9. Wren
Idon’t go back for the totem. Instead, I fly towards the cave hidden deep within the Dusken Forest. It’s the closest thing I have to a home now—though home is too generous a word. It’s a nest, really.
The cave opens out onto a small, still lake, its surface dark as glass and fed by an underground spring.
Moss clings thickly to the stone walls, softening the chill, and bundles of dried herbs hang from carefully driven hooks—sage, moonwort, foxglove, feverfew—things I’ve gathered over months, easy enough to find in the Duskfen if you know where to look.
They can be a lifeline for humans unable to venture into the forest. Crates of supplies are stacked neatly against the far wall: jars of tinctures, folded blankets, a few precious tools.
Everything I own fits here. Everything I need.
Nothing I want.
I’ve spelled the entrance against discovery. Nothing elaborate—just enough to blur the eye, bend attention away. It’s safe enough to leave my things while I’m gone, though plenty of faeries could unravel it if they cared to. They simply haven’t.
For all that I’m no longer counted among them, no one from Moonhollow has come after me.
A few others have tried their luck, to no avail.
Fewer still have offered help. A brownie couple invited me to stay with them once, but their home lies deeper in the forest than I’m willing to risk.
I need to be able to come and go, and I don’t want to put them in the firing line of opportunistic fey.
Putting down roots is not an option.
I’m not sure it ever was.
I unpack my few belongings and eat a handful of nuts, forcing myself to chew even though hunger barely registers.
My body needs fuel. There’s work to be done.
Quite a lot of it. The cave walls are crowded with my notes—maps of the surrounding lands, careful sketches of ley lines, star charts etched in charcoal and chalk.
I study them now. There’s a place I need to visit soon, or I’ll miss my chance and be forced to wait another year.
At the same time, the thought of restoring Cass’s sight presses heavily on me, urgent and insistent.
Is there a way to do both?
I could spend days—weeks, even—searching the castle for the totem. After that, it would take just as long to microdose him carefully, subtly. It’s not the sort of thing one does easily unnoticed.
Unless… unless I don’t do it secretly.
Unless—
But Cass would never help me. Would he?
The idea of dosing him without his consent has twisted uncomfortably in my chest from the start, but up until now, I’ve not been able to see another option. There’s no way he’ll speak to me, even if I can even find the words to speak to him.
I’ve thought about it, of course. I must have written a hundred letters, trying to find the perfect way to help him understand, to lessen the hurt.
But at the end of the day, I couldn’t find any words that could justify what I’d done, and sending a letter he’d have to get someone else to read…
it felt wrong. Not to mention, I’d have to deliver the letter myself, and that would raise all sorts of questions about how I got in and out of the castle.
I didn’t want to give up my one advantage.
Or make him think he wasn’t safe.
In person was out of the question for much the same reason. I’ve thought about trying to isolate him during one of his excursions to the forest, but my courage always left me at the last minute.
I miss the days when I had so much, and thought I had nothing left to lose. I miss the me that thought I was fearless.
But mostly, I think, I miss him… him, and the girl he loved.
If she ever existed.
I place a hand to my chest, my gaze drifting back to the star chart.
“All we knew was that a half-blood had to enter the service of the second son.”
Eryndor’s words surface. Whatever he and the other elders saw written in the stars… Cassiel is part of it too.
Maybe that’s why my grandmother hasn’t searched for me. Perhaps she believes I’ve already played my role, and the rest lies with her. She likely has more than enough to occupy her now, holding the forest against Cassiel’s assault.
I sigh. Watching him tear at the Dusken hurts more than I like to admit. I understand his anger—his pain, his frustration—but it wasn’t the forest that wronged him.
Stop helping him, a voice whispers. Go back to Moonhollow. Repent. Beg their forgiveness. Be accepted by someone rather than no one.
Never, I tell myself.
That is one promise I can keep.
I turn back to the cave wall and scribble a few figures on the stone, calculating how long it would take to reach the nearest star gate on foot.
Three days, maybe, at a steady pace. I’d need to reach it at least a day before the stars align to be on the safe side, to spell it from others.
I’m not sure anyone will want to use it on the date I’ve picked, but there’s no knowing the answers others are seeking.
I check the maps, charting a rough path. I think about how long it took the man in Caldrin to heal.
I’m not sure I can pull it off, but perhaps there is one more promise I can keep after all.