Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
They set a relentless pace after the close call at Faerwyn.
The crowds thinned out the closer they came to their destination, though they still passed far too many people.
But no one stopped them. This close to Elvanfal, even the Arcanum soldiers were more interested in reaching a more hospitable destination than they were in questioning a merchant hauling his cart of fae leftovers.
Still, Loren couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when Finn finally turned the cart off the road well past midday.
The overgrown track was barely more than a footpath, cutting through scrubby brush and stunted trees that did little to shield them from sight.
They kept going until the cart finally lurched to a stop, one wheel sunk axle-deep in a rut hidden beneath the leaf litter.
“That’s it for the cart, then,” Finn said. “Everyone off.”
Loren stripped off the iron manacles, leaving them behind as he climbed down off the cart.
He sucked in his first full breath in days, relishing the feeling of his magic rising to the surface of his skin.
The shadows spread out around him, stretching long tendrils across the barren ground as if they too were luxuriating in being freed from their cramped confines.
Together, they pried back the boards concealing the hidden compartment under the cart. Six stuffed packs waited inside, along with their weapons. Loren picked up his borrowed sword, another weight lifting off his chest as he strapped it around his waist.
“We’ll leave the cart here,” Finn said. “Soldiers might find it eventually, but we should be long gone by then.”
“No more cart to pull,” Brynn cooed to their horse, petting his nose as Naeva worked to distribute their supplies across his back. “It’s much better to carry Serafina, yes? She’s much lighter than that beastly contraption.”
Caela frowned, shouldering her own pack. “The horse won’t draw too much attention?”
“It’s a risk we have to take.” Finn boosted Serafina up, his hand lingering on her calf as she settled. “Once we’re under the cover of the forest we shouldn’t have too much trouble.”
“This isn’t the forest?” Caela frowned, glancing around at the scrubby trees and tangled undergrowth that surrounded them.
Despite everything, Finn’s mouth twitched. “You grew up in a city,” he pointed out. “Have you ever even seen a tree?”
Caela shot Finn a dark look. “I’ve seen trees,” she huffed.
Finn just grinned and shook his head. “Let’s go,” he said. “I want to be under cover by sunrise.”
They walked through the night, cutting through the countryside instead of going back to the road.
Loren remembered this as farmland, dotted with clusters of homes where entire generations of fae had lived and worked the land.
How many times had he ridden through here with his father, traveling from Tirnavel to Aetheris?
“The Arcanum drove all the fae who lived here into the cities,” Finn said quietly. “Humans tried to settle it at first—but there was too much trouble with the forest.”
Loren watched his shadows ghost across the remnants of an old stone foundation, only the hearth and chimney left standing. “How much wild magic does it take to keep humans from taking something that doesn’t belong to them?”
Finn chewed his lip. “There’s no good way to explain it,” he said finally. “You’ll just have to see.”
They reached Elvanfal just as the sky was starting to lighten.
Loren stared out over the cleared ground at the fortified timber wall, trying to reconcile what he was seeing with his memory.
Twenty-five years ago, there hadn’t been a wall.
The forest had come right up to the buildings, sheltering the bustling town under its spreading branches.
He’d spent the night at the inn here the last time he left Tirnavel—staying up too late in the common room drinking and laughing with Thorne and their friends.
They had all been so young then, unshadowed by doubt and guilt.
That was all gone now.
In its place, the wall jutted up from barren earth, logs the height of two men driven into the ground and lashed together, with watchtowers spaced at measured intervals.
Sentries—no doubt armed with bows and iron-tipped arrows—paced the top, staring out across the wide swath of ground the Arcanum had cleared in every direction.
She was in there somewhere. He hadn’t felt her since Faerwyn—not with Serafina stopping him to make sure he chugged back another few swallows of that horrid tea every few hours—but he knew she was in there. Trapped and suffering.
Then go get her, the shadows hissed. Tear down their wall and lay waste to their camp. Teach them what real magic can do—
“There’s too many of them, Loren,” Finn said softly. “They’d shoot you dead before you made it to the gate.”
Loren ground his teeth together, glaring across the open ground.
Nothing grew there—not even the hardy scrub that had scratched and pulled at their clothes all day.
Even the shadows refused to touch it, their many voices rising in a furious hiss that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
“What’s wrong with it?” he asked.
“Our intelligence says they seed it with salt and iron every fortnight,” Finn said. “And burn it to ashes twice a year to keep the wild magic back.”
Loren stared at the barren ground, taking in the fortifications with new eyes. “That seems excessive.”
Wild magic didn’t behave like that. It could be dangerous, certainly, but there was no will behind it. No direction that would make a decades-long campaign like this necessary.
“We don’t have all the answers,” Finn agreed. “But they’re fighting something out here. So everyone keep your guard up.”
They moved deeper into the trees, the silence broken only by their soft footfalls and snorts of the horse carrying Serafina and their supplies.
It tossed its head as they moved under the branches, the whites of its eyes rolling until Serafina leaned forward, calming it with gentle hands and soft words.
The scrub thinned out the further they went, giving way to a soft carpet of old leaves and moss. New green shoots pushed up through the decay, reaching eagerly for the sunlight that filtered down through branches heavy with unfurling leaves.
“Oh,” Caela whispered, craning her head back.
The shadows slipped away from him, spreading out through the trees that rose like pillars around them, their crowns tangling together to form a soaring canopy. Below, thick roots heaved through the dark earth, knobbed and gnarled with age, moss clinging to their ridges like thick green velvet.
“These trees must be hundreds of years old,” Brynn said, resting her hand against a tree trunk it would have taken three of them to circle.
Loren pushed back his hood and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of birds chattering in the canopy.
Something small and quick darted through the leaf mold, scurrying away from them.
He took a deep breath, holding the cool air in his lungs.
It tasted like damp earth and sap and growing things—like home.
“They are,” he said, his chest tight. “But you should have seen Tirnavel. The palace was built in and around trees that were thousands of years old.”
“I would have loved to see that.” Serafina smiled, reining in the horse. She tilted her head back, looking up at the branches above them. “I always wanted—”
“Stop!” Naeva’s voice rang out, panicked. “Everyone, stop!”
Everyone froze. Naeva was breathing hard, her wide amethyst eyes fixed on something no one else could see.
“Naeva—” Finn carefully didn’t move his feet, his eyes darting around their surroundings searching for the threat. “Talk to us. What are you feeling?”
“I—I don’t know.” Her voice shook, sweat standing out on her forehead. “But something is wrong.”
She turned, looking around at each of them until her gaze landed on Serafina.
“Get off the horse.” Naeva’s voice rose, panicked. “You need to get off the horse right now—”
Something exploded from the leaf mold almost beneath the horse’s feet.
Their placid carthorse reared up, eyes rolling and hooves flailing.
Serafina screamed, the sound cut off too suddenly as whatever it was wrapped around the horse and pulled, slamming them both into the ground with a sickening thud.
“Serafina!” Finn lunged forward, but thorny vines burst from the ground, wrapping around his legs. He fell with a curse, blood blooming where the thorns rent his skin. “Loren—”
“Help her,” Loren ordered the shadows, loosing his hold on them.
The vines dropped Serafina, rearing back as the shadows stretched forward.
Loren would have sworn he heard them screech as dara’el sliced through the thorny growths like blades, but he couldn’t hear over the squealing horse.
It struggled against the vines, but for every one the shadows cut down two more sprang up in its place, the coppery scent of blood filling the air.
“I can stop them—” Brynn lunged forward, a handful of fire in each cupped palm. The vines tangled around her legs screeched, pulling back as the flames touched them.
Finn fought his way free, staggering across the clearing to where Serafina lay, her white-blonde hair spread in a halo around her head. He pulled her into his arms, dragging her away from the thrashing horse. The vines rounded on him, but another burst of flame drove them back.
“Good—” he coughed, choking on the smoke quickly filling the air. “That’s good. Now pull back the flames.”
“I don’t think—” Brynn’s voice shook, her moss green eyes wide with panic as the leaf mold caught, new flames springing up as quickly as she could pull her own back. “It’s spreading! I can’t stop it—”
“Don’t panic.” Loren grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to look at him. “Find your center. Focus on that. What do you want to do right now?”
“Keep everyone safe.” Brynn sniffed, tears filling her eyes. “All I was trying to do was keep them safe—”