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Chapter Twenty-five

Dyved’s forests teem with life.

I see more animals in two days living in the woodlands than I have in all my prior years combined. The deer I used to hunt in Seahaven were starved, slight creatures—half-dead already by the time my arrows brought them down. The elk and doe that cross my path here are in peak physical form, magnificent horned beasts with gleaming coats and glossy, intelligent eyes. Cotton-tailed hares dart through the undergrowth so fast, it is difficult to spot them in the low brush. Exotic birds of several different varieties warble from the highest reaches of the pines, filling the air with strange songs.

When I come upon a stretch of trees where the music tapers off into abrupt quiet, and see the bark of many trunks scored with deep claw marks, I quickly change course. I have no desire to see if Dyved’s bears are as healthy as its deer population. Or as hungry.

I do not much care which direction I walk in, so long as it brings me vaguely south. I have no true destination. I make camp the first night by the crook of a river, sparking a fire with foliage and kindling I find scattered in the thicket. Once the flames catch, I feed them with dry logs until they are burning steadily, high enough to ward off the shadows but low enough to avoid drawing unwanted attention. The spring thaw is well underway, and while a hint of winter’s sting lingers, it is not intolerable. Especially with a thick, fur-lined cloak and sturdy leather boots.

A far cry from my last sojourn in the wild.

Hours lengthen into days, and a sort of peace settles in my bones. Things are simpler in the forest. There are no social customs to follow, no sneering courtiers to impress, no tripwire conversations to tiptoe through. Here, I am not a child of the prophecy or a meaningless dinner guest or a maegical being of great import. I am just a girl in the woods. If I am hungry, I eat. If I am tired, I rest. If I am bored, I make a game of naming the herbs and flowers creeping through the ground with pale green shoots.

Rose hip. Sagethorn. Tansy. Comfrey. Chicory. Yarrow. Myrtle. Dogwood. Fireweed. Juniper. Star grass.

I collect some of the more useful ones as I walk, using the dead guard’s pocketknife to take cuttings. It is rather optimistic to think I might ever find a place to plant a medicinal garden, let alone nurture it to fruition. Yet I do not stop until my pack is full of carefully wrapped roots and stems. A nascent harvest, swaddled in cheesecloth.

As the days slip by, I gradually make my way south across the plateau. I do not lend much thought to where I am going. My plan, if you can call it that, hinges entirely on finding the Range Road we took from Coldcross, and making my way back there. There, or somewhere like it. Any neutral trade-post town will do, where I can disappear into the fabric of daily life without so much as a ripple. One more anonymous halfling in the patchwork of society, overlooked and ordinary.

I see no one in the woods, keeping far off the roads. Occasionally, I pass a bit too close to the outskirts of a settlement or farm, but it is easy enough to divert my course at the first signs of life. I do not know exactly how far I am from Caeldera; close enough not to risk recognition at an inn, no matter how much my tired bones and aching soles might appreciate a night’s rest on a feather mattress instead of the rock-riddled ground. Besides, I do not yet trust myself around people. Not after the carnage I unleashed. Not after Gower—

I shove the thought away before it can fully register.

There is a tiny whisper in my head that suggests, in the small hours of the night when the world is darkest and my worst fears rattle the chains in which I keep them fettered, that I am not dealing with reality. That I am hiding in the forest—from what I have done, from who I am becoming. From everything.

I do not give that voice much credence.

I am fine.

Totally fine.

So what if I break down at the sight of my dagger’s blade, stained with dried blood? So what if I douse it in the first creek I come across, plunging my hands into the frigid water and scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing until every trace of gore is washed away? So what if I keep on scrubbing, even when the blade is clean again, only ceasing when my hand slips and I slice a deep gouge into my palm?

I sit there on the bank and watch my blood welling, spilling, dripping—vibrant, vital red against the bleak blanket of dried pine needles that cover the earth—with vague detachment. Only my long-ingrained training convinces me to eventually tear a strip off the hem of my shift and wrap the wound until the worst of the bleeding stops and the cut begins to close. Unable to stomach the sight of any more blood, I leave the saturated fabric there on the riverbank and hurry on my way.

That night, the end of my third day of wandering, the sun is dipping toward the horizon when I come to a strange, silent section of the forest. More bears, I think at first. But no—this is a different sort of quiet. Absolute stillness seizes the air. No birds, no breeze, no sound at all. No rabbits race through the scrub, no soft-footed deer nip berries from the bushes.

The trees show signs of damage far beyond ursine claws. Some are stripped of their branches, as though a very tall animal has moved through with haste and snapped them off. Others are knocked over entirely, fallen sentinels left to decompose with their roots exposed to the elements.

When I see the tracks scored deeply into the soil—some as long as I am tall—I’m overcome by the urge to run. Run, quickly , away from this place, before I find myself face-to-face with whatever left such mammoth footprints behind.

I backtrack through the woods to the creek where I’d washed my dagger clean that afternoon, holding my breath until I hear the comforting chirp of songbirds and see a pair of rabbits racing each other to their burrow at the base of an ash tree. The sun has nearly set; a waxing moon is rising to take its place. I make a fire, taking extra care to keep it burning low. I have put a fair amount of distance between myself and that eerie stretch of woods, but I am still too rattled to take any undue risks.

My stomach growls in protest as I stare into the flames. I have not eaten more than a handful of dried nuts all day. I force myself to munch on a stale bannock as I watch the embers devouring the thin twigs, a defiant glow in the swelling shadows. My thoughts drift to Penn as I chew the flavorless bread. They often do when I stare into the flames. I doubt I will ever again see a fire and not conjure him in my mind. Those severe planes of his face. That cutting jawline. That rare smile. I allow myself only a moment to wonder if he has learned of my absence; if he thinks I left him of my own accord.

It does not matter , I tell myself again and again and again, until the words lose all meaning. He does not matter.

Tossing the remainder of my stale dinner into the fire, I settle back against the mossy hollow trunk of a fallen tree, tuck my cloak more firmly around me, and allow the gentle babbling of the nearby brook to lull me into a fitful slumber.

Something wakes me in the dead of night.

I jolt into consciousness, eyes snapping open. It is black as pitch. The fire has nearly gone out. I push out of my slumped position against the hollow tree and find my feet, glancing around for signs of monsters in the dark. None materialize. My ears strain for sounds—anything that might indicate I am not alone in the clearing where I’ve made camp. There is nothing save the soft hoot of an owl soaring overhead.

Dismissing my paranoia, I stoop to toss a handful of fresh kindling onto the embers. I’ve barely risen back to full height when a large hand claps itself across my mouth from behind.

I scream.

“Quiet,” Penn murmurs, his breath stirring the hair at my temple. “There are creatures in the Forsaken Forest you do not want to call down upon us.”

The scream dies in my throat. I swallow hard, trying to slow my racing heart. As my breathing evens and sense returns, for the first time in more than a week, I feel the pull of an invisible tether in the center of my chest. My breath catches at the sensation. I had not realized how much I longed to feel the Remnant bond again—to feel Penn again—until this moment.

“Are you calm? Can I remove my hand?”

I nod.

His arm falls away and he steps back. I inhale a deep gulp of night air and set my shoulders before I dare turn to face him. He wears the dark helm he had on when we first met, the serpentine nose bridge accentuating the fierceness of his severe expression. A thick growth of stubble dots his tight-clenched jaw.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper haltingly.

“I should ask you the same.” His brows are furrowed, his dark eyes moving rapidly over me as though memorizing every detail. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been searching for you? Two full days in this damned forest, going round in circles looking for tracks. You move like a bloody ghost.”

My chin jerks haughtily. “Why?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why have you been searching for me?”

“Is this some sort of jest?”

“I’m perfectly serious.” I stare at him. “Do you intend to drag me back to Caeldera to face trial? To throw me in the dungeons to rot? Because I’d rather you just kill me here and now. Be done with it.”

As I speak, Penn’s expression grows thunderous. “You think I’ve spent my time tracking you through the wilderness because I want to punish you ?” He practically vibrates with rage. I am surprised smoke does not leak from his ears. “You think, after I felt the burst of power you expelled three days ago…after I felt your distress, your pain, your fear…after I came across the ruins of that wagon and saw the ground littered with bodies…and felt nothing from our bond, not a single fucking flicker of your presence…” A muscle leaps in his jaw as he struggles for control. “You think after all that…I want to hurt you?”

“I…” The ground beneath me seems suddenly shaky. “I didn’t…”

“ Gods , Rhya!” He half shouts, careful to keep his tone subdued even in his agitated state. “What do I have to do to earn your trust? What do I have to do to prove to you that I’m not going to hurt you? That I would do anything— anything —to keep you safe?”

“I…I don’t know.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides. “You are the most infuriating, obstinate, impossible woman I have ever met. And I have been alive for well over a century.”

My spine goes ramrod straight. “If that’s how you truly feel, why did you bother coming after me at all?”

“Like I said,” he mutters. “ Impossible. ”

“Is it just because I’m the Remnant?” I wish my voice weren’t shaking. “Just because of some stupid prophecy that makes you honor bound to protect me?”

“Fucking hell, Rhya!” His eyes bore into mine, aglow in the darkness. “I don’t give a damn about the prophecy. Not anymore. I care about you .”

My heart is hammering. Too hard. Too fast. I cannot think straight, cannot even attempt to articulate everything I am feeling. Especially when he is looking at me like that. “You don’t understand. I can’t go back. Not after…”

“You killed him. Gower.”

I reel back, like he’s dealt a physical blow. Of course. He’d seen the gruesome scene. Of course he knows what I’ve done. My stomach twists into an ugly knot. “But how did you— When did you—”

He takes pity on me when I choke into silence, answering the questions I cannot quite voice. “You had not been gone more than an hour before your maids realized something must’ve happened and sent up the alarm. I was already on my way back from the border with a unit of men. By the time we rode through the front gates, two merchants had come forward claiming they witnessed you being shoved unconscious into the back of a wagon by a man wearing an Ember Guild uniform. The guards posted at the tunnel confirmed its was Gower who passed through.” His teeth grind together in frustration. “They didn’t think to search the wagon when he claimed he was on official business for the prince.”

I nod. “He tried that same tactic with the other guards. The ones at the outpost. But they were skeptical from the start. And when they heard me banging in the back of the wagon, they knew something was amiss. They tried to help, but…”

“Gower killed them.”

I have to look away. His eyes are too intent, too knowing. I stare at the fire instead as I speak. The embers smolder, red as blood. “He was desperate, you see. Dying. A slow death, his insides eaten away bit by bit. I have seen such illness before, back in Seahaven. I doubt he had more than a year left to live.”

There is a heavy silence.

“Apparently, Efnysien is offering immortality to the lucky individual who turns me over.”

The silence grows electric with rage.

“I thought…” My voice falters. I swallow hard and try again. “I thought I was safe in Caeldera.”

A pulse of guilt pierces the bond, sharp as a needle between my ribs. “So did I,” Penn says with a heavy sigh. “I thought the wards would be enough to keep our enemies at bay. I did not anticipate being betrayed by one of our own. Certainly not one of my top men.”

I press my lips together, unsure how to respond to that.

“The members of the Ember Guild are handpicked,” he continues. “They train for years before they earn a rank akin to Gower’s. I had no reason to think you were in danger where he was concerned.”

Still, I remain silent. I do not trust myself to speak. My emotions are too raw, my reactions too untempered.

“Rhya,” he prompts after a moment. “What are you thinking right now? Give me some small indication.”

I shrug and run my hands through my tangled hair. My thoughts feel just as raw as my emotions. It will do me no good to allow them to lash out at him.

Penn’s voice goes rough with frustration. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? Gods, Rhya, you know I am.” He sucks in a breath to steady himself but cannot quite disguise the flash of temper. “That said, you were supposed to stay in the palace until I got back.”

My whole frame stiffens. Finally, I find my powers of speech. “Well, you never should’ve left in the first place.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I have other responsibilities besides catering to you. I have an entire kingdom to run. I can’t spend every minute making sure you’re not walking blithely into death traps—”

“ Blithely? So it’s my fault I was taken?”

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps. “But if you’d not been wandering around unattended—”

“I wasn’t unattended! I had Gower looking out for me!” I snap right back at him. “I guess I should’ve somehow foreseen that he was going to knock me over the head, shove me into a wagon, and attempt to barter me to Efnysien like a prized lamb for slaughter!”

“Rhya—”

“You know, I almost don’t blame him,” I cut him off. My laugh is biting. Bitter. “Gower. He would’ve tried anything to live. It wasn’t personal.”

“Do not,” he grits out between clenched teeth, “make excuses for what he did.”

“I’m not excusing it, I’m just saying—”

“Enough.” His eyes press closed. “Tell me the rest. Finish it.”

“Don’t order me around like one of your men. I don’t snap to your commands, O great princeling.”

“Rhya.”

He sounds weary enough to garner cooperation. I heave a sigh and then, in a flat voice, describe the tornado I summoned in the sparsest details. The blast that destroyed the wagon, that sent the spear into Gower’s gut. Penn listens without interruption for the most part, but I hear his sharp intake of air as I reach the final piece of the tale.

“I slit his throat,” I whisper starkly. “He was gone in the space of an instant.”

There is a long silence, during which he takes several deep breaths. When he finally speaks, his voice is a guttural rasp, brimming with vengeance. “You should’ve left him there to writhe. To rot. He did not deserve such a merciful end.”

Startled, my eyes flash to Penn’s face. “He was one of your most trusted men. A loyal lieutenant for years.”

“A miscalculation I will not soon forget,” he vows coldly. “I hold no quarter for traitors. He will receive no funeral pyre, no last rites. Let him lie there until the animals carry off his bones to bleach beneath the sun. Let his soul wander for an eternity of banishment.”

“Penn—”

“He was meant to keep you safe! I entrusted him with the most important of duties in my absence. The most sacred. And at the first opportunity, he betrayed me. Betrayed you. Betrayed all of us, for if you are lost, so is our best hope.”

“But, Penn—”

“No. No. I will not hear another word spoken in his defense. He would have taken you from me. He would have condemned me to a life without you.” The words are uttered with such seething wrath, my heart skips a beat. “If he were not already dead, I’d kill him myself. And, Rhya…” His eyes hold mine; there is no mistaking the sincerity in them. “I would enjoy it.”

Beneath my cloak, I wrap my arms around myself, in part to keep from trembling. Mostly, though, to keep from reaching for him. The urge is so strong, it takes all my focus to resist. I find myself wishing that, just once, Penn would allow his own unflagging self-control to crack wide open. That he would let go of his own resistance, pull me into his arms, and…and…

“Put out the fire and gather your things. It’s time to go,” he says, his fury buried—along with my foolish fantasies. “We have a long journey home.”

I don’t move. “Caeldera is not my home. I’m not going back.”

“You are.”

“No,” I whisper tersely. “I am not.”

“Where are you going, then?”

Scowling, I glance away. “Does it matter?”

“Damn it, Rhya—”

“Just let me go! You said it yourself: you have a million other responsibilities to deal with. You don’t need me there to complicate your life.”

“And what if I want you there?” he asks softly—so softly, my eyes jerk back to his face before I can stop them.

“Penn—”

“What if I want you complicating my life? What if I told you I can’t sleep or see straight without knowing you’re safe? What if I said just the thought of you being hurt, being killed, is enough to tear me to shreds?”

I can only stare at him. There is no way to speak—not with my heart lodged in my throat. But the bond between us speaks for me. It aches like a knife twist. My emotions spill out like lifeblood.

Regret and remorse. Fear and foolish hope. Most devastating of all, longing . Such longing, I lose my breath. Such longing, it nearly crushes all my convictions.

“You’re running,” Penn says, his eyes holding mine captive. “Running scared.”

“I’m not.”

“You are and you know it.”

“And what do I have to be scared of?” I scoff to cover my fear. “ You? ”

“Yourself. Your own capabilities.”

My teeth clench. “I’ll learn to contain my power. To control it. I just need more practice. More time.”

“I wasn’t talking about your Remnant, Rhya. I was talking about Gower.”

There is no concealing my flinch. “I don’t know what he has to do with this.”

“You killed a man.”

I flinch again. My voice cracks out like a whip. “It was mercy. He was dying.”

“Dying from a wound you caused when you unleashed that tornado,” Penn says with a gentleness that makes me want to weep.

“Are you calling me a murderer?” Tears spring to my eyes unbidden. “He kidnapped me. He would have killed me.”

“I’m sure that’s true. Make no mistake, he deserved to die. But no amount of justification will change how you feel about what you did.” Penn shakes his head slowly back and forth. “If it were me, I wouldn’t think twice about driving my sword through his gut. I would relish the chance. You, though… I know you. I know how closely you guard your heart. I know, despite everything you have endured, you still believe in good and evil. In morality. So, whether or not he deserved to die, his death is a scar you will carry for the rest of your days.”

I cannot stand to look at him anymore. Or perhaps I cannot stand for him to look at me. Not with the pressure gathering like storm clouds behind my eyes, threatening a torrent of impending tears.

Penn steps closer, directly into my space. His hands slip around my neck, a soft scrape of calluses against the thinnest skin. I close my eyes as his warmth sinks into me, pressing my lips tight together to keep my whimper of despair contained.

“Rhya.” His voice is very nearly a caress. “Some grief is too heavy to carry alone. Let go of it. Give it to me. I will carry it for you.”

The whimper slips out.

His hands tighten at the sound. Yet his words remain whisper soft. “Stop running from a past you can’t change. Walk forward with me instead.”

I thought, after all this time together, I had seen every side to Prince Pendefyre of Dyved. But here is one I have never before witnessed.

Gentle.

Considerate.

Caring.

It is such a far cry from his typical gruffness, from his finely honed scorn and blunt brutality, it undermines the last shred of my composure. The tears I have worked so hard to hold at bay rush out in a hot flood, pouring down my cheeks unchecked. They do not have a chance to fall, for Penn pulls me closer, flush against him, and before I know what is happening, my face is buried in the crook of his neck.

I allow myself to weep against his skin, to release all my grief into his strong, solid frame. As if he really can take the pain from me, absorb it like a sponge until I am wrung out and empty.

I cry for the life I have taken. I cry for the blood on my hands—on my heart. I cry for the girl I used to be, who saw the world with perfect clarity. Right and wrong. Good and evil. Sinner and saint. Mostly, though, I cry because I know down to my very core that I do not regret the choice I made. If I could go back to that moment in the wagon, when I chose to unleash the wind…I would do it again. I would save myself a thousand times over.

Even if I had to kill to do it.

I am not sure how long we stand there—my arms wrapped tight around Penn’s back, his fingers laced through the thick fall of my hair. When my sobs finally subside into ragged gasps of air, when my shudders lessen into minor shakes, when my eyes are swollen and aching…I tilt my head back to meet his stare.

His eyes soften when he sees the tears still glimmering on the surface of mine. Our faces are so close—a hairsbreadth apart. Our breaths mingle in the scant space between our mouths. Mine are coming faster and faster as I try to remind myself of all the reasons closing that tiny shred of distance would be a bad idea, an irreversible one with repercussions that will echo far into the future, one that will change everything between us in fundamental ways…

But then, he moves.

All my reasons drift away, scattering to the wind like dandelion fuzz. My hesitations vanish in a blink; my excuses evaporate like they never existed. Because Penn’s mouth is on mine, sinking down to claim my lips in a breath-stealing crush that makes my chest cave and my mind blank.

He kisses me with the same ragged desperation that buzzes through my own veins. With the same pulsing desire I feel mirrored in the bond that flows between us. Not just between us, now, but winding around us, twining us together like invisible rope. Tighter, tighter, tighter. Until I forget where I end and he begins.

I kiss him back, kiss him with everything I have—all my pain and rage and yearning, all my pent-up need from weeks of lying to myself that this, right here, is not exactly what I’ve wanted from him for longer than I care to remember. That this—his mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, his heartbeat thrumming in time with my pulse—is not what I have longed for each time we’ve bickered and butted heads and goaded each other with verbal barbs.

His head slants, deepening the kiss as my hands slide up his chest. A deep rattle moves in the back of his throat when my fingers brush the nape of his neck, where the thick hair curls below the rim of his helmet. The nose bridge is cold against my feverish face as I push up onto my toes, needing to be closer to him. Needing more of this. More of everything. More skin, more warmth, more fire in my blood.

More Penn.

His arms wind around me, steely bands that lock me firmly against him. I’m grateful he’s holding me up, for there is no way my legs will support my weight, no way my weakened knees will keep from buckling under the immensity of my emotions.

The wind is a wail, stirring the leaves at our feet into a vortex, sending up sparks from the campfire into the sky. I try to get my power under control, to keep from setting off a squall, but Penn is all-consuming. I am swimming in his taste, his touch, his scent. Unable to concentrate on anything except the way his hands slide down my spine, a heated exploration. The delicious press of my breasts against his firm chest as I bow against him, lost to sensation.

Skies.

I gasp, and the second my lips part, Penn’s tongue sweeps between them. I go fully pliant in his arms, allowing him to plunder my mouth without an ounce of protest. He is conquering me, bit by bit, but there is something beautiful about the surrender. He takes command of my mouth with the same unrelenting ferocity I have seen him exhibit in sparring pits and on fields of battle—no hesitations, no second-guessing.

I can only cling to him as his lips lay siege, driving my desire to a new height never previously experienced. At least, not until his hand slides up my side beneath the cloak and finds the soft swell of my breast. A moan moves in my throat—a ragged, hungry sound—as his thumb ghosts over my hardened nipple through the fabric of my gown.

The leaves and campfire sparks continue to swirl around us, faster and faster, until the world is naught but a blur of wind and flame. We’ll set the whole wood ablaze if we keep this up much longer.

In this moment, I can’t seem to make myself care.

“Gods,” Penn mutters, his mouth ripping away from mine long enough to drag in a much-needed breath. I’m panting hard, too, my lungs screaming beneath the piercing cold of my Remnant. But that doesn’t stop me from yanking on his nape, pulling him back down to me. I am not yet ready for this moment to end, not yet willing to let the building fervor between us sputter out.

I need his mouth.

I need his touch.

Never in my life have I needed anything so much.

His lips claim mine again in a bruising, brutal kiss I feel in every corner of my body. He’s touching me, his warm hand palming my breast, the heat of it sinking into my flesh, igniting my bloodstream. Setting off a drumbeat of passion that increases with every pound of my frantic heart.

The smell of burning foliage tinges the crisp night air. Scorched leaves sail around us, their dry edges smoldering, caught up in wind currents I cannot control. I do not even try. My emotions are too raw, too immense to tamp down. They singe back and forth down the bond between us, growing hotter and hotter, until it is a potent channel of pure, fiery desperation. Mine, Penn’s. They tangle into one. I can no longer separate our feelings, can no longer discern my own desires from his.

I hope, gods , I pray he is feeling the way I am right now. I hope his need for me is threatening to set his very skin aflame, for mine feels mere seconds from kindling.

I pour all my heat into the kiss, conveying with my body all the things I have spent weeks too afraid to put into words. My pulse spikes when his other hand slides down to cup the curve of my ass, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the hard evidence of his own passion pressing firmly against my midsection.

He is burning for me, too.

A wildfire in his blood, in his body—one I sparked. One I want, with sudden wild longing, to stoke until we are both utterly consumed by it. Until the past burns away, leaving space for something new to grow between us.

The realization is enough to send my mind reeling. My thoughts are fractured splinters I cannot cobble together into a cohesive thought, let alone put into words.

I want more.

I want him to—

A sudden, strange bellow in the distance splits the night, so loud I think it’s thunder. It echoes violently enough to shake the heavens. Not the roar of a bear or the howl of a wolf. Throatier. Harsher. Infinitely scarier.

We jerk apart, both breathing hard. Penn stares at me with a half-dazed, half-desperate expression I’m sure is mirrored on my own face. But with several hard blinks, the fog of lust lifts and his frame goes rigid against mine. His hands leave my body and he pushes me out of his arms with the same urgency he used to pull me into them.

“We need to go,” he tells me in a muted clip. “ Now. ”

The strange bellow comes again, rending the sky, and his jaw tightens.

“What is that?” I whisper, looking around in the darkness. Alarm suffuses my bloodstream, banishing any residual passion. It sounds like no animal I’ve ever heard. It sounds like—

“Ice giants.” Penn’s eyes are fully clear of the burning desire I saw in their depths only seconds ago. “There’s a colony nearby.”

I gasp. “ What? ”

“It is not called the Forsaken Forest without due cause. There is a reason these woods are given a wide berth. Each year when the Cimmerian snows begin to thaw, they make themselves at home here in bone-riddled caves, feeding on anything stupid enough to wander into their path before they go into hibernation for the summer months.”

He glances over my shoulder, into the dark. His body is alert with tension. As if, at any second, we might find ourselves face-to-face with a mythological hoarfrost monster. My heart quails when I think of the strange copse of trees I’d found myself in only hours ago, with its snapped branches and deathly stillness. I press my lips tight together, wondering just how close I had come to death at a set of gargantuan hands.

“You are lucky you did not stumble straight into their midst,” he mutters lowly. “Or we would not be having this conversation.”

“Right,” I say weakly. “ Lucky. That’s me.”

He doesn’t seem to notice the wry twist in my voice. He’s busy stomping out the embers of my fire with his boots. He collects my belongings from their spot by the hollow tree, passing me my bow and quiver to sling over my shoulder as he jerks the rucksack strap up onto his own.

When our eyes meet again there is a moment—a moment of unspoken words, a moment of unfulfilled promises—that suffuses the air between us so thickly, neither of us draws breath. A moment that begs for more than a moment; for hours, for days, for a whole bloody month to finish what we started.

“Home?” he whispers finally, voice gruff.

Such a small word.

Such enormous implications.

It scares me, but I say it anyway. “ Home. ”

Fire flares in his eyes, there and gone so fast I’m not entirely sure I haven’t imagined it. His hand reaches out and twines with mine, his strong fingers squeezing like he’ll never let me go.

I squeeze back.

Together, we leave the woods behind.

We make for Caeldera.

For… home .