Chapter 33
The Forest
Ileave without announcing it. The ballroom doors close behind me and the music fades as I move through the garden paths.
Roses grow in careful rows beside the walkways, every branch trimmed into obedience.
Somewhere behind me water moves through the fountains, a soft reminder that the evening inside continues whether I remain there or not.
Everything here exists for display.
I cross the garden without slowing. At the far edge of the grounds an old wall marks the boundary of the Baron’s estate. Ivy has begun to claim the stonework, and a narrow gate stands open where the garden gives way to forest.
The change is immediate when I pass through.
Gravel disappears beneath my feet, replaced by earth and exposed roots.
The scent of roses fades behind me. Damp soil and pine fill the air instead.
The trees gather close together the farther I walk, and before long the sounds of the house vanish entirely.
The forest beyond the wall belongs to no one. My breathing eases as I move deeper among the trees. The estate carries a constant awareness of being watched. Servants, guards, expectations follow every step, but the forest does not care who I am.
I know this path well. When I was younger my father often sent me outside whenever I displeased him.
No explanation followed the command. I was simply expected to disappear until he decided otherwise.
I would wait until the house grew quiet, then slip through the garden gate and follow this same track through the woods.
It leads to the docks, not the great harbor of the capital but a place where ships anchor often enough. Merchant vessels. Traders traveling upriver. Sometimes the long Vaelor ships that arrive and depart without warning.
From the trees above the shoreline I used to watch their lanterns drift across the water and imagine stepping onto one of them without permission. Movement meant choice.
The path carries me deeper into the forest. The ground slopes gradually toward the river. The trees grow thicker here, their branches weaving overhead until the sky appears only in scattered gaps between leaves.
I slow without meaning to. Something about the air feels wrong. It is not fear exactly. It is the same quiet awareness that once warned me when footsteps approached the door of my room. The forest looks unchanged. The path remains empty, yet the silence feels too complete.
My attention moves through the trees. Off to the left a low rock face interrupts the line of trunks, ivy trailing across the hollow where the rock dips inward. Fallen leaves gather thick at its mouth.
The cave.
I recognize it at once. I hid there often enough as a child that I could find it even in darkness. For a moment I consider stepping off the path. The cave once offered a kind of shelter, a place where the forest swallowed the sounds of the house.
But the docks lie farther ahead, and tonight I want distance more than hiding. I return to the path and continue walking.
The forest grows quieter with every step. Then a scent reaches me. Pine lies beneath it, familiar and clean, but another note threads through the air. Subtle. Bright in a way the forest is not.
A cold awareness moves through me.
A man steps from between the trees as though he has been there all along. A dark emerald braid falls down his back. His dark eyes rest on me without urgency. Kohl lines them, giving his face a faintly dangerous elegance. Too perfect to be human.
Thren.
“Running toward something?” he asks. “Or away?”
Every instinct suggests I should turn back toward the garden, but instead I remain where I am.
Curiosity has always been one of my less sensible qualities.
His hand closes around my wrist and muscle memory takes over.
The movements Master Forsamin drilled into me in secret rise to the surface, precise and unforgiving. I drive my elbow back into his ribs, pivot on my heel, and bring my knee up hard. His grip breaks with a startled curse and he stumbles away from me.
I turn.
Three figures emerge from the trees, spreading out with practiced ease. They do not move like men. Their bodies track mine too smoothly, their attention shared without words.
Threns.
One bares his teeth in something like a grin. “I’d love some royal pleasure before we kill her.”
Another inhales deeply, eyes glazing. “As long as I get the soul, I don’t care what’s left.”
I plant my feet and fight. More Threns arrive, two, then another three. There are too many. My hands lift without conscious thought, palms turning outward as the power inside me surges forward, restless and demanding release. Until now I have held it back, relying on the training Forsamin gave me.
Another Thren lunges. I brace myself and raise my hands higher, ready to unleash whatever magic will answer my call.
The ground shudders beneath my feet.
For a moment none of us move. Then a roar tears through the forest, deep and feral, the sound so immense it sends birds exploding from the trees above us.
The nearest Thren turns, but he does not have time to react.
Something crashes into him, driving him into the earth as claws rip through flesh.
Blood splashes across bark and leaf. A body lifts from the ground and vanishes into the undergrowth with a violent crack of branches. The forest explodes with movement.