Page 39

The Girl Who Stayed Behind

“If it’s a person, don’t kill them!” I shout after Fury. “Keep them alive—we need to know what happened!” I don’t know if he’s going to listen, but Iprayhe does. I’ve seen too much death today. He disappears into the trees, and a few seconds later, I hear a small scream. We all start running toward it.

A woman in a long blue dress is sprawled on the ground. Fury crouches over her. Her eyes are closed, and she’s frozen in place.

Fury leans closer—

I skid to a halt beside them. “Back off,” I snarl.

For a few seconds, I think he’s going to ignore me. I hold my breath. But then, slowly, he moves backward and crouches downat the woman’s feet—bare feet, bruised and bloody, cold and covered in ash.

I recognize her instantly.

It’s Winter, the girl we saved from the slavers. She hasn’t fared well. She probablywishesshe were back with the slavers—at leasttheyfed her. She looks like she hasn’t had a meal in weeks. Her face is grimy with ash, her black hair a tangled mass down to her shoulders.

She blinks open her gray eyes and stares up at me.

“It’s me—Amber,” I say. “Are you okay, Winter?”

It’sobviousshe’s not okay. She’s a goddamn mess. But finally, she blinks a couple of times and gives a slow nod of her head.

“Can you sit up?” I ask.

Another nod, and I reach out a hand. She stares at it for a moment—then puts her palm in mine, and I help her into a sitting position. I turn to Zayne. “Give her something to eat,” I say. “And drink.”

“Got it,” he answers.

He pulls off the backpack, crouches down, and rummages inside, producing a bottle of water and a packet of biscuits.

I hand her the water.

She stares at it for a moment, so I lean forward and unscrew the top. She takes a drink. Then another, swallowing convulsively.

I open the packet of biscuits and hand a few to her. Again, she stares at them like she’s never seen biscuits before. Then she slowly puts one in her mouth and crunches down.

Her eyes widen.

Then she’s grabbing more, shoving them in. She eats biscuits even faster than I do. She takes another drink of water, and then—finally—she slows down. A sigh heaves through her body, and her shoulders slump.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

A shiver runs through me, and I wrap my arms around my middle. It’s cold and damp under the trees. I look around, trying to orient myself, trying to work out exactly where we are. I think we’re close to the clearing where Zayne used to train when he was learning to shift into his basilisk form. I remember it as a place of peace. But I want to see if it’s been decimated as well. I’ve never been one to hide from horrible truths.

Well—sometimes I am. If I can get away with it. But that doesn’t happen often. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s go find a place where we can talk.”

I offer my hand again, and this time, Winter slips hers into mine. I pull her to her feet. A tremble runs through her. She eats another biscuit. There’s nothing better than biscuits in traumatic situations. That should be written down somewhere.

I lead the way through the trees, and a minute later, I reach the clearing. My heart gives a little skip because it’s the same. A beautiful, magical place, with a shimmering lake at one end, surrounded by trees that form a natural amphitheater. The moss on the ground sparkles, and the sun shines down through the gap in the canopy.

I walk to the center and sink onto the soft moss. Fury settles beside me. Zayne and Josh sit opposite. Winter hesitates, uncertain for a moment. Then she, too, lowers herself onto the moss, sitting cross-legged.

Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes shadowed. I dread to think of what she’s seen in her short life. First, the slavers killing her family. Then us killing the slavers. And now this.

What did she witness?

It’s time to find out. “Can you tell us what happened?” I ask.

She looks away for a moment, her lips tightening. I’m guessing talking about it isn’t at the top of her list of favorite things to do right now. She gives a sharp nod.