41. Willow
Chapter 41
Willow
W e set off for Heliodor in mid-afternoon, heading west following the Abhainn River beside the woods. We aim to cover as much ground as possible before nightfall and find a good place to camp. Fresh snow crunches beneath our feet, but the sky is a brilliant cerulean blue, and I’m still filled with barely-contained excitement at finally being outside Avorlorna.
How can I not marvel at the winter wonderland? It reminds me of home, of the mountainous terrain surrounding my father’s cabin. Icicles hanging from tree branches sparkle with an inner light. The snow seems to shimmer with a rainbow when the sunlight hits it just right. In the distance, I swear I hear the faint tinkling of bells, though there’s no one else in sight. I half expect to see snow sprites flurrying around, proving me wrong about the lack of magic here.
I can’t say my mortal companions feel the same thrill I do. I doubt half of them are used to trekking through the wilderness, but whether there is snow or grass, the wild is home to a wolf. This is where I feel most at peace. My eyes flutter closed, and I inhale deeply, the crisp winter air filling my lungs. The scent of pine and frost mingles with something distinctly magical.
When I was little, I used to go on runs in the wild during a full moon with my father and older brother, Thorne. I smile fondly at the memories. Even though I couldn’t shift all the way into a wolf—just my fangs, ears, and claws—it didn’t stop me from tagging along. After returning to Elphyne as an adult and the twins were born, I envied their ability to become wolves. Even hated them for it. But now I’m here, I only feel joy at knowing they’ll get to immerse themselves in that experience fully. They’ll feel this exhilaration, too.
A melancholy takes control of my heart for a moment . . . but only for a moment, because I remember where I am and who is with me. I’m nowhere near done with Avorlorna. In Elphyne, I floundered for purpose. Here, I’m building it.
The snow crunches behind me, and I turn to see Bodin approaching. The white landscape sets off his dark form. His sleek, black military uniform accentuates broad shoulders and cuts an imposing figure. A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold or fear.
“Everything alright?” he asks, deep voice rumbling.
I nod, offering him a small smile. “Just remembering . . . and looking forward.”
He studies me for a moment, his gaze intense.
“Stay alert,” he says finally. “We don’t know what we might encounter out here.”
As if to emphasize his point, a distant howl echoes through the trees—too wild to be a normal wolf, too haunting to be anything but magical. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through me. The Fever Hunt screeches and dives, a black streak against the sky. He crashes through the trees, and we lose sight of him. A few seconds later, he returns and drops a smoking carcass up ahead near Ignarius’s troop.
“A Terror?” I ask a little too eagerly.
He squints ahead and replies, “Just a regular boar.”
We walk in companionable silence for a few more minutes, the crunch of snow beneath our feet the only sound. I’m hyper-aware of his presence beside me.
To cool my hormones, I return to the magical winter landscape, the Abhainn, a ribbon of darkness slashing through the glittering land to our right. Its cascading waters should cause fear to ripple through me at being this close, but I’m not afraid. Not with Bodin, Legion, and Styx nearby. In the end, Emrys didn’t come. I suspect Legion sent him off to keep an eye on Puck. I’ll ask later when I get a private moment.
Something ripples in the waters, and my breath hitches. But then I see the shimmering scales of the Dread Hunt close to the surface and whip my gaze to Bodin.
His lips curve. “The dragons gain power from their elements. The Hollow Hunt will be out tonight.”
“How does the Fever Hunt draw power?”
Bodin looks up at the sun.
“Ah.” I shake my head. “I assumed it was fire.”
“That too.”
“The Wild Hunt?” I tentatively ask.
“Death, chaos, darkness—souls.”
That makes sense.
Finally, I work up the courage to ask him, “What happened to Colin?”
He glances at me and keeps walking. He opens his mouth, shuts it, and then exhales through his teeth. “He and other young and inexperienced were tasked with tower chores.”
“Okay . . . go on,” I prompt.
“They had little time for the rest,” he explains dryly. “He missed multiple classes and the ball. When I found him, his fingers were raw and blistered.”
My gaze narrows. “He’s from the House of Embers, right?”
He gives a curt nod.
“What about the other two young ones?”
“Found them the same,” he replies. “House of Tides.”
“Did Colin remember anything of the night at Burn After Reading?” I ask, although I know the answer.
“No, nor did he have the patch I handed to him. He was set upon the moment he left. He wasn’t even aware of what his house members confiscated.”
Anger and fury well within me, hot and potent. “We can’t send him back to that after this.”
His eyes flick ahead as he says, “I’m working on it.”
The injustice of it all makes my blood boil. These kids came here for a chance, and instead, they’re being exploited and abused. It’s wrong, and I’m determined to do something about it. But how? The enormity of the task ahead feels overwhelming, but I push the feeling aside—one step at a time.
Our troop is one of seven walking along the river in a line, so it’s not hard for me to see further down the train to where the House of Embers Lord, Ignarius, guides his troop. He barely blinked at the smoking carcass except to bark an order. Probably to claim the food rights, but I really hope he’ll send some fresh meat our way. It smells good.
“He’s not a good person, is he?” I ask Bodin.
“If you have to ask that question . . .”
“Yeah, yeah,” I reply. “I know the answer.”
No meat, then. Bastard.
Unbidden, my gaze tracks further along the train of walking troops and lands on Styx. Something tugs within my chest, uncomfortable and needy. He was briefly there with Bodin and me in that tiny wall cavity while the castle changed shape. I felt his wraith occupy the space, and he spoke into my mind, daring me to get down on my knees for Bodin. He overheard my thoughts, but contrary to my worry that he’d be dejected or jealous like he was on the dancefloor, he wanted to join in. Only for a moment before he thought better of it and disappeared.
The memory brings a rush of heat beneath my skin. The danger, the closeness, the way Styx’s hoarse whisper in my mind gleamed with mischief and desire . . .
I’m still smirking to myself when Bodin tugs me toward the back of our troop and pulls something from his pack. The crisp winter air nips at my cheeks, but I barely notice, too intrigued by Bodin’s secretive behavior.
“Here,” he says, handing me a long, thin cloth-wrapped package. His fingers brush against mine as he passes it over, sending sparks shooting up my arm.
“What’s this?” I ask, excitement bubbling in my chest.
“Something I thought you might need,” he replies, a hint of gruffness in his voice. “A gift.”
“A gift?” I blink.
“Yes,” he says, a little frustrated. “Hurry up and open it before somebody sees.”
Barely able to contain my grin, I hastily unwrap the package and have to stifle my gasp of surprise. It’s my Elphynian bone sword—but shorter and refined. I turn the blade over in my hand. The elven-strengthening glyphs are still there, glimmering blue on the blade. An onyx skull is the new pommel.
“How did you get it? How did you change it?” I ask, wonder in my voice.
Bodin’s enigmatic smile makes my stomach flip. “I honed the blade but asked Styx for help with the decorations.”
I twirl it in my hands. In its original form, the sword was chunky and a little barbaric-looking. It suited Elphyne, but not here. More ornate jewels encrust the cross-guard. It could easily stand among Titania’s glimmering court and their obsession with pretty things. I swing it around, cutting the air like a pretend monster.
“It’s perfectly balanced,” I breathe.
“Stop drawing attention to yourself,” he grumbles, but his words have no real heat. “Strap it on and forget about it. Hopefully, you’ll never have to use it.”
“Hopefully, I do,” I smirk, excited. “Here,” I shove my backpack at him. He makes an “oof” sound as he catches it while I flick open my cape and strap the belt around my waist, shifting the sheath to my right hip. The old sword was too big for my hips. I had to wear a shoulder baldric, which was great when I set out with deliberate intentions for hunting. But to wear around day to day . . . this one is?—
“It’s perfect,” I gush, stroking the skull.
He grumbles something inaudible. When I look at his face, I’m sure I catch a blush darkening his cheeks before he quickly looks away.
“Thank you, Bodin,” I say softly, stepping closer to him. For a moment, we’re standing so close I can feel the heat of his breath on my face. “And please . . . thank Styx for me too.”
I know he’s watching somehow. I feel his presence nearby despite his figure walking steadily ahead.
Bodin’s eyes darken, a flash of possessiveness crossing his features before he schools his expression. “We added a few upgrades to it as well,” he says, his voice rough.
“Oh? Like what?” I ask.
“You’ll find out,” he says cryptically, returning my pack.
As I refit my pack, I feel a sense of completeness I didn’t realize I was missing. This isn’t just a weapon; it’s a symbol of my old life and the new life I’m building. The fact that both Bodin and Styx had a hand in creating it makes it even more precious. It’s a reminder that I’m not alone in this fight and that I have people I can trust at my back . . . even if they might one day forget.