58. THE ELDERWOOD
Neither Auren, nor I got much sleep last night. And thank the gods for my staggering inherited ability to glamour because this entire wing of the guest house would have heard every moment of what kept us up.
Beyond sated, and donning a lazy smile, Auren tugged on her leggings, opting for an outfit that was very reminiscent of the one I’d first seen her in when she crossed The Veil. This morning, she and I were headed to The Elderwood, though I hadn’t told her exactly what we would be doing there.
Roirdan, Silas, Nivelle, and Remic left for Calledan an hour ago, so when I heard a knock on the door to the common area of our guest wing, my senses went on high alert.
I stepped out of our bedchamber, shadows spreading from behind my shoulders, eager to intercept whoever was going to come through the door.
From across the room, I watched the knob turn . . .
Vanir cautiously leaned inside, glancing around as if he would find something of concern.
Disappointed, my shadows sagged and returned to me as I grinned at my friend. “You act like you’ve walked in here to absolute chaos in the past.”
“I have.” Vanir chuckled.
“Oh?”
“Courtesy of your commander.”
“Ah. No need to explain, then.” I knew what that type of chaos consisted of: still half-inebriated females, a mess of clothing throughout the room, and lots of ale and wine.
Things Roirdan was infamously known for after courtly celebrations.
“Surprisingly, he called it an early night. I don’t even think he drank a flagon’s worth. ”
Vanir lifted a suspicious brow. “That’s very unlike him.”
Indeed. And it probably had something to do with the witch. The two had been locked in some sort of battle ever since we arrived here—before that, even. But last night, we all saw that there was something more going on.
“Speaking of Roirdan,” Vanir said. “I’m here because I saw something.”
“If it had anything to do with him and Nivelle, I’m happy to remain in the dark about it.”
“Not that kind of ‘seeing.’”
Oh. He meant . . . “A vision?”
He nodded.
Vanir’s secondary power of foresight was weak, so weak in fact, that the time between what visions he did have was so vast, I couldn’t remember how long it had been since his last one.
And whenever they did occur, they were so vague that none of us could ever quite figure out what they meant until hindsight revealed it to us.
The things he saw all seemed to be more like metaphors for something bigger, leaving so much room for interpretation that it wasn’t worth troubling ourselves over.
Still, I wanted to know.
I picked up the abandoned book from the sitting area’s table and walked over to the bookshelf. “Tell me.”
“I saw Roirdan encased in ice. Ice that his lighting couldn’t break or melt.”
A chill prickled along my spine.
Ice? Why ice?
I turned to look at Vanir. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He sighed. “You know how these things go: nothing helpful, easy to misinterpret.”
“I don’t think I even know how to interpret . . . ice.”
Vanir rubbed at the back of his neck. “Neither do I.”
“Huh.” I slipped the no-name book back into the empty space on the shelf of court histories and leaned back against it, folding my arms. “I don’t know a thing that his lightning can’t destroy. Ice seems like it would be simple.”
“Perhaps the fault is mine. My mind is a bit . . . muddled. I did enjoy myself more than usual last night with all the revelry. Either way, the vision just seemed like something worth noting.”
“Did it seem like a warning?”
“No.”
Well at least we had that. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Of course.” He crossed the room to the large window and looked out toward the mountains in the distance. “You two are headed to The Elderwood soon, then?”
“We are.” I pushed off the shelves and took up a spot at his side.
He lowered his voice. “Does she know?”
“No.”
“Just going to spring it on her, huh?”
“I haven’t quite decided how I’m going to go about it yet.”
“Well, if anything goes wrong, I’m only a mind-walk away.”
I chuckled. “Not sure there would be much either of us could do, but thanks for having my back. It’s a damn shame our forefathers weren’t capable of forming alliances and friendships like ours.”
“Lesser males believe they need no others but themselves.”
I agreed wholeheartedly with that. “I should start calling you ‘Vanir the Wise’ if you’re going to spit truths like that.”
His laugh was gravelly and deep, and was interrupted by the creaking of a door. We turned as Auren stepped into the room, the same heart-stopping smile adorning her face.
“There she is,” I said, unlacing my arms and taking her into them upon her approach. “Ready for our little side quest?”
“I’d be more ready if you would tell me what exactly we’re going into the woods for.”
I put on my best grin. “Enlightenment.”
Beside me, Vanir snorted, wordlessly calling my bluff.
“I don’t believe you,” Auren said, poking me in the center of my chest. “Vanir’s reaction tells me everything I need to know.”
“Then you’ll just have to trust me.” I smiled wide and planted a kiss on her lips.
The skies were darker today, heavier, with clouds that refused to release their rain, as if they anticipated what was to come and were saving it for the most inopportune moment.
We ported to the edge of The Elderwood, where the rolling, grassy hills of the highlands erupted with tall, densely-packed trees, bridging the gap between the knolls and the mountains beyond.
Auren had seen parts of The Elderwood on Calledan’s side, but here, the trees held more secrets, more magic, more creatures and landmarks than we had time to explore.
There was one landmark in particular that I was leading her to though—the place where gods once walked.
Auren gazed up into the canopy as we entered the ancient forest, hand in hand.
The deeper we traipsed, the more enchanting the land became.
There was a magic to this part of the woods.
Something of Old. An invisible fissure deep within the earth where Old Magic thrived, was siphoned by the Ancient Fae until it was barren, and eventually replenished itself, only to lie dormant through the ages as the fae adapted and changed.
Everything was thriving and green, lush with the frequent spring rains and ever-present humidity that lingered in the shadow of the lowlands beneath the mountains.
Stones jutted from the ground, some that were as large as a carriage, and looked suspiciously like sleeping Dreki curled up in tight balls and wedged between trees.
They might have been, given that the creatures could remain incredibly still, and their camouflage was akin to that of a fae glamour.
The terrain began to rise and fall, the trees becoming tightly knit, reaching with spindly branches as if they were offering their shimmering leaves to us as we passed by.
I was in the midst of telling Auren how it was even possible to catch the newblooded Dreki in a place like this, when a sound snapped both of us to attention.
Up ahead on a ridge, a thicket of branches hissed with movement.
My arm shot out to my side, keeping Auren behind me as I scanned our surroundings.
Nothing else moved. Not a sound other than Auren’s breathing. Then . . .
Scraaaape.
Claws on stone.
I knew that sound—like a taunt. Only one creature was known for dragging their dagger-sharp claws against stone to unnerve anything that came across its path. And it was no Dreki.
Don’t move, I told Auren. Even though I was speaking into her mind, I kept my voice to nothing more than a whisper, because out of all the lore surrounding these creatures, the thing that bothered me most about them was their ability to read someone’s thoughts.
Scraaaape.
Auren pressed into my side as I pushed out my shield as gently as I could, encompassing the both of us. My shadows stayed quiet, tucked under my skin, watching.
The creature moved, shifting on its feet beneath the brush. It blended into the dark stone that it crouched upon, shrouded in shadows, until it decided to rise. Branches snapped as it emerged, growing taller, seeming like a thing of the night spilling forth from the depths of the earth.
Auren gasped.
A cù-sìth stared us down with its haunting, green eyes.
Its thick, crinkled, black fur shifted with its shoulders as it breathed long, steady breaths through its open maw.
Swishing behind it was its long, bushy tail.
Like that of a dog’s, it moved left to right with a smooth, swift motion, but only a fool would take that to mean it was calm and unbothered.
Cù-sìth were elusive creatures. Stumbling upon them in the wild was not common, nor was it reassuring. Unless you were a young warrior looking to make a statement and prove yourself with a ritual kill, this beast was the last thing you wanted to cross paths with.
Auren straightened beside me, pushing her shoulders back. “A cù-sìth,” she whispered.
Slowly, I angled my head toward her, wondering who had told her about the creatures. If she knew what they were, then she knew what they symbolized . . .
Death.
The cù-sìth were wolf-like in appearance.
Their oversized bodies rivaled the wolves of Drastia—though they were of no relation.
Even a fool could discern that they were more monster than hound.
Unlike the wolves of the arctic, who could rip a fae apart with little to no effort, these creatures didn’t need to resort to such violence.
Their reputations preceded them, which meant the fae and all other creatures kept well away.
If a howl was heard in the distance, the fae knew to be quiet and go inside.
But if the creature itself was spotted .
. . well, the witness might as well start praying.
Because if a cù-sìth found someone unsuspecting, the ill-fated omen it carried with it was theirs.