Chapter 19 The Blackwoods
The Blackwoods
Those two hours drag on. Jasmeen helps me mount Moon this time, and if Brynn doesn’t like it, he doesn’t say.
As expected, he’s miffed that I didn’t share the bit about Yield with him.
Surely questioning the morality of the mortal to whom he bound his fate.
Likely wondering about all the mystery vials in my satchel.
There is no doubt he will interrogate me at his earliest opportunity.
Shadow leads the way for this stretch and sets a faster pace.
I sit in front and man the reins. Jasmeen’s head rests on my back and I assume she’s fallen asleep, her arms slack around my middle.
Her touch soothes me, much like—well, I cannot think of home.
Thankfully, Moon does not require too much direction.
I pass the time, and my thoughts, by braiding small plaits into their silky, mud-tinted mane.
Glo and Brynn are deep in whispered conversation, but my mortal ears cannot listen in from this distance. I assume he conveys what he overheard. Every once in a while, her wings, present since she exhausted her glamours, knock him in the face and I smirk. That’s what he gets for eavesdropping.
The trees stretch on as far as the eye can see in every direction.
The forest is surreal in its static quietude.
There have been few signs of life. A handful of riders pass on their way in the opposite direction, toward Mayhem.
No one pays us any mind though. If I was alone, the stillness would be most unsettling.
But with my companions—plus the calming, repetitive murmur of the veilmanes’ large hooves swishing as they glide—the ride is peaceful.
It’s strange how a little over a week ago I hadn’t left the castle in years, and now, within a span of days, I’ve been to places I could never even dream of.
All because of Mavick. And Yield. Worry may forever gnaw at the back of my mind, and guilt rests leaden in my stomach, but my emotions are subdued.
Perhaps Mavick had a reason for all of this.
I once trusted them wholeheartedly—was I that naive?
Or was I right to put my faith in them? Perhaps it was like my relationship with Edwin.
We cared for one another, however shallow it was, but we also used each other.
I used Mavick for their companionship. A shoulder to cry on, a listening ear.
Perhaps they used me for some greater plan that I couldn’t quite understand yet. Perhaps I ought to keep faith.
One thing is certain: the more pieces of the puzzle I uncover, the less it feels I know.
Mavick did not betray me. Mavick is my friend. I trust Mavick, and Mavick trusts me, I repeat to myself a million times over, quelling my doubts.
The rest area can be heard long before being seen.
It sounds like a party. Jaunty music plays, beckoning us toward it.
It wakes Jasmeen. Once the wide clearing comes into view, I am struck by how much it reminds me of a traveling circus—at least, what I’ve seen of them from illustrations in books.
Colorful tents sprinkle the entire field.
Sanctuarians of all varieties sit around campfires conversing and yelling.
Bards stroll around with lutes and tin can tip jars strapped to their belts, the jingle of their coins blending into their melodies.
Pretty elven barmaids, with pointed ears that peek through curtains of long straight hair, make the rounds while balancing trays of vibrant ales and spirits.
We trot to a makeshift stable on the edge of the clearing and a very squat goblin groom pushes a mounting block to Moon’s side. Jasmeen dismounts first and I follow. Brynn greets the goblin in the goblin’s native language as we bid goodbye to Moon and Shadow for the night.
Glo chats animatedly with a tall, busty woman to procure us a campsite.
We then settle into our corner on the outer edge.
It’s two neighboring tents, each with a pair of small cots inside.
There is a pit for us to start our own fire, and a clean enough bucket to retrieve water for drinking and washing up.
It appears the dark forest acts as the communal bathroom.
Never have I camped before, in any sense of the word, and the adventure of it all sinks in.
My spirits lift a bit, though I know the anxiety and nagging guilt lie in wait.
Mavick did not betray me. Mavick is my friend. I trust Mavick, and Mavick trusts me, I repeat my new mantra. At least the knot in my stomach has loosened. For now.
Jasmeen and I set our satchels down in the tent on the right and reemerge to find Glo making a fire.
Conjuring a fire. I have never witnessed anything like it.
Her irises glow, like Brynn’s but intensified tenfold.
She smirks as a small orange flame blinks into existence in her palm.
She blows it from her hand into the cinders of the firepit, in which Brynn has tossed some extra kindling and twigs.
Jasmeen volunteers to find the water tap and bravely saunters off on her own to fill our bucket.
“Maybe I should go with her,” I suggest, watching her walk away.
“She’ll be safe here,” Brynn says, standing behind the crouching Glo and squeezing her shoulders. “Can I get us some drinks?”
“Fuck yes,” Glo says with a smile. “You know what I like.”
Brynn wanders off too, and I realize—with acute unease—that this is my first time alone with Glo.
I sit on a large rock next to the firepit and busy myself by relacing my boot.
I don’t want to disturb her as she coddles the small flame.
But when it suddenly catches, I almost lose my seat.
My eyes flit to her face—lit by the inferno between us—and once again, mischief made flesh stares back.
Her wide eyes are glassy in the fire’s light.
Her wicked grin makes me shiver, despite the heat radiating before me.
“It was very nice what you offered Jasmeen,” I say over the flames. It’s the first thing that comes to mind.
“Was it?” she asks with a shrug. “It was not selfless.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, curiously noting Jasmeen had said something along the same lines earlier.
“I mean… I could say it’s because Vir gets his best friend on this trip, so you might as well, too. I could say it’s because I prefer even numbers. Or, I could say it’s because I think she’s beautiful. I’ve been working up the nerve to talk to her for ages.”
Glo’s grin softens. It’s hard to tell between the glow of the fire and her pale orange skin, but I think she blushes.
“Oh… OH,” I say in surprise, at once feeling stupid for not catching on before.
How comfortable she was with Brynn. How quickly she dropped her glamours around Jasmeen.
How Brynn reacted when she called me pretty and touched my face—though I’m unsure who he was jealous of there. Glo likes Jasmeen. “I’m an idiot.”
“How were you to know? I hope I wasn’t that obvious about it,” Glo says.
“Honestly, I thought you and Vir—” The incredulous look on her face shuts me up.
“Absolutely not,” she says, amused, but repulsed. “We’ve been friends for a very long time. He is a brother to me. And even if I didn’t view him as such—he’s not my type.”
I cannot explain why this makes my stomach flutter. I’d like to think it’s because I unwittingly played matchmaker. But it may have more to do with Brynn than I’m willing to unpack.
“You don’t mind that she’s a mortal?” I ask, distracting myself from whatever nonsense plagues my gut right now. I think of how disgusted Glo sounded when I listened in on her and Brynn’s conversation earlier.
Mortals lie—you know that, right?
“Nah, I don’t mind,” Glo says with a small, enigmatic smile. I wait for her to expand on this, but she doesn’t. She changes the subject instead. “Speaking of, I heard Vir told you a secret.”
“Ah. I suppose he did,” I admit.
“It doesn’t make him lesser,” she says. “He’s the best fool I know—doesn’t matter what’s in his blood.”
Glo’s evident love for Brynn strikes me and I push down the new warm sensation it brings to my chest.
“How much… has he told you?” I ask. He told her I know his true name; I overheard that much. She knows about Mavick, of course, and the deal Brynn let me craft. But I want to see how much she’ll share. She studies me, her expression hard.
“He told me that he wants to help you. And that he trusts you enough, and that I should, too,” she says, the corner of her upper lip rising to reveal one of those very sharp canines.
It’s a half-smile, possibly meant to be reassuring, but the firelight paints it menacing.
She continues, her voice low, “I trust Vir. So, I am choosing to trust you.”
I swallow. Her smile expands, showing her teeth.
“I would be negligent in my duty, though, if I did not warn you… If you ever use his true name against him—it will be me you answer to.”
Ah, not a reassurance. A threat. There is no doubt in my mind that she’s dead serious. She’s petite, maybe even delicate to some, but I understand she could break me in half. Perhaps it’s nerves, but I bark out an unsteady laugh. At this, she tilts her head.
“Consider me terrified,” I quip, though it is nothing but the truth. I am terrified.
Glo stares at me over the fire, one fine eyebrow raised. “He also told me you dislike touch. He made me promise not to touch you unbidden again.”
And there goes my stomach, inexplicably somersaulting. The fear and this flipping sensation as a pair color me dizzy.
Before my fuzzy brain can formulate a response, we spot Jasmeen approaching. She wears the biggest smile.
“You won’t believe who I just met,” she says. She sets the bucket of fresh water down so abruptly that some sloshes out onto Glo’s boots. Glo does not notice. Her dangerous expression has vanished with Jasmeen’s return. She only has eyes for the curve of Jasmeen’s lips.
“Who?” Glo says, leaning toward her. Seeing it now, knowing what I know—it’s clear. I too fell in love with Jasmeen in an instant. Platonically, at least.
Though rocked to my bones by Glo’s threat—I admire her fierce loyalty to Brynn.
What was it like having friends willing to kill for you?
The two of them laugh at whatever Jasmeen says next, and a genuine smile tugs at my lips.
I have no intention of using Brynn’s name against him.
It’s hard to admit even to myself, but somehow, I do trust him. There’s no reason to exploit it.
I glance up in time to meet Brynn’s gaze as he approaches with hands full of drinks.
He stares at my smile as though dazed by it, and I miss what Glo says.
Brynn reaches us and hands me a faeplum ale.
I nod my thanks at him and take a big, grounding swig.
He passes Jasmeen one as well, then hands Glo a bright blue concoction before plopping down on the grass next to me and my rock.
“What did I miss?” he asks, sipping a frothy, brown beer.
Jasmeen ran into a famous minotaur bard at the watering hole.
I gather that his stage name is Crusher, and he is renowned for his deep, soulful voice.
Glo listens intently but wears the same bitterness as earlier in Jasmeen’s stall.
I recognize it now for what it is: jealousy.
Perhaps she’s concerned she’s not Jasmeen’s type.
Jasmeen, on the other hand, mistakes Glo’s green expression as envy at meeting this famous minotaur.
Quite wholesomely, she offers to introduce them if she sees Crusher come around again.
I silently vow to ask Jasmeen about her thoughts on Glo the next time we’re alone.
My mind wanders as my three companions chat and laugh together. We pass around the snacks that Glo purchased and I busy myself with chewing. No one seems to notice my reservedness. I have never found myself in a setting such as this, surrounded by happy friends and strangers alike.
Not only is it overwhelming, but after all my recent missteps… it feels I am wholly undeserving of it.