43. Willow
Chapter 43
Willow
T he second day of the journey starts earlier than anticipated. I jolt awake, heart pounding, every nerve on edge. It’s still dark. The camp is shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by the whisper of wind through the trees and the occasional crackle from campfire embers. Becky should be on guard duty, watching for rogue dreamscapes, but I don’t see her.
A barely audible rustle catches my attention. Small and quick shadows flit between the bedrolls. Goosebumps erupt as I reach for my sword. With practiced stealth, I wake Geraldine and Max.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers, her hand already fumbling for her dagger.
“Intruders.” I nod toward the moving shadows.
We creep forward, the damp earth muffling our footsteps. I make out several small figures rifling through our supplies in the dim starlight. Children—a boy and a girl roughly the same age. They can’t be any older than six or seven. Their ribs are visible through tattered clothes, and their faces are gaunt with hunger.
One spots us, eyes widening in terror. They bolt, racing for the treeline, their feet barely making a sound on the forest floor.
“Wait!” I hiss, but the darkness of the woods swallows them.
Without hesitation, we plunge after them. The forest closes in, the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves filling my nostrils. Branches claw at our faces, roots threatening to trip us at every step. Tiny, ragged breathing echoes ahead, punctuated by soft whimpers of fear.
“We’re not going to hurt you!” I shout, my voice seeming to bounce off the trees.
Geraldine, Max, and I jog together. When we spot dissenters’ symbolic and crude carvings, I give a subtle gesture to my friends, urging them to cover my blind spots while I race ahead, knowing I can move faster. They coordinate silently and split—each moving to an alternative side of my rear.
Suddenly, the trees thin. We burst into a clearing filled with makeshift shelters—little more than piles of branches and tattered cloth. The acrid smell of unwashed bodies mingles with the smoky scent of dying fires. A baby’s weak cry pierces the air, making my heart clench. Gaunt faces peer out at us, eyes hollow with hunger and desperation.
The children we chased tear through the camp, screaming, “Mama! Mama! They found us!”
And there, in the center of it all, is Becky in her exhibitor uniform—the dullest clothing at the Nexus, but here, it’s a luxury. She’s deep in conversation with a haggard-looking man. Her eyes widen as she sees us, weapons in hand. In an instant, she’s handing her children to the man and charging at me, face contorted with rage and fear.
“You won’t take them!” she screams, swinging a crude weapon at my head—a club of dead wood.
I parry with the flat of my blade, the clash cracking through the clearing. “Becky, stop! We’re not here to hurt anyone!”
But she’s beyond listening, attacking with the desperate fury of a cornered animal. Around us, the camp erupts into chaos. Geraldine and Max move in perfect sync, keeping other dissenters at bay while I focus on Becky. It’s not hard—these people here are untrained and unhealthy.
“Think about this!” I shout, deflecting another blow from Becky. “You’ve seen me fight. If I wanted you dead, you would be.”
She hesitates, just for a moment. It’s enough. I disarm her, my blade at her throat. The clearing falls silent, save for the sobbing of children.
“Willow!” Bodin’s voice cuts through the night. He bursts into the clearing, eyes wild with worry.
I step back from Becky, lowering my sword.
“It’s okay,” I say to both of them. “No one panic. We’re all okay.”
Bodin grabs my arm, pulling me aside and out of earshot. Becky and the other humans watch, afraid to breathe now that a Radiant has appeared. Her children break free from the haggard man and run to her.
Bodin sees none of it. His voice is low, tense, and solely focused on me. “What were you thinking, running off like that?”
“I was thinking I could handle it,” I snap back, frustration bubbling up.
“You can’t just?—”
“Can’t what? Make decisions? Fight my own battles?”
“That’s not?—”
“Then what? You don’t think I’m capable?”
His jaw clenches. “Of course you’re capable. But you’re also?—”
“Fragile? In need of constant protection?”
“Important!” he growls, eyes flashing. “To the mission. To the hive. To me.”
I blink, taken aback. “Bodin . . .”
“It’s me I don’t trust, not you.” He hits his chest. “ Me .”
“I—”
“Let me finish. If anything happened to you . . .” He swallows hard. “Even without my memories, I know. Losing you would break me. Break us. More than we’ve ever been broken before.”
My lips part, but he’s done listening. His mouth crashes on mine. He kisses me with wild, desperate need, pinning my face between his hands. I can do nothing but submit to his tongue, his taste, his emotion. This is everything he struggled to say. It’s that feeling I get between my ribs—the one when my mates are close. It’s fate. It’s home. It’s also reckless with everyone watching, but at this moment, he doesn’t care. I don’t care. I drop my sword and cup his face, returning his kiss with the same unhinged passion.
A twig snapping breaks us apart. I rest a hand on Bodin’s heaving chest, silently pleading for him to trust me. His eyes, usually so guarded, are wild with fear and anger. His hands tremble slightly as he grips my arms, betraying the depth of his concern. But he allows me to take him back to the others.
Geraldine and Max stand sentinel, shrewd eyes on the dissenters now gathering into a pitiful group around Becky and her children.
“Explain,” I say softly. “Please.”
Becky glances around, still looking for an escape. It draws my eyes to the carved marks on the trees, the same crude symbols we found outside the keep on the way to the Nexus. A moon, a star. Now, they seem benign, like children’s drawings. Like my sisters’ drawings back home. Then I notice small trinkets hanging from branches—bits of cloth, twisted metal, even a child’s toy. They’re offerings, I realize, to old gods worshipped by the Folk. These humans cling to any hope they can find.
“What’s going on here?” I ask, head spinning.
Max sheaths his sword at his hip and says, “They’re old-worlders, Willow. Like me and Gerrie.”
Geraldine’s eyes are haunted as she looks at Becky’s children clutching her with dirty fingers. “They’re starving. We’ve been in their position.”
“So . . . you’re not dissenters?”
Becky glances at my palm on Bodin’s chest. Her shoulders slump, and the fight leaves her. “We are. I guess. It’s a long story.”
“Tell me,” I urge.
“I woke up in this time with my arms around my twins. The Folk . . . they want to split us up, enslaved us. We chose to stay together, even if it meant starving. Last year, I joined the military, hoping to earn enough to send food back. They barely survived the winter. So this year, I volunteered for the exhibition, hoping to win, to at least find a way to feed my kids and—” Her voice cracks as she tugs one of them close—the boy. My heart leaps when his little hand clutches her shirt, displaying his webbed fingers. The abnormal trait is enough to have him sent to the Subterranean.
My throat clogs as I ask Bodin, “Titania wouldn’t send children down there, would she?”
His bleak look is all the confirmation I need. His gaze darts between me and the dissenters, his body tense like a coiled spring. His protective instinct is intense, but there’s something else there, too—a flicker of uncertainty, as if he realizes the world isn’t as black and white as he thought.
My heart aches. These people are my responsibility, even if they don’t know it. I want to tell them everything, to beg for forgiveness, but the words stick in my throat. Would they understand? Or would they hate me even more?
“We’re not here to hurt you,” I say, meeting Becky’s eyes. “I promise.”
“Why should we trust you? I’ve been nothing but rude to you.”
More than that, I want to add. But there’s only one question I need answered. “Do you hold any loyalty toward the other Shadows?”
Her eyes narrow. “I do what I must to survive, but the only people I’m loyal to are my kids—these humans.”
My mind races to come up with a solution for them. Could we smuggle them back to the Nexus? No, that’s too risky, and there’s not enough space. Maybe we could set up a secret supply line? But how would we keep that hidden from the other Houses? What if we found a way to petition Titania directly? I almost laugh at that thought—as if she’d care about the plight of humans. For a wild moment, I consider giving up my wish, but I know that won’t solve anything in the long run. There must be a way to use my position, my connection to the Six, to help these people.
“Switch allegiance to the House of Shadow,” I urge Becky.
“Willow,” Bodin warns, “It was hard enough convincing Legion to allow your friends to stay at the castle.”
“But what if it’s the Tower?” My wild eyes dart to my friends. “What if Becky, Colin, and the others all move in there? We can funnel food and supplies out.”
“We’ll figure something out,” he sighs, scrubbing his face. “But we need to return to camp before our absence is noticed. The only reason it hasn’t is because we’re at the end of the line. The Hollow Hunt is due to sweep our airspace soon.”
He tries to herd us back to camp, but Becky resists. I have to admire her tenacity, strength, and devotion. I see a flicker of the fierce competitor I know at the Nexus. Her shoulders are slumped with the weight of her responsibility, but a maternal fire in her eyes refuses to be extinguished.
“What assurances do we have you won’t return and kill—” She chokes off her words, eyes pleading with me.
“Becky,” I point out softly. “You saw me with Bodin.”
Recognition flickers on her face, but then that shrewd viper returns. “You’ve hidden your relationship well so far. It’s no secret Dahlia fucks Ignarius. He protects her from punishment.”
I look at Bodin and hate how the stark fear in his eyes means Becky’s concerns are valid. The Six would destroy anyone threatening to end our relationship. But the difference between them and Ignarius is that they won’t—not if I ask them not to.
“Geraldine, Max, and Peggy have known for a while,” I point out to Becky. “They’re not dead.”
The nods of encouragement my friends give melt my heart. But then Bodin responds with, “Yet.”
Crickets chirp.
I laugh to fill the silence, as though it’s a joke despite knowing Bodin is deadly serious. “He’s kidding.”
“I’m not.” He glares at each dissenter. “If any of you so much as whisper a threatening word about our Shadow, you’ll be dead before the last syllable leaves your lips. Now, before I run out of patience, let’s go.”
I collect my sword, sheath it, and walk up to Becky. The little boy with webbed fingers looks up at me, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and curiosity. I kneel to his level.
“It’s okay,” I say, offering a small smile. “We’re going to help.”
The girl steps protectively in front of her brother. Her chin juts out defiantly, and her lower lip trembles. The children don’t return my smile, but terror leaves their eyes. They’ve grown up too fast, forced to be brave in a world that shows no kindness. I couldn’t do anything about the starving people in Crystal City, but maybe I can here.
“I’m Willow. What are your names?”
They look to their mother. She nods.
“I’m Ava,” she says. “This is Arthur.”
“Nice to meet you. Look. I’m a Nothing, too.” I swipe my hair from my face, intending to show them my scars. But my fingers brush the acorn clipped there. I haven’t taken it off since the ball. “Here—” I pull it out. “I stole this from Titania’s temple. I want you to have it.”
I sense Becky’s eyes widening . . . and Bodin’s pulse skyrocketing, but I press on.
“This acorn is magical. It brings luck to the wearer.” I hand it to the girl and tear up when she gives it to her brother instead. “I think you tap it three times and make a wish, but I’ll be honest, I’m not exactly sure if there’s another wish in there. It turned my dirty clothes into a beautiful dress?—”
“Like Cinderella?” Ava gasps.
I smile, although I don’t know who that is. “But if there are no more wishes, I’m almost certain it still brings luck to the wearer. I can feel the magic buzzing in there.”
“Can we keep it, Mama?” he asks.
Becky meets my eyes, then drops to hug her kids.
“Keep it hidden,” I warn, and Arthur drops it into his dirty pocket.
Ava and he start bickering over pretty dresses, and Becky explains the importance of keeping it a secret. I give them space and return to Bodin. He’s unhappy with me, but too bad.
The comfortable bubble of the Nexus has been shattered, and I can’t unsee the harsh reality of Avorlorna. I know I’ll never look at the exhibition, or my role in it, the same way again.
These people are desperate to win, each with a compelling reason. What makes mine more important? Why do I get to save Fox while they starve?
We make it to our bedrolls—with Becky—just in time before the Hollow Hunt’s glowing form sweeps the territory above our heads. When it’s gone, I see Bodin slip into his tent, and I finally let my exhaustion in.
Geraldine’s bedroll is only inches away. I feel the weight of her eyes.
“You don’t agree?” I whisper.
“The opposite,” she replies. I open my eyes and make out her smiling face in the shadows. “Just when I thought your heart couldn’t get any bigger, you do something like that.”
“It’s what anyone would do.” I’m grateful her eyesight isn’t as good as mine because then she’d see my guilt, my fear. If she knows the truth about me, she won’t think that. None of them would.
“I doubt it,” she scoffs. “You’re not just anyone.”
I roll to my back and stare at the sky, hunting for stars behind the clouds. Maybe she’s right. “I just . . . I just feel like I’m drawn to them. To you all. Even if I don’t want to be”—my voice drops to almost inaudible—“a queen. Is that weird?”
“Not really,” she yawns. “I mean, you’re also part wolf. We’re like your pack.”
I stare at her in the darkness, waiting for more, but she’s already asleep.
I close my eyes, but all I see are the dissenters’ hollow cheeks and desperate eyes. Their silent pleas echo in my mind. I’ve always known I was different, caught between two worlds. Human, wolf, magic, then not. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I identify with both sides. Maybe instead of trying to pick one, I could be the bridge between.