Page 15 of Inked in Emeralds (Inkbound #3)

T he sun dipped slowly as we cut through the dense forest. We’d left Jack’s cliff behind at around noon and had been pushing hard ever since.

To avoid a repeat of that morning’s near-disaster, we pulled off the Yellow Road, using Billy’s ranger trails instead.

They were less “trails” and more “a bunch of poorly marked deer paths trampled through thatches of bramble”, but I was in no position to argue.

Still, the further we got, the tougher the terrain, and I found myself missing the easy walk down the brick road. The only positive was that we were pretty much single file, and I didn’t have to bother with small talk, if there was any to be had.

Nope, just me and my swirling thoughts.

Every so often I tried coaxing a bit of magic to my fingertips…

trying to picture the thread and then tugging on it, but the moment I reached for it, it unraveled.

A nagging ache had settled between my ribs.

I was so desperate to get back what I’d lost, I hadn’t realized until Jack’s place that I still had some issues to deal with.

If Almira could shut my magic off at will, she could do it again and I’d be back to dead weight the others had to drag along behind them.

“No fucking way,” I mumbled under my breath. I stared at the brush below, Xander’s old lessons replaying in my head.

Wrists loose, elbow drives the snap, feel the whip breathe. I’d practice tonight. But skill alone wouldn’t bridge the gap between me and the mercenaries or flying death-monkeys. I needed to be faster, sharper. Like Duncan with his berserker reflexes, or Billy with her preternatural agility.

“Halt.” Up ahead, Billy raised a hand. The trail dipped into a valley where a babbling stream glittered in the late afternoon sun. “We’ll camp here.”

I nearly groaned out loud. My calves felt like they’d taken a turn under the blacksmith’s clipping hammer.

Duncan squinted at the sky. “Early stop?”

“We have to let the terrain call the shots. Rivers and streams keep the monkeys wary,” Billy said, hopping down the bank. “They can’t swim and hate flying over water. Gives us a buffer.”

“Good enough for me,” Hook muttered, rolling his shoulders.

“Might as well lean into our strengths.” Billy clapped her hands together. “The ox here can haul that giant fallen pine over. We can use it for framing poles. Harmony, go with him and gather as many lighter branches as you can for bedding and for weaving.”

Duncan’s eyes sparkled, and I had the sense that her total lack of reverence charmed him in some way. “Am I the ox, then?”

“You’ve got the shoulders. You know what they say, if the yolk fits, wear it.” She pointed her bow at Hook. “Tall, dark, and cranky…I’m gonna need a trench right in front of that oak tree. Dig deep, down to the roots.”

Hook arched a brow.

“You’ve got a built-in spade,” she said, tapping his hook. “Leaning into our strengths, yeah?”

He gave her a long, dead-eyed stare before popping off a salute that somehow made his hook look more like a middle finger, then strode toward the riverbank as directed.

I also did as directed and leaned into my strength…which was apparently picking up a bunch of twigs, and watched as Duncan hefted the massive tree onto his back with a wince.

“Shit, I forgot. Your Whisper makes you really sore afterward, doesn’t it? Did you bring any of that salve from Alabaster?”

“All out. I’m fine,” he said, wiping the wince from his face and flashing a dimple. “It’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

Still, I made one trip with my sticks and branches, and then went back to help him haul his cargo. We dragged the pine tree into the clearing a short while later.

“How about you…You holding up alright?” he asked, voice low as we set down our load.

“Physically, yes.” I shrugged and tried to keep the sadness from peeking through. “Magic’s still… mush.”

“It’ll come back.”

“Right.” I nodded. “And if it doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll adapt. You’re more than just magic. You’re also brilliant, Harm. You’re going to figure it out, like you’ve done this whole time to even get us this far. Like you did with the lockpick and the loupe.”

Warmth fluttered through me, part gratitude, part something I couldn’t label. “Thanks.”

For the next while, we did our best to collect as much fallen debris and wood for kindling as we could, piling it near where Hook had already started his excavating. He stood, hook extended, the wind blessing he’d taken from Davy the pirate king scooping up dirt as easily as water from a bucket.

Billy’s brows climbed high enough to touch her headscarf. “Look at you two…an ox and a shovel. We’ve got all the tools here at Casa De Billy.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Hook grumbled, but when she marked a wider outline with her boot, he sighed and doubled the trench, sending soil spraying everywhere.

By the time the sun was touching the treetops, Hook was knee-deep in the ditch he’d dug. Billy wedged the pine trunk Duncan had brought against the tree and lashed them together with rope.

“Smart design.”

Duncan started laying branches crossways as I scattered the softer switches we’d collected on the floor. Soon enough, we had ourselves a pretty decent shelter.

Billy eyeballed our humble abode and tipped her head in a nod of satisfaction. “Everyone inside. With these two big lugs, we better test the fit.”

“Feel free,” Hook said, not moving from his spot at the entrance.

The rest of us ducked under the slanted roof and settled in like we were bunking down for the night.

The ditch was deep enough for us to sit up, and the boughs that lined the floor made it sort of comfortable.

Billy had woven leafy branches so that only little patches of the setting sun shone through the roof, so I suspected we were even semi-rainproof.

Plus, from outside looking down, it probably made us look like a tangle of brush to any monkeys.

“Not bad.” She took a hasty swipe at the beads of sweat on her forehead. “And we still have enough time to make something decent for dinner by the fire before we have to put it out for the night.”

“I’ll go grab some firewood,” Duncan said.

Hook nodded, trudging toward the entrance to join him.

“See if you can flatten that section down in the corner a little more.” Billy glanced over at me as she followed them out, carrying our empty waterskins. “I’m gonna top us off.”

The instant the three of them were out of sight, I shot a glance over to Billy’s spot near the back corner of the shelter where her satchel had been.

Gone.

Son of a bitch.

Of course she'd taken it with her. Sooner or later, I was going to have to take the bull by the horns and just ask her about it. Was there a chance it could spook her? Absolutely. Humor aside, she was one of the most guarded people I’d ever met—for sure the most guarded of the three versions I’d met.

But the showdown with Almira was coming.

When it did, I needed to be surrounded by people I could trust with my life, and vice versa.

For the moment though, I needed to set the thoughts of the book aside and figure out how to stop the bleeding as it were.

Was I still losing magic? No. It was all gone, so there was nothing left to lose. But my confidence was taking hit after hit, and it was hard to imagine me winning a battle against a fruit fly, never mind Almira.

I was lacking on all fronts.

With a growl, I snatched my whip from the ground and stood. Billy was right about one thing; unless I wanted to die, I needed to figure out where the fuck to go from here, magic or no. I strode a few yards from the shelter, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes.

Come on, magic. One tiny spark.

But as I searched and poked, squinted and prodded, all I got back was silence.

“Dammit,” I muttered. “Fine. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way.”

I flicked my wrist, and the whip let out a satisfying crack.

It felt good…sounded good, too, echoing in the quiet clearing, so I did it again.

I kept at it, striking anything in my path.

Rocks, a dead log, an unlucky patch of mushrooms. It was good, but not great and I knew Xander would’ve said that my strikes lacked focus and were sloppier than they should be.

“I hear you, my friend.”

I was adjusting my grip and about to try again when footsteps approached, crunching against dried leaves and brush. A second later, Duncan stepped out from the trees, an armload of firewood pressed to his chest.

“I thought I heard a whip cracking.” He set the firewood down in a neat stack before stepping closer, a hint of his dimple peeking through. “Want some help?”

“Honestly? Yes.” I slumped, letting the whip fall to my side. “I hate feeling helpless. It’s driving me insane.”

If he pitied me, he didn’t show it. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and waved me toward a patch of flat ground, clear of roots and stones.

“Let’s start with some solid counter maneuvers since you can’t practice those on your own.

” He drew his sword, flipping it so the flat side faced me.

“We’ll start easy. Block my blade, wrap the whip around my wrist, and disarm me. ”

It was easier said than done, and I failed the first three times. But we drilled it again and again, my confidence slowly building. Duncan was a good teacher, patient, but not easy. He pushed me, and I liked it. Soon enough, my hair was damp with sweat and my muscles burned.

“Better.” He gave me an approving grin after a particularly clean disarm. “Now, let’s add movement. And remember, it’s all about being aware of my footwork. Anyone can feint with their sword, but their feet will always show you their true intentions.”

He demonstrated as I went at him, and I realized with a start that, while he was fast, the more important part was being ready…

Watching the person in front of you—the way their shoulders were turned, the position of their feet, the angle of their hips—and making a choice based on what that information told you.