Chapter 26
When I finally wake, it’s daylight. Hunter is holding me close to his chest as we ride Marigold through a dusty field, empty of harvest. Marigold’s hooves crunch over rocks and dried weeds.
Voices lull me back to awareness.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Hunter whispers above my head.
“It’s not unheard of for someone to manifest new abilities,” Tristan says, his words urgent despite his obvious attempt to keep quiet. “Her ancestors drew the night from the sky and blinded entire armies with light.”
A grumble rumbles in Hunter’s chest. “Maybe. But those were stories, not proven facts.”
“Stories all start somewhere. Look at the Dead Queens. The power to reanimate had to be born first.”
When I open my eyes, the late-afternoon sun makes me squint. I groan, startling Hunter.
“You’re awake.” He calls out to Tristan. “She’s awake.”
I watch as Tristan pulls the reins to stop his horse.
“How are you feeling?” Hunter asks, propping me forward on Marigold’s saddle. He reaches for a waterskin. “Here, drink some water.”
I take it in trembling hands and drink deeply.
“We nearly thought you’d died, Sienna,” Hunter says, once I hand the empty skin back to him.
“Burnout.” My voice is hoarse, like I’ve been screaming in my sleep. Exhaustion aches in my bones.
I’ve only burned out once before, back at the soldier camps. When I started healing the most gruesome cases, I couldn’t bear to leave dying men in agony while I rested. I kept pushing myself, kept using my power until it was completely gone. I was unconscious for three entire days after that.
“How long was I out?” I ask.
Hunter looks at Tristan whose expression is grim.
“Almost a full day.”
I groan. At least I didn’t miss much, just more traveling and numbing cold.
Tristan watches me intently, his eyebrows pinched together.
“What?” I ask.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
Hunter shoots him a sharp look. “Don’t upset her.”
“I’m not upset,” I snap, then cough at the strain in my vocal cords. “Are you telling me I shouldn’t have saved your life? Again?”
Tristan narrows his eyes and nods once.
I sigh and lean back into Hunter’s chest. “Let’s go. I’ve already wasted enough of our time.”
Hunter clicks his tongue, and Marigold starts forward. As we pass Tristan, he watches me with one of those looks I can’t quite decipher. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it looks a lot like guilt.
If I had more energy, I’d tell him this wasn’t his fault. But right now, all I want to do is lean back into Hunter’s chest and breathe in the heady scent of him as I drift back to sleep.
Gradually, the land shifts as we travel further north into the vast Korrigan Forest. The trees thicken and stretch taller, their gold and crimson leaves spilling like fire over the hills. It’s breathtaking to behold, but Korrigan isn’t just a pretty forest, it’s deadly too.
At least, that’s what all the stories say.
We stop for the night beneath a copse of twisted hawthorns, their thorn-laden branches reaching skyward like gnarled fingers clawing from a grave.
The last rays of twilight catch on the golden-yellow leaves still clinging to their boughs.
The trees crowd close, trunks hunched and knotted, their bark split like old scars.
We set up camp with our backs to them, as if the thorns might serve as a fortress.
Hunter pokes at the campfire with a stick, his copper gauntlets glinting in the firelight.
“I’m not sure we should go this way,” he says. “The main road would be safer.” His voice is low and worried. He glances up at the dark canopy that blocks all starlight.
“Sure, it would be,” Tristan says. “If it weren’t crawling with soldiers and King’s Guards looking for three fugitives.”
For the first time, I realize Tristan has the bronze fox sword that he found in the abandoned village.
It’s lying on the ground in front of him, glinting in the firelight.
While I was unconscious, he must have polished and sharpened it.
It’s an odd choice for a Wolf, a fox soldier’s sword. But it’s better than nothing.
“Are you sure you know the way?” Hunter keeps glancing toward me, like he’s afraid I’ll break again.
But I can already feel my power returning, albeit slowly.
I won’t try using that much all at once again.
Next time, I might not be so lucky. Nobles with power have been known to die from burnout when they push themselves too far.
Tristan gives him a lazy look from where he sits cross-legged in the dirt. “How do you think I travelled all the way to Caerwen in the first place?”
Hunter doesn’t respond.
The dark forest envelops us like a void. There’s no birdsong. No footfalls or snapping branches, only the slow creak of wood and the hush of twilight as it folds around us. This place feels old. Sacred.
I shiver and pull my red cloak tighter around me. The fire does little to chase away the cold sinking into my bones.
Hunter’s eyes are fixed on the flames. He’s been quiet all evening, more so than usual. There’s a tension in his shoulders, a nervous energy that he’s trying to hide. But I can see it. And it worries me.
“Hunter,” I say softly, drawing his attention. “What’s on your mind?”
He looks up, meets my gaze for a moment, then glances away. “Nothing.” His tone is unconvincing. His fingers tighten into a fist inside his gauntlets, and for a moment, I think he won’t say anything. Then he sighs, heavy and resigned.
“It’s this forest. There are stories about it. People say it’s cursed.” He shakes his head, looking back at the fire. “People disappearing, strange creatures lurking in the shadows, voices that drive men mad. I know it sounds like superstitious nonsense, but I can’t shake this feeling …”
The fire pops loudly, sending a shower of sparks into the night. Tristan digs into the saddlebags, removing rations of dried meat and the last of the cheese wheel.
I put my hand on Hunter’s arm. “We’ll be careful. We have each other’s backs.”
Tristan shakes his head and tosses Hunter the cheese. “He’s right to be afraid.”
I give him a look. “You’re not helping.”
Tristan’s jaw tightens. “It’s not helpful to be foolhardy.”
“Then what do we need to prepare for? How do we make it through safely?”
Tristan shrugs. “Luck.”
I scowl. “Lovely.” Still, I draw my knife from its new hiding spot inside the ankle of my boot, then set it next to me.
Tristan takes a bite of stale bread and turns to look up at the dark trees.
“The stories say the Heir to the North will return Korrigan Forest to Annwyn.” He pauses as we listen to the sounds of the wilderness and the popping fire.
“I wonder if that will make the forest happy again. To break the so-called curse. These trees were revered by the Annwyn people for thousands of years. They were our protectors. Until …” He lets his sentence hang unfinished.
Until my family invaded and pushed his people farther into the frozen north.
Maybe that’s why it’s cursed. My heart grows heavy, as if I’ve aged a century in a single moment. It feels as though I understand the plight of this wood. I, too, am haunted by a past that was violently taken from me. A past I can never get back.
“They miss what once was,” I say.
Hunter shoots me a curious glance.
Tristan nods. “Maybe so, Red.” He tears another hunk of bread with his teeth.
A twig snaps behind us, pulling us out of our thoughts. All three of us jump to our feet, weapons raised.
A woman stands just inside the ring of firelight, trembling and pale. Her filthy hands are raised in front of her in a peaceful gesture. “Please.” Her voice shakes with fear. “We mean you no harm.”
“We?” Tristan asks with a snarl.
“My children and I. May we approach?”
When we don’t respond right away, she continues. “We saw your fire. There’s safety in numbers out here. We just wanted to share your warmth for a while.” Her eyes travel to the dried meat that Tristan laid out on a rock. “It’s been a long time since we dared to light a fire.”
I look sideways at Hunter, but I can tell he’s wavering. He’d never let a woman or children suffer if he can help it.
“Where are your children?” I ask, my knife raised.
The woman waves at the darkness behind her. Slowly, three filthy children peek out from behind the trees. The oldest boy might be twelve, but the other two children can’t be more than six. They look as afraid as their mother does.
“Alright,” Hunter says. “We can share our fire.”
Behind us, Tristan growls his displeasure, but he doesn’t argue. He drops his sword and stomps back to his seat on the ground.
“Thank you,” the woman says. She gathers her children around her and they sit huddled together near the fire. The children put their hands as close to the flames as they dare, sniffling and shivering. The woman looks back at Hunter and gives him a small, appreciative smile.
I walk to the other side of the flames, as far away from the seemingly innocuous strangers as I can. “What are you doing in Korrigan with three children?” I ask. “And where are your guides?”
The woman shakes her head. “We don’t have any. Not anymore. When we left our home, there were seven of us. We’re all that’s left.”
I look toward Tristan, who still studies them warily. He picks up his fox sword and begins sharpening it with a stone. The eldest boy watches him with awe.
“What are your names?” Hunter asks.
“I’m Gloria.” The woman puts a hand on her two smallest children’s heads. “The twins are Adabel and Lorens.” She nods toward the oldest. “That’s Marten Jr. After his father.”
“Where is his father?” Hunter asks, but I suspect I already know the answer. The hollow look in the children’s eyes tells me everything I need to know.
“The dead wolves,” Gloria whispers, a hitch in her voice.
“Corpse wolves?” Tristan leans forward, finally interested. “You’re from Annwyn?”
Gloria nods.
“Why are you so far south?”