across the field.
I can hear them getting closer. Hear Frog’s labored breathing through the iron of his mask. But it isn’t terror sending shivers down my spine. It’s something far more familiar. A memory of warmth.
I chance a look behind me and—He’s closer! He’s definitely closer!
I squeal. “Oh, please. Don’t hold back on my account!” I breathlessly tease, knowing I don’t stand a chance of winning. And secretly hoping I don’t anyway.
Frog answers by gaining even more ground.
I duck beneath a cloud of butterflies.
He follows.
Pink wings explode all around us like when the flowers of old used to shed their petals to the wind.
I spot the nearing treeline, which would make a good hiding spot, and swerve toward it. But Frog’s already one step ahead, anticipating my move before I even make it.
“How do you do that?” I shriek in delighted outrage as he reaches for me.
Frog lets out a laugh in reply. It isn’t loud, not even enough to stir the butterflies floating lazily around us. It’s barely more than a breath escaping through the narrow slits of his mask.
But I hear it. And just like the last time, my chest aches for more. More of this man hiding behind the mask. Without thinking, and knowing I shouldn’t, I reach for it—
Frog stills, snapping his head toward the forest. The air quiets in the absence of beating wings. I search for the hundreds of butterflies that only moments ago surrounded us when somewhere behind me a branch snaps.
“Frog?”
He doesn’t answer.
A branch cracks somewhere in the distance. Then another.
I turn to the sound of heavy footsteps pounding through the underbrush, each step growing louder and louder. A heartbeat later two men burst through the thicket.
Hunters.
Their wool jackets hang in tatters, their faces streaked with blood and grime. One looks to have abandoned his bow entirely, while the other holds tight to the splintered remains of his.
“Run!” the first man shouts, whether to us or to his companion I can’t tell.
They stumble into the meadow, their panic lending their tired legs speed.
Behind them, a bone-rattling scream erupts.
Frog’s hand flies to the hilt of his blade as the trees explode outward, revealing the creature within. It’s an enormous horse-like creature, its coat black as wet ink. Its obsidian horn glows red beneath a coat of blood.
The twisted unicorn’s golden eyes lock on the hunters and they scatter. They’re racing in the opposite direction when one trips.
“No!” I scream just as the twisted unicorn lowers its head, striking with terrifying speed.
Its horn drives clean through the hunter’s shoulder, lifting him off his feet as he looses a blood curdling cry.
I watch in horror as he’s flung to the side, landing somewhere in the tall grass. I’m fearing the worst when—miraculously—he scrambles to his feet.
His arm hangs uselessly at his side as blood pours down to his fingers. But terror proves stronger than pain.
“Move it!” his companion bellows a short distance away, and together they stagger toward the far side of the field.
Foam froths in the unicorn’s mouth as it watches them disappear into the tree line. For one fragile second I think it might follow.
Then its long, tufted ear flickers. And its head turns.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Until its golden eyes find us.
“Oh no…”
The unicorn lets out another shrill scream. And then its sharp gaze finds us, and it’s racing toward where we stand out in the open.
“Frog—”
He’s already moving, slipping his arm around my waist. Everything blurs as he all but sprints across the field toward the tree line, practically carrying me. Behind us the evil unicorn thunders closer, its four finger like claws ripping through the tall grass.
Closer.
Close—oof! I exhale as Frog shoves my back into the gnarled trunk of a rot-riddled tree.
My mouth twists in protest when he brings his chest to mine, pinning me beneath his weight, one hand pressed just above my head, the other holding a finger to his masked lips.
Suddenly I can’t think of a better place to hide, or even remember what it is we’re hiding from.
All I can think about is the way his heart feels beating flush against mine. The way each and every breath is carefully measured beneath his cloak. God, has he always felt this warm? I peek up through my dark curls and everything else disappears. The realm. The forest.
All I see is him.
And he…he’s no longer looking for danger. His eyes, for once, are there to greet me.
The silence that envelops us is different than before. Heavier. Filled with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His breaths quickened, in rhythm with mine.
My heart rages so violently against my ribs that I half-wonder if he can hear it. If he can see the way my body has made itself at home beneath his arms. Because I can. I can see the war raging within his autumn green gaze.
Say it.
Tell me what you’re really afraid of.
“Frog…”
Something soft brushes against the palm of my hand, and for half a second, I believe it’s his hand claiming mine. Until I remember his are still planted on either side of my head.
I blink, chancing a look down. And staring up at me I find a tiny black unicorn with eyes the same shade of blue as the tall blades of grass. His horn is barely longer than my middle finger.
“Um…hi.”
Its long black ears twitch with uncertainty, but it doesn’t try to charge us or run away. Because it can’t, I realize as it tugs at a rope snared around its hind leg.
Frog follows my gaze and I half expect him to draw his sword and pull me away. Instead, he slowly drops to one knee, glancing from where the foal struggles against its restraints to the shrill screams coming from the field.
I cut Frog a knowing look and he just nods, scratching the back of his neck beneath his hood.
“I know his mother is trying to kill us,” I say, “but…”
“I know.” He lets out a defeated sigh, closing his eyes beneath his hood before waving me over. “Come on then.”
I smile, dropping to my knees beside him. Together we use the tip of Frog’s blade to cut away at the hunter’s trap. The foal seems to somehow understand we are here to help and stands perfectly still until the last thread is severed.
It stumbles into my arms and I catch it, wrapping my pale blue arms around it.
“There you are,” I coo, stroking the glossy black coat, its tiny heartbeat fluttering against my fingers.
Frog stands quietly watching, an observer to the joyous moments he seldom allows himself to be part of. Then he gestures toward the distant cries of the creature’s mother, and helps me to my feet.
It doesn’t take long to find her, frantically searching the crimson-covered thickets.
“Stay back while I—”
Frog starts.
But I’m already stepping out of the trees’ tall shadows with the foal. Its mothers cries grow louder and louder until her golden eyes find me, narrowing on where my hand still leads her foal.
She paws the ground, cutting vines like they’re nothing with the razor talons of her claws.
“Miss Sunday…” Frog warns, his breath hot on my neck. Because of course he’s behind me. My knight in shining shadows.
Ignoring the way my skin prickles at his nearness, I ease the baby unicorn toward its raging mother, praying she doesn’t decide to shred us to pieces with the four sharp canines protruding from her wolf-like head.
I let the foal go, still acutely aware—despite my best efforts not to be—of the two large hands hovering near my waist, ready to pull me away should the unicorn decide to make a Sunday skewer out of me.
Though I’m beginning to think the terrifying unicorn rumors are just another tale we were sold.
Because there is nothing evil or vicious in the way this mother greets her baby.
They might look a little beastly, but honestly, don’t we all?
“Are you ready?” Frog ask, when something else rings through the air.
A song of sorts.
But no, that’s not quite right. This melody isn’t being sung or played. It’s a drifting sound cutting through the whinnies of the reunited pair and carving a place into my soul.
I freeze.
Frog notices immediately.
“What is it?” he asks, his gaze darkening as he looks off into the surrounding forest.
But I don’t answer.
I can’t.
Because something, somewhere is calling me by name.