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My ears and cheeks warm and I look at him sharply.

“Of course not,” I say, nettled. “I am leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“Mossgarde. The king. The curse.” I turnmy head away. “The whole damned place.”

Eoin is quiet for a moment and then, “Your aunt?”

I squeeze my teeth together, jaw tense.

“If she chooses to stay, I will leave without her.” My voice shakes and the thick swamp air sticks in my throat.

Eoin sits back, hands splayed behind him and gives a low whistle. Shame trickles through me, wrapping like a fist around my heart. I grab the bars of the fence, resting my forehead against them with a sigh.

“I do not want to leave her. But what else can I do?”

A pause.

“In Swordstead, the mountain is full of burrows,” he replies quietly. When I look back at him, his face is tipped up to the canopy, eyes closed. “Big families of long-ears are common. Snow hares, you call them here. Anyway, when my father first showed me how to hunt them, he taught me to be real quiet. Because if they see you—this big, ugly predator—then boom. They’ll scatter. No hesitation, all instinct. And the ones that ran first, the ones that didn’t look back, those were the ones that survived.”

I stare at him, my hands gripped tight on the bars.

“You’ll find no judgment with me, Shivani.” Eoin opens his eyes, dark and clear. “If running means survival, then you fucking run.”

Chapter 5

Eoin bids me farewell at the edge of Old Mossgarde with an affectionate kiss on my forehead but no more.

“I hope to see you in Frostalm next season,” I tell him as he slings a weighty pack onto his back.

“And I, you. I’ll mind and visit the House of Learning.” He flashes me his usual easy grin before placing two fingers over his heart. “The wind at your back and fire in your chest.”

“Soft snow underfoot and a safe home awaiting you,” I reply, finishing his werewolf farewell and repeating his gesture.

I wait until he passes through the deepening gloom of the swamp before making my way back into town.

The swamp has gone quiet, the rhythmic chirp and buzz of the day all but silenced. Nevertheless, hairs rise along the back of my neck and my heart picks up speed. My au’manahums. I am not alone.

The harsh clink of armour cuts through the quiet. I glance over my shoulder. Three guards stand on an adjacent platform, watching me. Their eyes glint in the purple haze of the ever-lit lamps.

As soon as we lock eyes, I know I am in danger.

I think of the snow hare. I think of the hunters.

I turn and flee.

“Stop!” one of them calls after me, but their voice is drowned out by the blood rushing past my ears.

I take off at a sprint, feet hammering against the bridge. I barely make it to the platform on the other side before something hard slams into me.

I yelp and topple to the side, catching myself on the platform fence. It creaks loudly, threatening to snap. My shoulder throbs where I landed on it. The guard who tackled me scrambles to his feet and pins me down.

“Stay right there!” he orders.

In response, I open my mouth wide and scream. It is incoherent and wild, pulled from the depths of me. I writhe beneath him and he grunts with the effort of keeping me contained.

“I have nothing!” I shriek when he does not let me up. “I have nothing to give!”