Page 16 of This Midsummer Heart (Seasons of Legend #4)

Chapter fifteen

Going Somewhere, Darling?

Titaine

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in Nerania Wood as the golden sun begins to heat it, creating eddies of mist in furrows and between the raised roots of trees.

I mop at my brow, surprised by how quickly this cold Wood is heating—and that I am sweating beneath my glamour.

Around me, cicadas buzz rhythmically as other insects chime in and birds squawk and sing almost constantly.

Part of me feels terrible for leaving Auberon like this. The other part of me understands he’ll only slow me down.

I need to catch up to those bandits. Reaching the City of Nox might be impossible without Giselda’s help. If I’m lucky, they haven’t realized just what she is yet, and have sold her off to a horse trader in a human town.

I have to find her. Only with her impossible speed can I hope to beat the tides of the Bridge of Miracles.

I shouldn’t feel bad about leaving him. I just shouldn’t. For all I know, he was planning to leave me back in Avalonne, when he’d sold me passage for such a dear price. That would be just like him, to try to enact revenge, and for what? Wounding his pride? Rejecting him?

Sometimes, I wonder if he’s still sore about the wording of our marriage contract.

That whole matter has never sat right with me, though for an entirely different reason.

Either he lacked the wisdom to read a document written by fetes before signing it, or he was so ridiculously in love with me that he would’ve signed anything I put in front of him.

Neither are very settling options. A heart that can both love and hate to such extremes is peculiar to me, and not a little alarming.

More alarming still is the fact that at one point, I was drawn to Auberon’s headstrong passion. He was so unguarded—so unlike the fetes I knew. Whenever Auberon said something, I knew he meant it.

I guess he’ll get his vengeance after all. He’s the reason I may not make it to the City of Nox.

My stomach rumbles as I slip through the undergrowth of the sun-dappled wood, but that’s to be expected.

My body is no longer as efficient as it was before magic began to dwindle.

Considering how much Nerania Wood has changed, I realize that I’m lucky.

I still have magic at my disposal, even if it slips through my hands much more easily than before.

Yet I can feel my body weakening. I feel it in the strain that comes from traveling on foot, the soreness of my body, the aches and stiffness in my joints, and yes, in the pounding of my head after drinking that cursed elven liquor. That’s why I need this head start.

I can’t have Auberon ruining everything this time. There is no more room for mistakes.

Somehow, I’m not quite at the mouth of the elven Wood before I hear his voice again. My shoulders hitch up to my ears.

“Going somewhere, darling?”

I whirl, my eyes rounding as I realize Auberon has caught up to me despite carrying supplies. And I can’t even blame it on his long legs.

It’s me. I’m slow, and likely in more pain that I realize. Every step through Nerania Wood is like traversing a stream.

More worrisome still is the way the Wood seems to slide backwards behind Auberon as he stands there, bare arms crossed beneath his chest. My head snaps toward the mouth of the wood—only to find it isn’t there anymore. The road leads on, winding through trees and creeping understory.

The outside world is nowhere in sight.

At least Auberon notices my alarm, sparing me from answering. “What is it?” he asks, his arms dropping as he scans the forest for threats.

My jaw clenches as I realize what’s going on here. “The chaos magic in the Wood is playing tricks.”

Auberon snorts a laugh. “Is that all? You’re fae. You should be used to tricks. You in particular,” he adds under his breath—yet still plenty loud enough for me to hear over the chorus of cicadas and birdsong.

He strides past me with an athletic ease I can’t help but envy. And his certainty, too—as if he doesn’t believe the road will play a trick on the King of the Dark Elves.

Except it doesn’t. Auberon takes a curve in the path—nothing like the way we entered—and then the trees thin, heralding the open skies lying beyond Nerania. Within ten minutes of our meeting, we stand in the field, back on our original path before we detoured into Nerania Wood for the night.

Of course, Auberon notices my consternation.

“Dear Titaine,” he chides, “did you only just realize that some magics are beyond you?”

I screw up my face at him as I bite back all manner of retorts. Instead, I say, “So that’s it? We’re still traveling together?”

“If you can keep up with me.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s your own fault if I can’t. You’re the one who got our horses stolen.”

“Careful, Titaine. I’m starting to think you care more for your horse than for me.”

“Because I do! Giselda is our only way across the Bridge of Miracles, you fool! More than that, she is my horse, and I won’t leave her to fate or those horrible bandits!”

Auberon regards me coolly. “So you knew,” he says at length, as if any of that matters now.

“Knew the Bridge of Miracles is once again living up to its name? Of course I did. You would, too, if you ever paid attention to anything but yourself.”

“Ah, and you said you didn’t hate me.”

My brow furrows. “When did I say that?”

“When you were in your cups. You’d hardly admit to it otherwise.”

“And you believed it?”

“Do you,” he presses, the line of his lips suggesting a barely suppressed smirk, “hate me? Because sometimes I wonder if you don’t still love me, in your own way.” He cocks his head. “Is the animosity you still bear towards me part of it?”

I tromp down the road, unwilling to dignify that with a response.

“Admit it!” he calls after me, though we both know he could catch up to me in a handful of strides. “You’re still angry I chose someone else!”

Unable to hold back, I whirl on him—only to find my nose practically against his chest. “I’m angry you couldn’t uphold your vows.

But not at you—at myself. What more did I expect from an elf?

Your words are meaningless. They hold no magic.

You couldn’t be trusted even if they did.

And you proved me right, even if I wanted with all my heart to be wrong.

“So, yes, I’m angry, even now. But what I’m most angry about is that you’ve ruined everything again without a single thought—without thinking of anyone but yourself! What else should I have expected from you? I’m angry that I’ve been an utter fool again, and even angrier that you,

of all people, were still my best chance.”

I try not to feel horrified as Auberon wipes a fleck of angry spittle off his chin. His dark eyes are almost cloudy now, unreadable as he peers down at me.

“Finally,” he says, his voice flat, “a little honesty from you.”

“As if you deserve it.”

I spin back to the eastward road, trying my best to storm away from someone who, no matter how much I wish it, I can never seem to escape.