Page 45

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

TESSA

My back hurts, my feet are sore, and I can’t feel my ass anymore.

Dusk is falling, and the shadows darken as we make our slow way through the forest. Small yellow lights wink in and out of existence between the trees.

I stop Clover and stare at them, transfixed, until Arlon taps my knee, drawing my attention back to him.

“Did you see the fireflies?” I ask, wonder seeping into my voice. “I’ve never seen them this late in the season. And so bright.”

“They’re not fireflies,” he murmurs and urges Pip into a trot. “They’re the old ones. Guardians of the forest. This land must be abandoned if they’ve settled here.”

I stare at his back, then gaze at the forest again. A shiver runs through me as I realize he’s right. The glow of the tiny beings flickers from yellow to an icy blue, then back again, and they seem to be chasing each other around the bushes.

“Are they dangerous?” I whisper, afraid now.

He shakes his head. “Not unless we try to hurt them or the trees. Just stick to the path and don’t follow them.”

I think of how mesmerized I was and pull my rope from Clover’s saddlebag. I tie one end to the pommel of my saddle and toss the other to Arlon. He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t mock the idea. Instead, he picks up the pace and leads me safely through the forest.

As we ride farther east along the road, staying hidden behind hedges and clusters of trees scattered throughout the marshy land, I can’t stop thinking about what he said earlier.

We’re traveling in the direction of the Stonefrost Clan lands because the caravan Lindie is leading is heading straight there.

If we don’t stop, we’ll cross the border sooner or later.

I tried to send Arlon away, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

Still, a ball of dread sits heavy in my belly, mixed with a good dose of guilt.

If anything happens to him, it’ll be my fault.

If I call off this hunt, if I stop following Lindie, we could still get away, couldn’t we?

I’d argued earlier that the Ravens would surely know where to find Arlon’s clan, but there must be other orc kingdoms out there.

“You never mentioned any other clan apart from yours and this one.”

I bring Clover up beside Pip. We’ve been following a wide but overgrown path for the last quarter hour, winding ever closer to the foothills he showed me earlier.

Arlon sends me a sideways glance. “That’s because there aren’t any around here.

Not anymore.” He focuses back on the path, guiding Pip and Cricket around a rotted, fallen tree.

“There might be more clans north of Stonefrost lands, but they’ve kept to themselves for decades, ever since King Trak started waging war with his neighbors and won every single one of those battles.

The fae lords have mostly managed to hold him back, but he conquered several clans around here.

The Ironhollow and Skyrend Clans in the mountains, the Pinegrove Clan to the south. ”

A shiver runs down my spine. “And that’s where we’re going? To the kingdom of the man who won all the wars?”

“That’s the thing…” Arlon suddenly veers to the left and off the path, leading the horses through a grove of young maple trees. “I think the old king might be dead.”

I follow through the dense undergrowth, trying to see where we’re headed. “Dead?”

“Aye. Why else would the marauding have stopped? If the old bastard were still alive, we’d have heard about the raids—the attacks. But Mistress Maeve said there hasn’t been an orc seen in their village for years.”

We emerge into a patch of raspberry brambles, some with withered fruit still clinging to thorny vines. And beyond that, an abandoned cottage, its stone walls disappearing beneath a carpet of ivy.

“How did you know we’d find this here?” I exclaim, forgetting all about our conversation.

I nudge Clover around the brambles, which have overtaken what used to be the kitchen garden, and stop next to what might have been the chicken coop but is now a pile of rotting boards.

Arlon smiles at my enthusiasm. “I just followed the path, Tessa. You’re acting like it’s magic.”

“Well, your senses are so good, they might as well be magic.” I dismount and lead Clover toward the old barn still attached to the side of the house. “What do you think happened here?”

He lands on the ground next to me and takes Clover’s reins as well.

“People move away for all sorts of reasons. Maybe the family had no one to take over the farm.” He lets out a long sigh and adds, “Or it might’ve been a raid that ended with the owners dying right in their beds. Only the gods know.”

His solemn words dampen some of my excitement. Whatever happened to these people, the farm, which was once a place of abundance, judging by the overgrown garden and coop, has fallen into disrepair.

I’m well used to change. I’ve had to adapt to new situations so many times since I left home a decade ago. But most people don’t live like I do. They find a home, settle down, and build their lives in peace.

It’s how Arlon lived before meeting me. He had a steady job and people who supported him, a whole network of friends and family.

Now that I’ve spent some time with him, I’ve come to realize just how strange the experience must be for him.

He spent his entire adult life hoping he’d find a mate someday, and now he’s saddled with a thief, following me across the country on a potentially life-threatening mission.

And he’s doing it all without complaining. What’s more, he’s proven to be incredibly helpful and capable. He’s financing the entire trip and protecting me.

The little resistance I’ve held on to is melting away in the face of irrefutable proof.

Arlon is a good man. He’s not out to hurt me, or get revenge for being robbed, or trying to grope me at every opportunity.

I’ve never met a more patient person, but I know these last few days have been difficult for him.

I want to show him he’s not alone in this. That I feel at least a part of what he’s experiencing, too. I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way.

I lead Clover into the barn, following Pip’s large rump. We work side by side, brushing and drying the horses. I pour oats into their feed bags while Arlon heads out with a pair of dusty old pails to fetch water from the well behind the house.

“The water smells clean,” he tells me as he sets the pails down in front of the horses, “but we should still boil it before drinking.”

I think of the tea stashed in my saddlebag and flush, then hurry out of the barn before Arlon can scent my reaction.

I try the front door of the main cottage and find it unlocked but stuck, the wood warped from damp.

I shove it with my shoulder and stumble through when it gives under my weight.

The room beyond is dark, the shutters overgrown with ivy, but I make out the outline of a fireplace in one corner and a dusty table beside it.

Arlon walks past me and checks the room beyond. “It looks like the roof’s held up. The place hasn’t been ransacked, but there are no personal belongings left, either.”

“So you think they moved away?” I ask softly.

It’s a relief. I wouldn’t want to stay in a house where the family had been murdered in their beds.

“Aye, it looks that way.” Arlon picks up a broom from the floor and shakes off the cobwebs. “If we sweep out that corner over there, we can stay here for the night.”

He throws himself into the work, shoving the windows open to let in the evening breeze as he sweeps the dust, dead insects, and mouse droppings out the front door.

That means the task of building the fire falls to me.

I head outside to pick through the fallen coop for kindling and find a small stack of old firewood stacked against the southern wall of the house.

I bring several armfuls into the house—enough to last us the night, hopefully.

When I swipe away the cobwebs from the fireplace, I uncover a large black kettle hanging inside, so I send Arlon to the well to rinse it out and bring back water to boil.

“This feels very domestic,” I remark as he returns and hangs the kettle on its chain above the small fire I’ve started.

He grins. “Would you like this? Keeping house, living off the land?”

I pause, unsure whether he’s joking. But Arlon remains silent, watching me intently.

“Maybe,” I say softly. “But wouldn’t you miss your family?”

“I’m not saying we should remain right here.” He steps closer, then takes my hand and lifts it to press a soft kiss to my knuckles. “I’m asking whether you’d be willing to give up a life of adventure to build a home somewhere safe.”

My chest tightens at the idea. A home somewhere safe . It’s been a decade since I last had that, and that safety was an illusion, dependent on my good behavior, as it turned out. To allow myself to dream is dangerous.

But there’s something about Arlon that forces me to be honest.

“I think so. It’s not necessarily the danger I crave.

” I clench my hands, trying to find the right words.

“I’ve simply found the fastest way to provide for myself.

So if you’re asking if I’d give it up if I had another option, then I suppose the answer is yes.

I just don’t have many skills that could earn me a living outside of thieving and sneaking. ”

Arlon looks as if he might protest, but I put a hand on his chest, tapping it lightly to stop him.

“I’m not exaggerating. My childhood was incredibly sheltered, and all that was expected of me, as the younger daughter of a rich man, was to be pretty, be coy, and land myself a wealthy husband,” I explain.

“My governesses didn’t prepare me for life in the real world.

They taught me to play the lyre and sing prettily, to dress so my figure was shown off most advantageously.

The only useful thing I learned before I left home was dancing. ”