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T eryn’s way, it turned out, was humiliating. And yet, Cora agreed, having no better idea of her own. After stashing her bow and arrows, she circled the camp and paused just outside the clearing. The young guard was still by the fire in nearly the same position she’d last seen him—his posture slumped with an air of boredom, the side of his face resting on his hand as he poked the burning logs with a stick. Cora took a deep breath, untucked her skirts from her belt so they no were no longer wrapped around her legs, and twisted her expression into one of distress. She stumbled into the camp, feigning sobs.

The boy immediately rose to his feet. His hand flew to the hilt of a dagger at his belt, but when his eyes swept over Cora, he withdrew the hand. “Ma’am,” he said, eyes wide.

She fell to her knees, her hair streaming around her. “You must help me,” she cried.

He came closer. “What’s wrong? What are you doing out here?”

She lifted her face, lips pulled into a pout. “I was kidnapped,” she said, her voice high and feminine and breathy, “by…by…by bandits.” Her words dissolved into a wail.

The boy stared at her, face pale and bewildered as if he couldn’t comprehend what to do with her. Just then, a figure came up behind him. Before the boy even had a clue, Teryn hooked an arm around his throat and squeezed the sides between his bicep and forearm. The boy flailed but was out in a matter of seconds. Teryn aided his fall and settled him on the ground. With a nod to Cora, she rose, and they jogged over to the cages. Wordlessly, they got to work, severing the ropes that bound the frames. Cora opened the baby unicorn’s cage first, then the one next to it. Soon all the cages were open, and all the unicorns were darting away.

We did it , she conveyed to Valorre, hoping he was still close enough to hear her. If you can communicate with them, direct them to go east so they don’t run into the hunters.

She felt Valorre’s reply as a trill of joy, one that had Cora’s lips stretching into a grin.

Teryn tugged her arm, nodding his head toward the edge of camp. She followed him out of the clearing to where she’d stashed her weapons. Her pulse was a roar in her ears as she shouldered her bow and quiver. They kept their pace as mindful as they could, but Cora felt like they were running for the way her body buzzed with elation and terror in the wake of their rescue. They’d done it. They’d truly done it. She had to stifle her desire to laugh.

Teryn stopped suddenly before her.

“What—” Then she saw it.

The baby unicorn was just ahead, its body quivering. Its thin legs quaked as it tried to take a step, but it seemed too overcome with fear or confusion.

“Seven gods,” Teryn cursed. “The poor thing.”

Valorre, there’s a baby. She’s so frail. She seems confused .

There came no reply. He was likely too busy guiding the others. Which left only her.

She took a slow step toward the tiny unicorn, her tawny fur thin and clinging to her bones. The creature startled, freezing in place as her eyes locked on Cora’s. Cora halted as well. Lowering her shields, she opened her senses to the unicorn. She was immediately struck by panic, a desperation to find someone very important to her. Cora’s throat constricted, and she was tempted to close the link if only to free herself from the emotions. Instead, she kept her senses open and tried to move them in the opposite direction. It had been effortless to converse with Valorre, but she’d never experienced the phenomenon with any other unicorn since. This time, though, she had to try.

Easy , she tried to convey, forcing her own emotions to calm, to exude safety and protection. The unicorn’s energy softened a little. Cora took another small step. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help you. If you follow me, I’ll take you to my friend. He’s just like you.

She filled her mind with thoughts of Valorre, letting warmth and kindness radiate from her heart, down her palms, into the space between them.

The creature calmed further and took a step forward. Cora mirrored her every move until they were almost close enough to touch. Then, crouching down, Cora extended her hands. The unicorn tottered the rest of the way on her tiny, shaky legs until Cora’s hands met her hide. Cora nearly choked on a sob when she felt how prominent the unicorn’s ribs were beneath her palms. “It’s all right,” she whispered to her, voice thick with emotion. “We’re going to help you.”

Remembering Teryn’s presence, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Teryn’s expression was nearly painful to witness. His eyes were glazed as he stared at the unicorn. He met Cora’s eyes then, and she smiled at him. She wasn’t sure why, only that she wanted to erase his pained countenance and remind him that they’d done something good, something worth celebrating. He smiled back, which was perhaps an even sadder look.

Berol dove down from overhead and landed on Teryn’s shoulder. There was something uneasy about the way she perched, in the splay of her wings as she nipped Teryn’s cheek. Cora didn’t need to be bonded to the falcon to know the bird was delivering a warning.

A hunting horn sounded, shattering the air. It was too close. Far closer than the last one had been. The baby unicorn startled and made to dart away, but Cora lifted her in her arms. She wasn’t exactly a creature made for carrying, but she was so thin, her weight was hardly a burden to bear. “Shhh,” Cora whispered. “Easy.”

Teryn ran to her, and Berol launched back into the sky to circle overhead. He angled his head in the opposite direction of the horn, and Cora followed him. They crept away, their pace hurried. “I can carry her,” Teryn offered.

“It’s all right,” she said. “She feels comfortable with me.”

Another horn blast, this one from straight ahead.

Then another off to the side.

Cora’s heart leapt into her throat. They were surrounded.

“We need to get out of here fast,” Teryn said.

He was right, but no matter where they turned, another echoing horn would sound. She glanced between the boughs. It wasn’t yet sundown. The hunters shouldn’t be back yet. But, of course, she’d chosen risk over caution today instead of ensuring she knew exactly when to expect them back. Now Cora and Teryn could be caught. The hunters would be upon them. They’d seize the unicorn and Cora would have failed again.

Her legs begged to run while another part of her burned for a fight. Teryn was the one who’d insisted on avoiding bloodshed, while she’d only grown more furious at seeing what these hunters had done to the creature in her arms. Her heart screamed for vengeance. Her head, on the other hand, reminded her they had no idea how many men they could be facing. It was only her and Teryn—her quiver of arrows and his sword—against what would undoubtedly be insurmountable odds.

Then I fight to the death , part of her said.

No, I flee and hope I make it out alive , said another.

She felt torn in two, unsure which instinct to heed. She’d followed her impulse to stay and fight when they’d thrown caution to the wind and rescued the unicorns right away. Had that been the right choice? Or the wrong one? Regardless of what was right or wrong then, which choice would serve her best now?

A wave of vertigo seized her, forcing her to stagger her feet. But it helped her remember the soil that stood beneath her, acting as a source of stability. It reminded her of other things too. Of the air surrounding her, filling her lungs. Of the fire that was her fury. The water that was blood. The elements. Her magic.

The last thing she wanted at a time like this was to slow down and turn inward. Not when she was feeling so frantic.

But, as Salinda always said, magic was strengthened by challenge, and the simplest challenge of all was doing what felt the hardest in any given moment. If there was ever a time for magic to prove stronger than weapons, it would be now.

Fighting through her more predominant instincts, she closed her eyes and focused on her breath. She detached her emotional bond from the unicorn to focus instead on the feel of a soft wind dancing over her skin, the sensation of her hair prickling at the back of her neck. She noted the way the ground felt beneath her feet, firm and strong but with subtle give. A sense of calm went over her, telling her she’d tapped into her deepest Art. Extending her senses around her, she sought nearby feeling. At first, she felt only the unicorn and Teryn, but she brushed past them to clusters of energies beyond. She was struck by a cacophony of emotions belonging to several others—excitement, trepidation, desire, hunger. There was a darkness to these energies, a density that made her stomach turn. At least half a dozen hunters were closing in on Cora and Teryn. A spike of alarm threatened to break her composure, but she breathed it away.

Another horn sounded, and Teryn placed his palm on her back, angling her away from it. “Cora, we need to go.”

She put a hand on his forearm to still him. To tell him to stay. To do what, she still wasn’t sure.

Hide .

The feeling originated deep in her gut, firm and calm and certain. Opening her eyes, she saw a wide tree straight ahead, its boughs low and dense. It wouldn’t hide them, not if the hunters drew close enough, but she was going to try.

She met Teryn’s puzzled expression. “You’re going to have to trust me,” she said.

“How so?”

She tugged him toward the tree, following the internal pull she felt with every fiber of her being. The baby unicorn struggled in her grasp, but she made a soothing noise at her. “You’re going to have to trust me too.”

The question was…could she trust herself?

She shook the doubt from her mind and hefted the unicorn closer to Teryn. “Help me hold her.”

“What are we doing?” Teryn’s whisper was laced with terror, but he helped her hold the unicorn between them.

With a deep breath, she said. “Close your eyes. Whatever you do, don’t say a word. Don’t move, no matter what you hear. Put…” She swallowed hard. “Put your free arm around me and don’t let go until I tell you to.”

His eyes searched hers, his face pale. “I don’t understand.”

Another horn blast.

The hunters would find them in a matter of seconds.

She held his gaze, trying to convey everything she was feeling. The urgency. The hope. The gut sensation that told her this —no matter how absurd it seemed—was what they had to do.

Finally, he stepped closer, the baby unicorn the only thing that separated their chests. He closed his eyes and hooked his free arm around her waist.

Her eyelids closed next, and she reached out for the trunk of the tree. Her palm met rough bark, thrummed with the pulse of its life force, of the elements surging through its roots, its branches, its leaves. She drew her attention to her feet, to the firmness of the ground below, and felt another thrum. The tree’s roots extended deep underground, merging with the soil, the water that fed them, the air and sunlight that helped them grow strong. Cora pressed harder against the tree, imagined she was no different. She too was nourished by the same elements. They fed her body the same way they fed her Art. She was no different from the tree, her skin so like bark she might as well be a sapling. A steady energy began to pulse through her, stilling her mind. She was aware of two distinct energies pressed close to her and extended this same feeling outward.

They were one and the same.

She, the tree, the boy, the fae.

The heartbeat of the tree was her own. Hers was the unicorn’s. The unicorn’s was the boy’s. The boy’s was hers. She could almost hear it pounding through her, vibrating up the hand that held her waist, echoing the beat in her chest. When she breathed, he did too. When they breathed, so too did the unicorn, the tree, the soil, the sky. Everything breathed.

There was nothing here but a tree.

One with vast root systems that shuddered beneath the soil, stirring the top layer of dirt until not a footprint could be seen where once there’d been many. No longer was there a sign of the boy, the girl, and the small fae creature.

They’d never been there at all.

Just a tree.

A tree.

Only a tree.

The tree hardly acknowledged the men that stalked by. They prowled like wolves, eyes keen, but they found not what they sought. Nothing but a wood empty of everything but what should be there. The tree didn’t count in minutes or seconds, but time did pass. Soon—or maybe not so soon—the men passed too, shoulders slumped with disappointment of a catch not had.

Only then did the tree unravel.

Only then did one become two, and two separated into three.