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Chapter Seven

Remy was the closest she had ever been to the ocean, yet she still could not see it. She heard the rhythmic sound of soft waves lapping on the shore. Silver Sands Harbor lay through the thicket of trees to their right. Smaller foot trails led toward the beach from the main path. She kept looking down them, hoping to glimpse the harbor, but the shadows were too dark. She had imagined so many times what the ocean looked like. She had seen it in the far distance a few times during their travels through the Western woods, but it had been a thin strip of blue in the far distance. But to be standing on its shores . . . she wondered what it would feel like to overlook an endless sea of blue. She had seen the Western lakes and a few large rivers before, but that was different. Remy could swim . . . sort of . . . if flailing to keep her head above water counted as swimming, but there had been no waves. She had heard stories of waves taller than houses, swallowing ships in stormy seas. It sounded unbelievable.

An ocean scent hung in the darkened forest air, taunting her. The smell was strangely familiar. It reminded her of the fae prince several paces ahead. He carried the ocean on him even when they were far away.

They walked silently. The other fae had doubled back to fetch Hale and Remy’s packs, and the group forged ahead on the trail south, skirting Newpond. They only stopped once at a river. Remy hadn’t been able to scrub the smell of blood out of her hair. It still clung to her. She let Heather tend to her wounds and give her a tonic for the pain, but Remy insisted they kept moving despite her injuries. The sounds of Heather’s shocked cries at seeing her bludgeoned face still rang in her ears. Shame still stained her skin from the looks in the brown witches’ eyes. She pressed her lips together, swallowing the hard lump tightening her throat.

She had abandoned her bloodied clothes rather than trying to carry the wet ones. They were patchy and worn thin, anyway. Carys had bought herself new clothes and gave Remy her old fighting leathers. They were a bit too long, but they were supple and comfortable. Even secondhand, they were the nicest clothes she had ever owned. Wearing the leathers changed something in Remy’s posture too. It made her feel more like a warrior. Flashbacks of the attack kept her muscles coiled and jumpy. With the leathers on, Remy pretended it was her muscles readying to fight an unseen enemy. Focusing her attention on the swaying trees and sounds of the waves, she was determined to ignore the feeling of her stomach dropping over and over again.

She moved easily through the trail, too, thanks to the new boots Briata had bought her. She thought the Eagle would find her something secondhand, but these were brand-new boots, still smelling of leather polish. They needed breaking in, but they fit like they were made for her. Briata truly had an eye for guessing sizes, it seemed.

They walked in a tighter unit along the trail now. Heather and Fenrin struggled behind Remy in the darkness. The moon lit the path barely enough for them to navigate it.

Remy looked to the sky peeking through the trees. It was a full moon. In times past, the witches would celebrate on the full moon. They would cook a bountiful meal, light candles, and swap stories into the night. They would spread totems from their bags in beams of light and say a prayer to Mother Moon, asking her guidance for another lunar cycle.

Even on the road they would light a candle and say a simple prayer. Remy carried a long white candle in her pack for her full moon ceremonies.

“Let’s stop,” she said to no one in particular.

“There is nowhere to camp here. We have to pass the harbor,” Hale called from the front without breaking stride. “There is an abandoned mining town a few minutes off the trail. We will bunk down in a cabin there.”

“I wasn’t saying let’s camp here. I was saying we should take a break,” Remy said.

“Do we think these cabins will have beds?” Talhan grumbled from behind her.

“Doubtful,” Briata said.

Talhan loosed a string of muttered curses. Everyone was in a foul mood. Even Talhan’s normal joviality was wearing thin.

“It’s the full moon,” Remy pushed, looking at the sky. And not just any moon. Tonight the swollen blue harvest moon shone down on them. The witches believed that the candles they lit on the harvest moon could communicate with their ancestors.

“And?” Hale said.

Carys cast a glance over her shoulder at Remy, giving her an apologetic look.

“So we need to light a candle and say a prayer,” Remy said, though she did not truly care about prayers and candles in that moment. If she could stand by the ocean maybe she could breathe, maybe the trembling in her hands would finally ebb and she’d feel steady again. “We could go down the path to the beach and—”

“No,” Hale said in a clipped tone, dashing her hopes of seeing the ocean.

“We can light candles when we get to the cabin, Remy,” Heather said from behind her. Heather had been silent since seeing Remy’s bloodied clothes and bludgeoned face. The brown witch was more distraught than Remy was herself.

“It will only take five minutes,” Remy said.

“You are not lighting a candle visible to the whole harbor. I do not care how much you want to talk to the moon,” Hale growled.

“Hey,” Fenrin snarled at the prince. He was either too tired or grumpy to check himself. “The attack was not Remy’s fault. You were the ones who thought it would be a great idea to split up. You were meant to be protecting her.”

Everything moved in a blur. Hale reached for the sword at his hip. In a flash, Carys was at Hale’s side with her hand on his arm.

“Don’t,” she hissed to the prince.

Even through the shadows, Remy saw Fenrin’s eyes widen at Hale. What was the prince planning on doing? Cutting down her friend because he said something that was true?

Remy was sick of this male posturing. Hale thought that because he was a prince that made him better than everyone else. She had agreed freely to this journey, but she was not a servant of the Eastern Prince. It was time he remembered that.

Remy veered down the foot trail to her right, away from the group. The dirt trail descended, and she felt the grit of sand beneath her boots.

“Enough. I’m going to the beach,” she called over her shoulder. Only a few more steps and she’d be able to see the ocean. A breeze whooshed past her face and in the blink of an eye Hale was there, standing forebodingly in front of her, blocking her path forward.