Page 80

I would not look at him. Nope. No way. No.

Glaring at Nicu, I tossed him the pear, rose to my feet with a huff, and slammed the fuck off the terrace.

***

The first time, I’d gone alone and returned in defeat.

The second time, I’d gone with a noble knight and still returned in defeat.

The third time, a mismatched entourage flanked me at the forest boundary. I demurred, I protested, I made excuses. I might have stomped my foot.

Still, men and woodpecker alike didn’t give me a choice. Aire was that relentless, ethereal soldier who refused to abandon the call of duty. Nicu was that sweetheart friend who wanted to help and also see the forest for himself. Punk was steadfast and loyal. Lyrik was bored.

The potioneer didn’t have any current brews to toy with, nor to peddle outside the colony. He said something about his latest blend needing time to fizz, whatever that meant. And he’d rather gallivant than do upkeep.

Standing there, he asked, “What’s wrong with her?”

I hadn’t shared the details about Mother’s illness. Aire hadn’t pressed me about it—I’d told him enough to wheedle his cooperation—Nicu already knew the secret details, and Lyrik hadn’t cared enough to badger me.

My nose tickled as I considered what to say. I didn’t see the harm in admitting, “Her mind is slipping.”

Lyrik’s face changed, its cocky shape retracting, rearranging itself into a serious expression. My companions kept quiet about the obvious: No quick fix existed for simpleton minds or madness. Even the Winter Kingdom, leader of science and medicine, hadn’t hatched a remedy yet.

They humored me. If I needed a cure for my mother, they’d try to help.

We trekked into the woods. After failing to locate the logger’s path, or the animal’s path, I debated whether I had a chance of reaching the place where they met. The place where the animal got trapped and the lumberjack rescued it. The climax of the tale.

The forest might be preventing my progress somehow, not wanting me to succeed, which kinda hurt. I mean, I came from the acorn. The acorn came from here. Shouldn’t this land rejoice in my presence?

I really was starting to think like Mother. The woods had a soul because nature had a soul, the will of the Seasons. But nature didn’t communicate with humans, or bat them away like flies, or rig the hunt. Right?

The men debated, disagreeing about which way to go. Lyrik grunted that he knew the area best; Nicu gestured toward a random, dreamy direction; Aire’s lilt noted the barest of drafts, an aerial route.

My acorn heart contracted, a now-familiar sensation. My fist pressed against it, and I stepped ahead of them, following the pressure in my breast. The harsher it got, the quicker I walked, leaving them behind.

They must have noticed, because three sets of boots trailed after me.

If this hunch turned out to be an illusion, I’d be livid.

On second thought, could I expect it to be this simple? To rely on a mystical connection between my birth and this place?

We discovered giant Mista trees that we couldn’t identify, with gutted channels wide and high enough for a wagon to pass through. Occasionally, I pretend-searched, weeding through the foliage for nature’s medicine. Nicu did the same, more out of fascination than farce, while Punk flitted above us.

The other two inspected the area, prowling for ghouls or predators or maybe the Royal guards. Although Aire had sworn that troops would stick to protocol, not searching this area for Nicu until much later, longer than the month we’d be here.

“Are you drooping?” Nicu asked, gaining my side and touching my arm.

“I’m fine,” I heaved. “Just tired.”

“I’m sorry about what I said. I plucked your voice and bloomed your words, but they belonged to you. I’m sorry.”

I set my hand over his. “It’s forgotten.”

Nicu hadn’t meant to put my secret knight fantasies on the spot. At supper, he hadn’t seen a reason for me to be embarrassed. Either way, Aire hadn’t mentioned it, and I refused to blush. From the beginning, I hadn’t kept my bawdy opinions or flirtations to myself around him. He knew I fancied his stupid face.

Nicu laced his fingers through mine. I squeezed them back, and we kept going.

During the hike, our attention spans went rogue. Lyrik glanced at Nicu while the young Royal daydreamed; Nicu glanced at Lyrik while the prick swaggered; I did a thorough study of Aire’s ass while he took the lead; and Aire glimpsed my hands threaded with Nicu’s. Not in a jealous way, but in a riveted way.