Page 5 of The Song of Sunrise (The Prentice Teller #1)

The Darkwoods

T hick layers of twisting branches and russet leaves protect us from the continuous onslaught of rain. I curse under my breath as my boots squelch across the muddy forest floor, waterlogged dress swinging heavily with each step.

What I would give to be back in my safe, dry basement room.

My heart grows sodden at the thought, so I shove it deep down until it’s blocked out completely, like the missing stars in the stormy sky above.

“This will work,” Castor says matter-of-factly, nodding at the small patch of ground with twisting tree roots and fungi.

So much for staying dry.

The Watchers move in unison as if they have done this a million times, tying the horses to the trees and scouting the perimeter.

Castor disappears into the surrounding woods with a dagger drawn, likely to catch our dinner.

Leaf continues to circle the small clearing, pausing on occasion to make elaborate hand gestures while muttering something I can’t quite make out.

His movements are mesmerizing. If I look closely enough, I can see the Source weaving in small strings of light around his fingertips, as if he is pulling the magic from the air around us and tying it into knots.

“Solaris shield,” Leaf says without looking at me, sensing my observations. “It’s a protective enchantment of sorts.”

Right. Because he can channel the Source as a Watcher!

Leaf continues his work in an easy silence.

I, on the other hand, pace back and forth, shivering, wholly convinced that I’m the victim of every rogue rain droplet that somehow manages to seep through the canopy.

I cannot just stand here uselessly, so searching for firewood seems like a good enough plan.

Staying close to our “camp,” I start gathering kindling, each movement pulling a sharp, stinging ache through my ribs. In a cruel, unsettling way, I welcome the pain—a reminder that this is real. I want to remember this pain because if I forget, I forget him .

Pleased with the growing bundle of sticks in my arms, I head back to our camp. I don’t notice the root winding up from the earth until I’m already stumbling. I brace myself for the impact, eyes squeezing shut in preparation for the exacerbation of my pain…

…but it never comes.

“Careful there.” Leaf delicately lifts me back to a vertical position. His lips are pinched, holding back a grin. I must look ridiculous in my sopping wet dress, standing in a haphazard pile of sticks.

Great, just great.

“Thanks,” I offer and roll my shoulders back.

How did he get over here that quickly to catch me? He isn’t even winded.

“Firewood?” He raises an eyebrow and gestures eccentrically in my general direction. The corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“Thought I would make myself useful,” I say and begin collecting sticks once again.

He smiles and pivots abruptly to the side, extending his hands to continue shielding, fingertips aglow with a soft golden light.

“Any help making our camp tonight, I’ll take.

Just another night for me, terribly uncomfortable in the woods…

Fuck, I’m really looking forward to sleeping in a feather bed sometime soon.

I’m starting to think my bunk at the Watch isn’t so bad.

” Leaf sighs. “This spot seems as good as any. I doubt anyone will find us here. It’s not often travelers stray from the road into the Darkwoods. ”

Not often? “Is it really the best idea for us to sleep here then?”

“We are not just anyone ; we are Watchers! Protectors of the human race, you know, stuff like that. Only a dumb Sun-licker is going to try approaching us here.” He wiggles his glowing fingers to emphasize the point.

“Right. I’m sure your jazz hands will scare away all of the predators,” I volley back.

Leaf throws his head backward and howls, his low baritone laugh is so full and pure that it would make a Teller jealous. If any animal circling by didn’t hear us before, they definitely heard us now.

The corners of my lips twitch, threatening to curve into a smile. I quickly turn away, instead brushing my fingers through Lux’s dark mane. I cannot bear to let myself smile, not after what happened.

Leaf finally gathers himself after a few minutes of hearty laughs and mumbling something about “spirit fingers.” The soft pattering of rain fills the silence. If I wasn’t emotionally and physically exhausted, I would appreciate the rhythmic pattern of the droplets.

“Can you help me with this?” Leaf asks, struggling to untie the saddlebag strapped to the side of his horse.

“Sure.” My nimble fingers untie the knots with ease, making me wonder if Leaf’s hands are that large, or maybe he is just trying to find ways to make me feel helpful.

He pulls on the bag and takes out a set of tightly rolled tarps. His giant, glossy white horse stomps its hooves in agitation.

“Easy goes it, Tiny.” Leaf pats the horse a few times.

“Tiny?” I ask with a squeak before thinking. I swear I hear the massive horse snuff in disapproval.

“She’s in denial,” he stage-whispers to me from behind his hand. “She was the smallest little thing when she was born. Tiny, really. I guess I wasn’t very clever with the naming, was I? Before I had the chance to rename her, it stuck. She won’t respond to anything else, right Tiny?”

Tiny raises her head high, peering one eye over to us skeptically.

“She’s beautiful,” I acknowledge.

“She is, and she’s mine.” He smiles broadly at Tiny.

I look at Leaf, really observing him for the first time.

He is frighteningly beautiful. High cheekbones, square jaw, and dark almond eyes.

His hair is shaved on the sides right above his ears.

Down the center, his long hair is pulled back into loose braids atop his broad shoulders.

He’s wearing the customary blue Watcher cloak, but underneath is an ominous smattering of weapons peeking out from various hidden pockets.

The “W” Watcher sigil intertwined with an image of a rising sun is gleaming proudly on his chest. From a distance, he is quite intimidating, but the closer you get, the more you notice his quick smiles and warmth.

It’s hard to describe why, but I instinctively feel safe around him.

Castor emerges from the darkness, jogging back toward us. A few dead rabbits and squirrels bounce limply in each hand.

“Dinner is here!” Leaf claps his hands together.

“I’ll make the fire,” I say.

The Watchers exchange a glance.

Perhaps they assume I can’t make a fire?

Little do they know, I’ve made hundreds.

It feels like just yesterday I was living in a small, abandoned, single-room cabin in the outskirts of Ashwood.

Out of necessity, I learned how to do many things during that time of my life, fire-making being one of them.

You become resourceful in creative ways when you have nothing.

While I begin with the fire, Castor works on skinning the catches and Leaf puts together a makeshift shelter with the tarps.

The rain slows to a light drizzle. A welcome reprieve.

Sweat dampens my forehead as I aggressively twist a piece of wood between my palms. I can feel the friction growing between the pieces. A whisper of smoke swirls out from the sticks, coiling around my fingers.

There we go. Come on!

The smoke dissipates and disappears.

“Sun burn me!” I throw the stick aside and sink to the ground.

I am a failure. I failed at making a fire. I failed to remember my Tale, resulting in Marrow taking my spot… only to be killed moments later.

I wish I wouldn’t have moved… that the red wax-tipped arrow went through my chest instead.

I bury my head in my hands, hiding the angry tears streaming down my cheeks.

A hand softly touches my back.

“Let me help,” Leaf offers quietly.

I prop my head on my knees and blink rapidly, so tired of crying. Of feeling this way. Like I fell into an enormous cavern of grief that is impossible to climb out of.

He seems to understand my silent admission. His fingers begin to glow a combination of orange, yellow and gold. This close to him, I can feel it—the warmth and heat. Small tendrils of light weave and knot in intricate patterns.

He lowers his fingers to the kindling and a flame sparks.

“Incredible,” I whisper, transfixed by the dancing flame. “How did you do that?”

“Channeling.” He taps the sigil on his chest. “Well, sun magic to be precise.”

“Did you… always have it?” I warm my hands over the small flame.

“Only Elves and Underlings are born with magic. The rest of us need siphons. I’m still learning how to channel the Source at the Watch.” He wiggles his fingers again, but this time, I notice the two bulbous rings, each adorned with a small golden stone.

Marrow had told me countless stories about powerful Watcher warriors who use their channeling stones to harness the magic flowing around us to tip battles in their favor. To see the stones up close and in action is fascinating .

Castor places the game over the fire then gathers a few larger logs for us to sit on. His movements are practiced, natural. Like he has spent a hundred nights outside preparing meals with nothing but good instincts and a fire.

His icy blue eyes meet mine, but I look away quickly, refusing to let him see too much beneath the surface.

“I cannot wait until we are back at the Academy. I can only take so many nights of this cuisine .” Leaf makes himself comfortable on a log and lets out a dramatic sigh.

“You will eat whatever I find,” Castor says flatly and turns the squirrel slowly over the fire.

“Fantastic,” Leaf says and rolls his eyes before winking at me.

The part of my chest just above the ribs, feels a little less heavy.

Once Castor is done roasting the meat, he procures a knife from somewhere under his cloak and flips it in his hand before sawing off a piece.

“Here.” Castor holds out a piece of steaming meat to me.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You must be starving. Please.” He inches the meat closer.