Chapter 26
Unclean Slates
MAX
The Bloodraven crest shines scarlet over the front door of the witch hut, the upside-down tree painted in dried blood over the wood.
Nick traces the mark lovingly before pushing in, and we quickly search the premises.
The small cabin is stocked with the bare minimum of nonperishable food.
Wards are etched into the beams to keep out the Reds and mask the place from anyone but a Bloodraven witch.
E grabs a worn, knitted blanket from the bed and wraps it around his frame. The fabric disappears in his grip, vanishing inch by inch as he pulls it tight around his shoulders. The way the yarn dips and curves before it vanishes completely steals my breath.
I force myself to look away as Nick spreads the map across the square table in the raggedy kitchen, smoothing the creases with his palm.
Red lines spider toward the center of the Red Forest, thin at the edges, then growing thicker as they converge.
“The Red Forest has four distinct borders. To the north, there’s the Dark Sea,” Nick starts.
“An endless expanse of cold, deep waters. Full of things that don’t want to be found,” I add quickly. “We’re not heading north, that’s for sure.”
He drags his index finger east. “Wintermere’s glaciers feed the Red Forest’s rivers from the south-east, while the water from the Summerlands flows from the south-west.”
E’s fingertips leave shallow grooves in the parchment as he touches the western border. “And to the west, the Solar Cliffs.”
Nick nods. “Every river that runs through the Red Forest originates from one of those three kingdoms. They flow inward, widening as they go.”
We all study the red-inked channels.
“Why is the water red, though?” I ask. “If it comes from outside the Red Forest.”
“The mountains are full of iron. Also, hematite, clay, and copper,” E explains. “The water’s clear at the source, but it stains as it moves downhill. By the time it reaches the capital, it’s blood-red.”
Nick exhales through his nose. “Another one of your instincts, eh?”
E brushes off the accusation and traces one river as it thickens. “Every single channel appears to lead to the same place.”
Nick taps the dark knot at the center of the map. “Lorntre’s Hollow. The heart of the Red Forest. If we follow the rivers downstream, they’ll take us there. To the center of our power, the Lorntre tree.”
My brother’s voice trembles with something dangerously close to greed.
“Only what’s left of it,” I counter. “And the Reds’ capital stands in between.”
Nick swallows hard, a range of emotions flickering across his face.
“Lorntre Hollow was scorched, and an entire way of life was erased right there.” He studies the markings again.
“The whole area’s sealed off. A warded stone wall was built after the fire to keep us from our roots and away from the source of our power. ”
“Or to keep some dark, ancient power inside,” E mumbles.
Nick slides his hand back up the closest river and examines a small area on the south-west border where the Summerlands begin, specifically the province of Eterna, the capital of the entire Fae continent.
“Lysandra and her kin made camp here,” he says. “Right on the Summerlands border.”
“So to reach them, we have to climb the rivers upstream,” E sums up.
An eager grin curls my brother’s lips. “That’s the plan. Judging by this map, and depending on the terrain, I’d say it’s a two—maybe three-day walk. Just as we thought.”
“Sounds reasonable,” I admit.
We’ve packed enough provisions for a week, but we’re still very na?ve about what could be waiting for us in these woods.
Whatever Nick says, we haven’t set foot in Faerie since we were kids.
And while the temperature is above freezing, it’s not a tropical forest by any means. Good thing we know how to pitch a tent.
My attention drifts to the center of the map again. “I know it’s silly, but a part of me wonders what would happen if we headed east instead. Seems ridiculous to turn away from the center…”
There’s a strange tickling in my gut that tells me we should head east, toward the Lorntre.
Closer to the hollow, a second network of lines appears.
These don’t follow the lay of the land. They don’t descend from mountains or obey gravity.
Instead, they loop and coil around Lorntre Hollow, wrapping around it in slow, deliberate curves.
“I feel the same way. If we followed the water down…” Nick trails off.
I meet his gaze. “It would take us straight to the Reds.”
I brush the borders of Lorntre Hollow with shaky fingers. Up close, the red lines no longer look like rivers at all. They look like veins and arteries encircling something alive, something pumping in the middle of the forest.
A heart.
The open wound left by the Reds still bleeds, which means the forest still lives. That it can still be saved.
I clear my throat. “It’d be way too dangerous, of course.”
Nick scratches the back of his neck, blinking as though he’s just been pulled from a trance. “Right. The Summerlands’ border is safer.”
“Are you two all right?” E asks wistfully.
“There’s just something intriguing about this place.
” I press a hand to my sternum. “Ever since we stepped foot on red soil, I’ve felt a current in the ground.
In my blood. A mix between a sense of euphoria and an electric jolt.
That strange humming yearns for me to head east and find the heart.
” I shake my head. “It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I feel it. And there’s a sort of mournful ache in my chest at the thought of turning my back on the Lorntre tree. ”
“It howls for us,” Nick mutters with a sharp nod. “It wants us to come home.”
I nod. There’s no better way to say it.
E bristles. “Hold on there before getting lost in the woods, Hansel and Gretel. I don’t like how you two suddenly sound like eager disciples of a sentient tree. That’s definitely not how dark possession stories begin. Tell me, who should I slap first?”
The dry humor helps shake off some of my malaise.
“Err—right. Let’s organize ourselves and leave this hut before this strange pull overrides our free will,” I say with a forced chuckle, unsure if I’m joking or not.
We search the cabin, just in case, but it hasn’t been used in years.
Maybe decades. The flour in the pantry has gone sour, clumped, and is crawling with mealworms fattened on damp grain and neglect.
The roots of the neighboring tree chewed into the wood, growing straight through the floorboards.
Mice have made a home in the thin walls, their nests packed tight with shredded paper and old blood wards long since drained of power.
There’s ink and paper on the desk, neatly stacked and untouched, but no unfinished letters, no names, and no sign of who, besides Mabel, ever passed through here.
“We should leave the crate here,” I suggest.
Nick’s brow knits together. “But we only just found the spindle. Why leave it behind?”
“It’s heavy, for one thing. And let’s be honest, we’re a bunch of newbies walking straight into a world we know very little about.
This spindle is our only leverage. We should repaint the protective wards and leave the crate in the pantry.
That’ll ensure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands if we walk straight into a Red patrol. ”
Or if Nick’s friends turn out to be Red spies—but I don’t say that part out loud.
My twin chews on his bottom lip, clearly torn between logic and instinct. He hates that I’m right. He hates the idea of letting go of the one powerful relic we’ve managed to secure. “But isn’t that like leaving it in enemy territory? If this house were so safe, Mabel would have done this herself.”
A sigh wheezes past my lips. “It’s a tie. E?”
“Oh, give me a break,” Nick snaps. “The ghost doesn’t get a vote.”
I lift my chin. “And why not?”
“Because one, he’s not alive, and two, he’ll vote with you just to stay on your good side.”
I bare my teeth. “I don’t have a bad side, dear brother, yet you always disagree with me.”
Nick mirrors my grin, all challenge and teeth. “I just think my idea is better. I say we take the crate along. If this artifact is supposed to be powerful enough to destroy destiny itself, it could come in handy in a fight.”
“You want to stab the first Red on our path with the pointy end of the Spindle of the Gods?” I ask dryly.
“Why not? The sharp end almost looks like a stake.”
I scoff. “Reds aren’t vampires.”
He combs a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Aren’t they sucking the life and blood out of our forest?”
“So you want to kill them all? No questions asked?” I balk.
“They deserve it.”
“You’re being totally reductive.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
We both freeze, our childish instincts rising to the surface.
People always assume twins are inseparable in some serene, mystical way.
With Nick and me, the closer we are, the harder we fight.
We’re united by a love that runs deeper than reason, yet constantly clashing over the smallest, stupidest things.
It feels both comforting and wrong to fall back into that rhythm.
Fire and blood.
I’ve always believed that if we ever truly agreed on something, we’d be unstoppable. Instead, we choose opposite sides almost by reflex, eager to spar simply because that’s what we’ve always done.
“I thought you wanted to kill the Red Queen and find our mother’s murderer,” I press. “Not that you’d want to slaughter every Red Fae we cross paths with just for wearing a uniform.”
“Don’t be daft, Max.” Nick shrugs dismissively, like I’m being way too sentimental. “Reds are all the same, and they want us dead. Why shouldn’t we defend ourselves?”
“Defend ourselves by attacking first, you mean.”
E stops our fight cold by saying, “Just give me the spindle, and I’ll carry it.”
Nick balks. “Say again?”
“I might be dead, but I have a body now. I can slip it into my pocket and carry it along. That way, if you’re caught, it won’t fall into enemy hands.”