10
There’s a place where creatures can be claimed, like swords.” We finally slow down a mile from the Tower of Knowledge, just beyond a grove. I show them the map, pointing at the Beast Tree, a mountainous oak sticking up from a forest, with a ring of wings circling its crown.
Zane unfurls his own. We compare them. His avoids the north of Starside entirely until the very end, when the path curves up northeast, to the entrance of the Land of the Gods.
He chews his lip as he considers both options. “A winged creature definitely would make things easier … and give us time to make it back to the gates.”
Easier is putting it lightly. The new map shows a smattering of ominous illustrations. Dueling Rings. Great Houses. Something called the City on Fire. Endless forests and lakes and mountain ranges sharpened into
treacherous points.
We could fly over it all … I know which path I want to choose, but I’m not alone anymore. We look at each other awkwardly, silence spilling over.
Kira sighs deeply. “Well, then. Let’s get this out of the way.” She throws a hand up. “We don’t trust each other. And for good reason. Just yesterday, we were rivals.” She looks at me. “But I saved you, in the forest. And you saved me … on quite a few different occasions.” She points at Zane. “And
he saved you, on the bridge.”
“No one’s saved me,” Zane says.
Kira pauses. Frowns.
“The scholars were going to poison us, and cut us open to study,” I offer.
“See! She saved you too.” She brings her hands together. “Now. Since we’re all in this wonderful circle of saving … I propose we make a pact.”
Zane raises a brow. “A pact?”
She nods, red hair spilling out of its loose braids. “We’re not enemies anymore. We’re a team with one goal: making it to the end. In service of that, we should agree on a few rules between us.”
No one says a word, and she continues.
“First, we vote on each big decision.” Like choosing a path we know works or going north to try to claim a creature. “Second, we vow to protect each other, if doing so won’t lead to our own deaths.” Fair enough. “And … finally.” She swallows. “If one of us is slowing the rest down … we cut them loose. Nothing personal. The quest must come first.”
It’s a brutal truth none of us want to admit … but she’s right. It isn’t betrayal, if it’s agreed upon from the start.
Kira lifts her silver sword so its tip is pointed between us both. “Well. Do we have a pact?”
I’ve never made a pact or an oath with metal before. I’m not even really sure how it works.
And I don’t have friends. All the ones I did have, as a child, are dead. I don’t know what it’s like to trust anyone other than my family, or Stellan.
Every day on Stormside is a fight for survival—and this journey is only going to be worse.
But Kira’s right. We’ve all saved each other. Maybe if we keep doing that, we could actually make it to the end of this.
And … a weak thought flits through my head. I don’t want to be alone.
Not anymore. Not if I don’t have to be.
With both hands, I lift my weapon.
Zane just looks at us both, a crease between his brows. He shakes his head, sighs, then unsheathes his ax in a glorious arc, the multicolored gemstones glittering beneath the morning sun. Our metals all touch.
A current sweeps through my blade, into my bones, and I wonder if we actually did make some sort of promise beyond words.
I plan to honor the pact. Looking at them both … I hope they feel the same.
“Our first vote then,” Zane says, still sounding wary. “Path of relative safety … or the Beast Tree?”
“Beast Tree,” Kira says immediately. She looks up, staring at a crop of bright blue birds that soar overhead. “I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to fly.”
I’ve never had that desire. But I also don’t see how it’s possible to survive this deadly landscape on foot. “Beast Tree.”
Zane nods. “Not that it matters, but we’re all in agreement.” He outstretches a hand toward the parchment in my grip. “May I?”
My first instinct is to hold the map tighter, just like I hold everything—in fear that it will be ripped away from me, like everything I’ve ever cared about.
But we’re a team now. I slowly hand it over.
Zane gives me a reassuring smile, as if sensing my hesitance, and then pours over the illustrations. “It’ll take at least a few days to get there,” Zane says, using the miles we’ve already crossed as a reference.
Kira bites the inside of her mouth. “Where are we going to sleep? Was that creep telling the truth about night?”
All of us look at the sun, steadily moving, counting down our hours of safety outdoors.
“I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out.” Zane points at the map.
“Here. This road. If we can find it, it should lead right to this village.”
Westwere. “There could be an inn. Food, maybe.”
Kira snorts. “And what? We’ll rely on the charity of the immortals who tried to just use us for anatomy lessons?”
“No,” I say, reaching into my pack and bringing out my coveted gold coin. The amalgamation of everything I’ve ever sold, all melded into this one small piece of metal. “We’ll use this.”
A slow smile spreads across Kira’s face. “And here I was, thinking you were just a pretty, blood-spattered face.” She looks over at Zane. “How about you, Sterling? Is that pack full of coins?”
Zane’s eyes find the ground as he leads the way toward the path. “No” is all he says.
“Why not?” Kira demands, clearly not getting—or caring—that Zane doesn’t want to talk about it.
His jaw tenses. “All the silver is kept under lock and key. I left in the middle of the night.”
Kira’s eyes widen. “Without telling anyone?”
“Just one person,” he says. Then he strides forward, outwalking this conversation.
Kira looks at me, shaking her head in disbelief. She lets out a low whistle. “Great House heir leaving for the quest, with just his weapon on his back, and a few provisions …” She purses her lips. “That’s the type of thing people write songs about.”
It’s true. Minstrels pass through villages, singing legends, charging scraps of metal to hear them. They’re the keepers of the stories that were drained from our texts.
They only came near Nightfell once, and I scavenged for weeks to save up enough to listen. I did, for hours, in pure fascination.
Until the stories turned to the heroism of the gods, and then I stood and left.
The road is easy enough to find … and empty. It’s made of ancient sparkling cobblestone, grass growing between the mismatched squares, cutting right through the forest like a blade.
“I would think more people would use this road,” Kira says, squinting into the distance. We hear nothing. No sound of an approaching wagon. No footsteps.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be on it,” I murmur, studying the stones for wear. I find almost none. All the cracks are covered by overgrowth. There are flowers sprouting right in the middle of the road, in between stones. I reach down and gently rub the soft petals through my fingers, chest tight.
They would have been run over if this road was used often. They wouldn’t have grown in the first place. I stand. “I think we should—”
A hush falls, like the forest is whispering. Then we hear the familiar sound of clanking metal. I reach back for my sword just as an immortal in gleaming armor steps onto the path.
He’s wearing a mask. It’s made of a sheet of gold, completely covering his face, etched in intricate designs I can’t make out.
With it … he almost looks faceless.
My hand stills on the hilt of my weapon.
Zane pulls out his ax.
Another figure steps from the trees. Another. All wearing masks and armor.
“Mortals,” a woman says from behind a glimmering red mask, a slice of ruby. She turns to the second man. His mask is emerald green. “They didn’t
hear the screaming from the last ones, then.”
Shit.
Kira makes to run into the forest, and the green-masked man produces a bow and arrow so quickly, he blurs.
The scholars were hardly a good example of their kind. Immortals are
faster. Stronger.
Kira goes still.
“What do you want?” Zane spits, still wielding his ax.
The first man tilts his head. “Payment.”
With sinking regret, I take the coin from my pack and hold it up. “Here.
You can have it. We don’t want any problems.”
The woman just laughs. It’s a beautiful, melodic sound. “Our god has no
use for coins, stupid girl.”
God. My body stills.
“Who is your god?” Kira demands, voice trembling.
“The god with many names,” she says. “The god of journeys and in- betweens and thieving. She controls the roads. All must pay her price.”
“And what is that?”
“A face,” she says simply.
Silence.
“What do you mean, ‘a face’?” Kira asks.
The one with the green mask opens a bag at his hip. He lifts something up. Kira tenses.
A head, held by the hair. Eyes wide in fear. Blood dripping from the neck.
I recognize that face. It’s a man from Eros, a southern town that was abandoned during the droughts. Their villagers now wander Stormside, in search of water. His group was so happy when he made it onto the platform.
His cobalt cape had been a patchwork of history, generations of stories stitched into it.
That cape is now probably soaked in blood.
The woman tilts her head, considering us. Her voice is bored. “Just one.
You can choose. Or we’ll choose for you.”
Zane turns to look at me. For a split second, I think he might be getting ready to chop my head off with his ax and toss it at the thieves in front of us, pact be damned, but instead he mouths something.
“Your blade,” he says.
I blink. What does he want me to do? Unsheathe it? Offer it as payment?
His words barely make a sound. “Throw it. Like he did.”
Like he did. He’s talking about Raker, when he threw his sword at Waldron and somehow called it back to his hand.
He thinks just because I claimed this ancient sword I know how to use it?
I can barely hold it upright. I haven’t even had time to look at it properly, let alone learn how to do anything like that.
I can’t, I mouth back. Still, I try. Nothing happens.
“Enough whispering, we can hear you,” the woman snaps. “And I assure you, if you try to throw your blade, it’s not going to work.” She takes a feline step forward. “We are faster than you. Stronger than you. We hear everything. Smell everything. Even your fear …”
She looks back at the two masked men. “Mortals are so weak. So pathetic.” In a flash, she’s right in front of us, hand outstretched. “The
blade. Let’s see it.”
I don’t make a single move.
Her glittering eyes narrow. The archer cocks his arrow. He aims it right at my head. “Leave it right here, or you die. But not before I slice your face off, slowly, carefully, so that you feel every single turn of my dagger.”
I swallow. Dread spills through my bones as I reach back toward my sword.
“Try something, and your friends die too,” she warns. I’m not stupid enough to try anything now. Not when I just saw her cross a few yards in less time than it takes me to blink. I curl my hand around the hilt. Lift it with all my strength, teeth gritted with the effort. Bury the blade right between us, in the dirt of a missing stone.
I step back just as she steps forward.
Her eyes widen. “Look at this,” she says, turning back toward her companions. “She must have stolen it from somewhere important … The diamond alone … What kind of favor do you think it might be worth?”
The green-masked thief steps forward. “A good one,” he says. He still hasn’t lowered his bow. “You know how much our god enjoys rarities.”
The woman nods, eyes flashing with greed. She curls both hands around
the hilt. Pulls.
Nothing happens.
She frowns. Pulls again. Again. She digs her steel-plated boots into the ground, bends her knees. A frustrated groan escapes her lips.
The sword doesn’t move an inch.
There’s the twang of a bow. I close my eyes, bracing myself for a flash of
pain.
Nothing.
I open them to see the arrow sticking out of the woman’s forehead, right through the mask. Her hands are still around my sword’s hilt.
She drops to the ground, blood dripping in a line down the ruby. It’s red, just like ours. Not the fabled silver blood of the gods.
Metal clashes. The gold-masked and green-masked thieves are dueling.
They fight in wild streaks of color.
“Run,” Zane says. I pull my sword from the dirt, and we shoot into the forest. It’s not long before more steps join us. Faster steps.
A beam of silver metal arcs to my left, and I just barely stop it with my blade, both arms hardly holding it up. The green-masked thief. There’s a sickening crack as his sword breaks in half against mine, but that doesn’t stop him.
A moment later, his halved blade is at my neck. My pulse beats along the jagged metal.
Then a sword is through his chest. He falls, only to reveal the gold- masked thief standing behind him. The first one we encountered on the road.
“Where did you find it?” he demands as he lifts his sword between us.
My back is against a tree. There’s nowhere to run. Even if there was, he would catch me.
“The—the other side,” I say, trying to buy myself any time.
My blade is still in my hand. Just as I wonder if I have the strength to raise it again, the tip of his weapon is against my heart.
“Where?” he demands. “Where exactly?”
I open my mouth to answer— And close it against a spray of blood.
The man … his head is gone. It’s on the ground, right in front of my foot.
I push the rest of his body away before it and his blade can fall onto me.
Zane is standing there, blood coating his ax, panting. Kira is just behind him, looking like she’s going to retch again.
“You—you didn’t run,” I say, looking between them.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “We made a pact. Remember?”
I remember. Kira rushes forward, pulling a scarf from her bag and using it to wipe the blood from my face. “There’s a lot. Hold still.” I do. I do, even as my heart races, energy coursing through my veins.
Without Zane and his ax … I would be dead.
My sword makes me a target—even here. I can’t forget that.
Once the blood is wiped away, we collect the two immortals’ heads. We go back to the road, and Zane cuts the woman’s off too. We each hold one, by the hair, and continue down the path, through the rising dusk.
When the trees rustle again further down, Zane merely holds up one of the masked heads and says, “Consider the price paid.”
It’s nearly dusk when we reach the village of Westwere. A wall sits around it, with a moat, and a narrow bridge that’s already being pulled up.
We race forward, heads still in hand, and jump. The bridge stops.
A foot above us, a window in the wall slides open. “Get off,” an immortal
man barks. “It’s almost sunset.”
So the danger of night is real.
“We need a place to stay. Please.” I take the coin out of my pocket and hold it over my head, hoping it’s actually worth something here.
He eyes it, and us, warily. Then he notices the heads.
For a moment, I wonder if keeping them with us was a mistake. We don’t know how immortals work. Maybe they all serve the same god.
The window slams closed. Panic floods my chest.
Just when I think we’re about to be locked out, it opens again, this time, as a full door. And I see the man wasn’t standing on a platform. He’s seven feet tall, at least.
“In, quickly,” he says. “You’re playing with fate, being outside this close to sundown.” He shakes his head before pulling the thick chains again, raising the bridge completely in just a few tugs.
Immortals are powerful. So why are they so afraid of night?
What could be so bad that even this immortal fears it?
He runs his large hand down his face, before sighing with his entire body.
“That time of the century then, is it?” he says, seemingly to himself. He frowns down at us. “Come with me.”
We all look over at each other, surprised. I really thought he would leave us outside the gates. Our encounters with all immortals so far haven’t exactly been pleasant.
The village is modest. All the structures seem to slope, one way or another. He leads us down a mostly empty street. We pass by countless doors and hear lock after lock turning.
He stops in front of a quaint house with four stories that is noticeably tilting to the side, held upright by an equally precarious-looking tower.
He knocks three times. A moment passes. Another.
Then a tall, beautiful immortal with violet eyes and blond hair tied into a single braid that starts at the top of her scalp opens the door. She looks up at
the man and smiles.
Then she sees us.
Her face pales. She shakes her head. “No. I told you after the last time, no—”
He’s leaning casually against the threshold. “They killed three Masks.”
She blinks. Her eyes slide down to the heads we still hold.
The blond immortal opens the door wider. “Come in.” Her face scrunches. “Leave those outside.”
We step into a bustling room. It’s a tavern, filled to the brim with immortal knights, still in their full armor. They’re massive, towering figures, like statues. Fear sinks through me.
The room goes quiet.
“They’re guests,” the blond immortal says, her voice firm, and the chatter gradually starts up again.
Still, I feel eyes on us. Some curious. Others disgusted.
“I’m Xara. Welcome to my inn.”
“Thank you,” I say warily, watching as she bolts three different locks at the door.
“Weapons at the front,” she commands, motioning toward a patch of swords at the entrance, all dug into the floorboards.
Zane doesn’t look happy about it, but we each dig our weapons through the wood. It feels wrong walking away from my sword … but we need a place to sleep. This is her inn. She makes the rules. I only hope it’ll be there in the morning.
Xara puts her hands together. “Hungry? Thirsty? Tired?”
“All three,” Kira says.
Xara’s mouth turns up knowingly. “You mortals are always all three.”
She leads us through the crowd toward the bar. Even massive immortal warriors stumble aside to let Xara pass.
She motions for a few of them to make some room, and we are presented with three seats at the counter. “It’s been a century or so. You’ll have to remind me. Do mortals drink ale?”
Kira barks out a laugh. “Most drink far too much of it.”
Now behind the bar, Xara eyes some of the warriors in the tavern.
“Immortals have that problem too.” She presents each of us with a tall, foaming glass.
The color of the ale is different than it is on Stormside. It’s less yellow and more sparkling gold.
I take a tentative sip and sigh, in spite of myself. It’s cold, and bubbly, and refreshing. I look up, only to see Xara smiling at me.
“It never gets old,” she says.
“What doesn’t?”
“Watching mortals try something for the first time.” She lifts a shoulder.
“We’ve been alive for centuries. Nothing is ever new anymore.” She looks at us. “But for you … everything is new. Your lives are so short. There’s not enough time to try everything.” She says it almost reverently. She puts her hands on the bar. They’re small but callused in the same places mine are.
“I’ll be back with some food.”
A few moments later, we’re presented with three bowls of soup that taste decidedly better than the ones the scholars gave us. It has vegetables not too different from the ones I’ve seen sold in the nicer markets, and meat that has been seasoned. I’m too damned hungry to question the fact that Xara doesn’t ask for payment. We finish our bowls, and Xara brings us a second helping. Then a third. Zane and I keep looking around for any approaching danger, but Kira chats happily, telling Xara our names and all about Brambleside. The immortal listens intently, interrupting only to ask questions.
When we finish eating, we must look exhausted, because she hands us each a key and leads us up to our rooms. Mine is right off of the narrow stairs. In the hall, I finally try to hand her my coin, and she curls my hand back into a fist.
“The Masks have tormented our area for too long. The faces they’ve collected … are not just from travelers.” Her eyes glisten. Do immortals cry?
I should shut my mouth, take this favor, and go into my room. But nothing is ever given freely. I duck to peer down the stairs, expecting to see
my sword gone. It’s not. It’s standing upright, just where I left it.
My eyes sweep over the slender hall, searching for some sign of danger.
My pulse races, awaiting the trap. The betrayal. But there’s no one there.
Xara just stares at me, brow raised.
Finally, I just spit it out. “Why are you being so kind to us?”
She frowns. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I motion to myself. “We’re mortals. You’re … not.”
“Ah.” She smiles knowingly. “Not all immortals are Masks waiting in the trees, Aris. Just as not all mortals are looking to loot my inn, the way some tried two Questrals ago.” Her eyes flash with a whisper of irritation. It’s gone in a moment. She looks me over. “I don’t know you. I don’t trust you.
But I trust metal. A sword like yours is drawn not just to the strength of one’s abilities … but to the strength of one’s soul.” She tilts her head.
“Now, that strength might be good … or evil.” She shrugs. “But this world has enough rot in it. I choose to see the good first, and the bad only when I have to.” She nods toward the door behind me. “Enjoy your stay. I’m downstairs, if you need anything.”
Before I can say a single word, she turns to leave. By the time I blink, she’s already down the stairs.
Her words cycling through my mind, I finally step into my room.
It’s small but warm, with a bed brimming with thick blankets. My eyes nearly water with gratitude, seeing them. A fire is already burning in the corner. And I discover, with soul-melting relief, that there’s a bath.
I take my time scrubbing my skin, then each item of clothing. The king is a bastard, but I’m grateful for the new clothing, especially the extra undergarments I grabbed before leaving. I hang it all up to dry near the hearth.
Then I slip below the sheets, and groan. My body sinks into the mattress.
I’ve never been so tired in my life. My exhaustion hits me all at once, my muscles going slack.
Through half-shut eyes, I stare at the crackling fire. Memories flash of other flames, all-consuming, killing, destroying flames.
“I’m here,” I whisper to the goddess who set those fires. “I’m on your side now. There are no gates between us.” I watch the flames flicker. “And when I reach you, you will wish you killed me too.”
I wake up on the floor, tangled in my sheets. They’re stuck to my skin by a film of sweat. I take a panicked breath, nearly choking on the fabric, before
kicking them away, gasping.
The nightmares. They haven’t stopped.
At least, it means I actually slept deeply last night.
There’s a knock upon the door, and I jump.
Xara. “There’s food waiting downstairs,” she says through the wood, before the floorboards creak as she moves on.
I take a quick bath, braid my hair into its two that converge in one, pin it up, then slip my dried clothes back on. They’re warm thanks to the hearth, and I wriggle my toes in my boots, relishing the feeling.
Pack over my shoulder, I step out of my room, not expecting someone to be right there, filling the hall with their wide shoulders, passing by at that exact same moment.
I smack right into them, then stagger back, falling— Right down the stairs.
Or at least, I would have, had a hand not fisted the front of my shirt, keeping me on the ledge. A massive hand, with thin, dark tattoos curling
down every long, pale finger.
Shit.
I look up. And up. Into the darkness of a hood.
“Are you actively trying to find your death?” a voice spits out.
I swallow, grateful for the shirt I’m wearing below the one crumbled in his hand, that’s currently keeping my markings hidden. “It certainly seems like it.”
And he hasn’t saved me yet. I’m still leaned back at an angle. If he were to let me go, I would fall and break my neck on these stairs. Xara might be an immortal, but if I screamed right now, I doubt she could reach me in time. That fact alone should probably make me more agreeable. Pleasant, even. He probably wants me to beg him to pull me back up. But I’ve already begged him for mercy before, and I’m not doing it again. I just lift
my chin in defiance.
His head tilts.
Then he loosens his grip, sending me lurching back just an inch, and I
gasp. My heart sputters.
My eyes narrow. Bastard.
On instinct, I reach behind me, blinded by the need to at least injure him before he drops me, because apparently, yes, I am actively trying to find my death. But my fingers brush my empty scabbard. There’s nothing there.
Fuck. It’s in the floorboards.
I hear a huff of cruel mirth—and maybe shock—above me.
Heat prickles my cheeks, but I don’t drop my gaze, refusing to show an ounce of fear or shame in front of this monster. This monster that currently has my life clutched in his fist. His grip tightens again, long fingers slipping down my chest.
Just when I think he’ll finally let go, he slowly pulls me up, inch by inch, right toward his hidden face to say, “Careful. You just might find it.”
Then, he shoves me back onto the landing, and passes me by without a second look, taking the stairs in a flash. The front door opens and slams
closed.
Asshole.
Asshole … who saved me.
Why?
I shake off the question. He likely didn’t want to get his boots dirty with my blood, which would have no doubt formed a puddle at the bottom of those treacherous stairs, had I fallen.
And he’s right. I do need to be more fucking careful, I think, as I finally start down the steps that were nearly just my end.
As promised, there are plates of cooked eggs and meats waiting below, spread out across two tables. Sun shines through the dust-glazed windows.
Most of the warriors are gone, but some are still milling around the door.
I stop midway down the stairs, watching as they each take turns trying to lift my sword. They’re twice my size. Their arms are thicker than my head.
I watch them groan and strain, and I tense—then nearly laugh, which seems absurd, since I almost just died.
I clear my throat, and their eyes shift to me.
Yeah, bad idea. I go still, remembering the best way for them to claim my sword is to kill me.
But right at that moment, Xara walks through the tavern and says, “It’s a bit early in the day to wound your egos, isn’t it, boys?”
Those boys look like they could rip the limbs off a person with little effort. But amazingly, they begin to disperse, after mumbled apologies and goodbyes to Xara.
I slowly turn to face her, and I know that she can feel me looking, but she doesn’t meet my gaze.
I step down the rest of the rickety stairs, toward the spread of food.
Three glasses sit full of violet liquid. I sniff one, then take a tentative sip.
It’s sweet, with a slightly bitter aftertaste.
“Berries,” Xara says. She frowns at my pale face, as if she can see the lack of nutrients in my body. “Drink it. You need it.” I do. I finish it all, then, once it’s replaced, I empty a second glass.
I finally motion toward the door. “Did you know you were housing a monster?” I ask.
She blinks at me. “The mortal in the hood?”
I nod.
She lifts a shoulder. “He was nice enough. Came just after you did. Was surprised to see him in one piece. Cleaned up after himself, which is a rarity, unfortunately.”
I scowl. Just when I’m about to tell her about how awful he really is, the stairs creak. Zane. His eyes immediately go to his ax, still buried in the floorboards. His shoulders melt with relief.
Then, he says good morning and starts unceremoniously eating everything.
Kira surfaces not long after, still wrapped in one of the blankets from her room. She turns to Xara, who’s behind the bar, wiping glasses with a rag.
“This is the softest fabric to ever exist.”
Xara smiles. “A friend knitted them for me, from Arladan goat fur.”
Sensing our confusion, she says, “It’s a place in the north. Cold, white, vicious. The goats grow the softest coats.”
It isn’t on the map. And, as much as I want to know all about it, the quest must come first. I reach into my pocket and slowly bring out the crushed parchment. I gingerly smooth it out on the table. “We’re here, right?” I point to the illustration of the village.
Xara stops her movements. Her eyes widen as she walks around the
counter.
“Where did you get that?”
No use in lying to a woman who has housed and fed us for free. “The Tower of Knowledge.”
Xara carefully takes the paper. “The God of Travels had most maps destroyed … This much land covered …” It’s the second time hearing about
this god. Why ruin maps? Xara gently traces across the markings. “Yes.
You’re in Westwere.”
“We’re trying to get here,” I say, pointing to the Beast Tree. Her mouth
tightens as she nods.
“What is it?”
“What do you know about the Beast Tree?”
“That creatures can be claimed, like swords.”
Xara studies me for a moment. She works her jaw. “It’s tradition for the heirs of Great Houses of Starside to visit the tree when they come of age.
Their blood is filled with old magic, you see. Their connection to this land is deep-rooted. It’s a great ceremony … but it hasn’t happened in decades.
The heir goes to the top of the tree … and jumps.
“The fall is hundreds of feet. The only hope of survival is if one of the creatures catches you. But there are no guarantees. There are very few creatures willing to bond … and few who have survived the hunters.”
“Hunters?” Kira asks.
Xara nods solemnly. “Swords infused with dragon scales or pegasus feathers or griffin talons hold great power. Creatures have been hunted into near extinction. Many have gone into hiding. There are fewer than ever at the tree … so fewer people have decided to take the risk.” Her fingers curl around the edge of the table. “What I’m trying to tell you is the practice has mostly died out, because most of the people who try it hit the ground.
Nothing saves them. And they … they are immortals.”
Her eyes meet mine, and her implication is clear. The chances of one of these mysterious creatures choosing us, saving us … are low. It’s not a cruelty. It’s truth.
I look down at the map. The land we have covered from the gates is almost nothing. And in those short miles, we have nearly died several times.
We need creatures. They could be the difference between making it to the Land of the Gods … and not.
“I’m still willing to take the risk,” Zane says.
“Same,” Kira agrees.
I look up at Xara. “How do we get there?”
She sighs. “Stay off the main road. Even if you wanted to travel with rotted heads, the Masks will be seeking revenge. They’ll hunt you down.”
“So, we go through the forest?” Zane asks.
“Gods, no,” Xara says, shuddering. “Avoid forests at all costs. Ancient creatures lurk within most. Others are perfectly harmless. It’s hard to know the difference before it’s too late.” She points at the river. “Here. It flows north.”
Xara must sense my apprehension, because she says, “I have a boat. You
can use it.”
“You would … give us your boat?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I’m letting you borrow it. When you’re done, it will return to me.”
Before I can ask how, glasses begin to clink at the back of the bar, the sound like music. A dozen people must be working to make that much noise. I peer around her. “Do you … do you have employees?”
Xara smiles, and motions for us to follow. When she pushes the door to the kitchen open, the clanking intensifies. I expect to find a roomful of
immortals efficiently scrubbing dishes.
But it’s empty.
Glasses fly through the room. I duck, barely avoiding a mug to the head.
Water splashes. Towels lift as if held by invisible hands.
I stumble back, and Xara chuckles.
“Is—is this magic?” Kira asks, clinging to the doorframe as if afraid to take any step closer.
Xara nods. “The inn was gifted to me. Enchantment is built into its very foundation. It runs itself, just like the Great Houses.”
I remember her hands—the calluses. The respect of the warriors. She turns her head, long braid shifting over her shoulder, and that’s when I notice markings down the back of her neck, sparkling silver lines melted right into her skin. My chest tightens. They almost look like mine, but no …
they’re thicker and shaped—
Like a sword.
“You’re a knight,” I say.
Xara tracks my gaze, and fully lifts her braid, revealing a fully illustrated hilt up her neck. The rest of the sword must run down her spine. The ink glimmers, just like metal. It’s as if her weapon has been melted down and imprinted onto her skin.
She reaches back—and with a brush of her fingers, the hilt of the sword peels off, becoming solid in her hand.
My mouth drops open. Is that an option? Carrying this great sword in my scabbard is making my muscles ache. I’d much rather it be reduced to a tattoo.
She releases her hold, and the sword falls back into its glimmering lines.
“I was a knight. Not anymore.” With that, she leads us out of the kitchen.
Xara must sense the questions we’re barely too polite to ask, because she adds, “I led a battalion to victory, and this was my gift.” She motions to our
surroundings.
“And the boat?”
Her smile speaks of a long story she’ll probably never tell us. “Another gift,” she says simply, her eyes glazed over with a memory. The edges of her mouth twitch.
Then she’s facing us again. “If we time it right, you’ll be on the water through the night and arrive the next day.” She nods to herself. “Yes … yes, that’s the best plan.”
With a casual order from Xara, the kitchen gets started on packing a sack of food and filling three fresh canteens. The door opens, spitting out the filled basket when it’s ready.
We fetch our weapons from the floorboards, and then we’re outside again, bathing in sunlight. It’s instinct to look for shade. On Stormside, I track the arc of the sun like an enemy, scavenging in certain places depending on its position in the sky. Here, fully hydrated and fed, its rays filtered through the sheen of magic, I tilt my head back and sigh, taking it all in.
It’s the third day of the quest. With a creature, we have plenty of time to
make it to the other side of the map.
I hope.
“Is that another imprinted weapon?” Zane asks. He’s looking at Xara’s fingers. There, along the side of one of her pointers, is the glimmering tattoo of a small blade. Xara runs her thumb down it quickly, like striking a match, and it flips onto her palm.
She twirls it expertly between her fingers, as if she’s done it a thousand times before. “It marks me as part of an order. The Dagger Sisters, we call ourselves,” she says, eyes lost in a memory. The metal sinks into her skin again.
“How do you do that?” I ask. Can I are the words I don’t say.
She smiles at the hope in my tone. “It’s a long, painful process, unfortunately. You have to be well bonded with your blade to even attempt it. It’s a commitment, of sorts.”
Kira examines her own weapon as we make it to the edge of the village, Xara’s presence parting the crowds of curious immortals.
“Beautiful craftsmanship,” Xara says, glancing at it. “May I?”
Kira hands the sword to her, and Xara smooths her fingers down the hilt.
Flowers are carved delicately up its blade. There’s a glittering purple stone in its grip, the same color as her eyes.
“This was made by faelings,” she says, turning it over. “A long time ago.”
“Faelings?” Kira asks, carefully taking the sword back.
“Forest fairies,” she clarifies. “It’s rare to see them nowadays, but they’re some of the only safe beings in the forests. Some try to seek them out, but the woods kill travelers more often than not.”
“Which forest do they live in?” I ask as we pass through the village wall.
A different warrior is on watch. He nods at Xara. She nods back.
We walk down the short bridge, then take a turn before the main road, onto a light green plain.
“All of them, I suppose. Their home is enchanted. It’s constantly moving, so as not to be discovered. The only people who happen upon them do so by chance, or by invitation.” She looks at Kira. “It’s a valuable blade, with a history, though the metal might not be of glimmering steel.”
Kira frowns, and Xara shakes her head. Her words grow fierce. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t a great sword. Metal matters. But heart matters more.
Swords grow stronger based on their wielder. They draw upon our strength … just as we draw upon theirs.” She nods at Kira’s blade. “Keep it close.”
Kira grips it tightly, staring at its etchings in wonder.
“And her sword?” Zane asks, nodding toward the one on my back.
Xara doesn’t even look at it. Her eyes remain on the horizon. “Hers is dangerous,” she says. “Keep it sheathed. The more people who see it, the more people who will want it.” She grimaces, gaze drifting toward my spine. “Immortals will do anything for better metal. Swords like that …”
She looks straight ahead again, as if forcing herself not to look at it. As if something within it is dragging her attention … I think about the warriors in the tavern. Each taking turns. Each pulling, over and over, as if in a trance. I think about the Masks doing the same.
A babbling river breaks me out of my thoughts. It sits below us, water whispering over worn stones in a sheet of rippling silk. The only streams I’ve seen on Stormside are mostly dried up. This one looks close to spilling onto land.
We stop along the slanted trees lining the river. A boat is tied to one of them. It’s small and made of expertly sculpted wood, with intricate designs running along its side.
Xara’s expression turns grave. “No matter what, find shelter before sundown. A village, if you can. You’ll be fine tonight, but for the rest of them …”
“Why?” I ask. “Why is night so dangerous here?”
Xara looks around, as if someone might be listening, just beyond the trees. She leans toward us and whispers, “The God of Death’s demons emerge from underground at night, killing everything in their paths.”
The God of Death. At the sound of his name, the shadows at our feet seem to lengthen. The birds stop chirping.
Still, Xara pushes on. “Even our best knights have been torn to shreds by teeth like swords.” She closes her eyes. Swallows. “It wasn’t always like
this.”
“What happened?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Only the gods know. All I know is, one night, everything changed. Hundreds were lost. We woke up … and blood was smeared everywhere. We found … only pieces.” She cuts herself off. “The night kills even immortals. Do you understand?”
We nod.
“Good.” She leans down and whispers something to the boat. Directions, maybe. She drops the pack of food and canteens inside, then motions for us to board.
Zane does without issue. Then Kira. Then me. The wood shifts beneath my feet, sending me falling onto my ass. I sit up quickly, heart in my throat.
“My boat never flips,” Xara assures me. “It is no ordinary boat. You’ll be safe on the water.” She opens her mouth as if to say something else—then
stops herself.
But there’s something I need to know.
“I thought immortals were better off than us,” I say, quickly. “And you are, of course … but the gods don’t serve you either. They’ve damned you too.”
It’s not really a question. But Xara nods.
“The gods only serve themselves,” she says. “Whatever legends you’ve heard about them, they’re worse. Do yourself a favor and never cross one.”
Then she unties the rope.