22. Chapter 22
Isla had surprised herself by falling asleep again after Vaelin’s nightmare.
It had, after all, not even been dawn yet, and her body had been easily lulled back into sleep after Vaelin had coaxed the fire back to life.
She had awoken hours later to find breakfast at the table, along with Vaelin, freshly bathed and dressed for travel.
She blinked, suddenly struck by the casual intimacy of him quietly sipping coffee while she slept.
She sat up, hugging the quilt to her chest.
The movement drew his attention, his eyes finding hers over the top of the mug he held. “Morning,” he murmured.
“Morning,” she responded automatically.
She felt strangely self-conscious. He showed no traces of his fitful sleep, no shadows under his eyes.
Her mind flickered back to the things she’d shared with him last night — things that cut to the bone of her grief.
It had been easier in the dark. Now, in the light of day, she felt raw and exposed, like she had erased some invisible line that she couldn’t redraw.
He was still looking at her, his eyes searching hers with that steady, expressionless look she couldn't ever decode.
He was so guarded, a closed book. She never quite knew what he was thinking or feeling, and it made her feel like she was constantly off balance, as though the world was shifting beneath her feet.
"We should get moving," he said, breaking the silence.
She nodded, reaching to brush her hair behind an ear and grimaced at the crunch. Her hand came away with flakes of dried blood dusting her fingers. Her eyes travelled down her clothing, still crusted with dried blood and other remnants of the night's healing.
"You can bathe first," Vaelin drawled and she looked up to see the corner of his mouth twitch. She felt her eyes narrow slightly as she pursed her lips.
“Such a gentleman,” she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
This time, she remembered to bring her clean clothing into the bathing chamber with her.
Vaelin rolled his neck, trying to relieve some of the stiffness. He hadn’t gone back to sleep after the nightmare. He’d stoked the fire, then spent the next hour forcing his eyes to watch the dancing flames instead of Isla, where she slept peacefully beneath the quilt.
I relive the day that Windborne lieutenant knocked on my door and shattered my world…
She had shared with him something so vulnerable, if only to shoulder some of the awkwardness he’d felt at unintentionally doing the same.
He hadn’t offered any details, and she hadn’t expected them.
After she’d woken, bathed, and eaten, she’d insisted she check on her patients before they departed Brackenford.
They’d made their way to Mara’s cottage, where they’d found the boy still stable, his father sitting at his side, profuse in his gratitude.
Mara and Carin - the latter with a stammered goodbye to Vaelin - had sent them on their way with fresh provisions for the road.
Now they were back on the main trail, the forest shifting as the few remaining oaks, maple, and birch trees gave way to hardier pines and firs.
More sunlight filtered through the trees as they moved farther toward the outskirts of Terravern, the conifers more sparse.
They rode carefully over the increasingly uneven terrain, the earthy forest floor now sharing space with gravel and rocky ridges, the horses’ hooves crunching over fallen pine needles as the Vaeloran mountains loomed ever closer.
The air had become cool and crisp as they’d gained some elevation, and Vaelin relished the loss of the oppressive humidity of the forest. Though he’d expected to grow more relaxed the closer they grew to his realm, the tension in his body remained, tightly spooled, as though the dark memories of what he’d fled from weeks earlier lurked in the shadows of the mountains.
“How long do you think it will take us?” Isla’s voice pierced his dour thoughts and he glanced at her. “To reach The City,” she clarified.
He blew out a breath, rubbing a hand along his jaw.
“It’s difficult to say. I’d say we’re...
a day and a half to the mouth of the Pass.
Another to the Market, if we leave early.
We’ll stock up there, rest for the evening.
Another day or two to the border from there.
And then…” he paused, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he couched his words, “It will depend on the sands. It could be three days, it could be.... more.”
She nodded, her jaw tight. “You've… crossed the sands on foot before?"
He nodded curtly.
"How many times?"
He looked at her, keeping his expression carefully blank, then faced forward again. "Twice."
She nodded again, letting the quiet stretch between them.
His stomach churned as he considered the prospect of crossing the unforgiving desert.
It was hard enough on the fae. But a human?
There was no value in downplaying the gravity of what they faced.
He eyed her. “I won’t tell you that it’s easy,” he said, “but it’s doable.
We’ll be hot and cold, hungry and thirsty, and tired most of all. ”
“You make it sound so appealing,” she grumbled.
He felt one side of his mouth quirk up. His eyes slipped past her as he frowned, scanning the trail. A recollection swept over him and he murmured to his gelding, halting.
"What is it?" Isla asked, and he felt her tense at his side, pulling up her mare.
"Is there another trail we can take?"
Her brow knitted. "No, this is the only trail that leads to the Pass. Why?"
He sighed, a deep rumble that moved through his chest to the tips of his fingers. No getting around it, then.
“The clearing where the hunting party was attacked,” he said. “We're going to have to pass right by it.”
“Oh. Is it…?” she trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
He looked at her, his jaw tight. He said nothing, but she swallowed, nodding.
Soberly, they urged their horses forward.
Through the thinning trees, the clearing was impossible to miss.
He knew she was no stranger to blood and viscera, but the carnage the wolf had left behind was stomach-turning, even to him.
He set his jaw grimly as they moved past the bloody remnants, stubbornly keeping his gaze on the trail ahead.
But Isla looked. The clearing was stained the dark red-brown of dried blood, and fallen and cracked boughs littered the earth amid scattered limbs.
Isla had wondered aloud whether the villagers might’ve returned to retrieve the bodies of the fallen, to add them to their steadily growing graveyard.
He’d said nothing at the time, attempting to spare her from the grim reality.
But he supposed she had her answer now — there was little point when there were no bodies to retrieve.
He nudged his horse close enough to close his hand gently around her elbow, urging her on.
Tearing her eyes from the grisly scene, her eyes met his, wide and disbelieving.
“The slash marks on the trees,” she said, her voice raw.
He nodded, his mouth a thin line. They were identical to those they’d spotted just before their arrival in Brackenford.
He watched, could almost see her mind racing, worrying how far the wolves had travelled.
“I don’t think they would move much farther south than this,” he said. “Wolves prefer the cooler climate of the mountains.” Vaelin said, but his gut churned — he was all but certain this attack had been made by something much worse than wolves.
“One wolf did all this?” Isla asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Vaelin glanced at her, then looked away, his jaw tense. He felt her eyes on him as he urged his horse along. She kept pace, seeming to wrestle with something of her own. Finally, she spoke.
“What aren’t you telling me?” She demanded, her voice ringing with determination.
He ground his teeth.
She kept her gaze fastened on him, like her eyes were tethered to his tightened jaw, to that spot where a muscle feathered like a caged bird. For a moment, she thought he’d ignore her, but then he spoke.
“There is more to this than just the illness.”
Her stomach dropped, though she wasn’t sure why. She narrowed her eyes, fighting to keep her voice steady. “What do you mean?”
He kept his own eyes stubbornly fixed on the trail ahead, the mountains rising in the distance as he continued in a low voice.
“I told you of my vision, of the illness spreading, and… of you.” He glanced to her, something flickering in his eyes before he tore them away again.
“There was another, sent before my own. It warned of… a great calamity, a breaking of the world. Catastrophic natural disasters amid a rampant illness and rogue magic. Armies of shadow decimating the continent.”
Isla’s heart thumped so hard in her chest it bordered on painful, the insistent beat of a drum.
With each word he spoke, her stomach dipped lower, the unease that had lingered for days beneath her skin now coiling up her spine like an icy thread.
She shuddered. Like she’d lit a lamp in her mind, memories flashed, puzzle pieces falling together: sallow, early-turned leaves curling at the edges, carpeting the forest floor; failing crops with no explanation; herbs falling dormant too early, black at the root; and a sudden, fatal illness, contagious and resistant to all known treatment.
She released a slow, shaky breath as a prickling sensation spread throughout her body, a million tiny needles sinking into her flesh. Her grip tightened on her reins.
Vaelin was tense beside her, no doubt waiting for some combination of stinging accusation and denial.
When neither came, he said, “I’m sorry. I should have told you all of it.
” His words were gravelly and heavy with burden.
After all, it had been him who had convinced her to embark on this fool’s errand. Or had it?