25
The boat is heavier than it looks. The pebbled dirt crunches beneath its hull as I drag it to the edge of the starless-black water, the sound swallowed by the rain.
It must be afternoon, but it looks like evening, the sun still smothered by storm clouds. Raker is sequestered in a room on the opposite side of the ruins. He hasn’t surfaced in the hours since he left me by the hearth.
My time with him is over. That’s clear. He’s given up on me. He’s decided I’m not worth the map or being a fucking mule for the sword he has already claimed in his own mind, and I won’t wait around for him to kill me and take it for good.
In this storm—I have a chance to run. From Raker. From my own shame and guilt.
Because he’s right. I’ve been the cause of so many dangers. I could blame my sword and the notice it brings me, but Raker has a weapon just like mine, yet he hasn’t gotten in a fraction of the trouble I’ve found myself
in. I need to be stronger. Better.
Without him.
I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to see that hood, to see the glimmer of that mask or glorious blade right before he cuts me down. But there’s nothing but a wall of rain and wind.
I can’t believe he thinks I would just give up my sword. Just leave it on the floor and crawl back to the gates with my tail between my legs.
Fuck him.
The ground finally gives way beneath the boat, and I exhale sharply as it surges into the water. Carefully, I crawl inside. There are paddles by my
legs. I’ve never done this before—Xara’s boat maneuvered itself—but I understand the basics. It takes a few tries, a few times the paddles nearly fall right into the dark lake, but I finally figure it out. Then, with the same strength I’ve attempted to build for wielding my sword, I paddle.
Rain pierces the water all around me in pinpricks. My boat and paddles cast ripples. I peer into the onyx lake, imagining a creature will come crashing up from the abyss. A chill slides through my blood, as if I’m locking eyes with something ancient, something my weak mortal vision can’t see, just below the surface. But nothing breaks through.
My arms quickly start to burn, still I don’t slow, lest Raker notice I’m gone and that I didn’t, in fact, leave my sword behind.
If he really wants my blade, at least I have a head start.
And I have the map—an advantage. I know what landscapes await.
Which is why I really fucking wish I didn’t have to go through this alone.
Though it’s so easy to hate him, he’s been a steady presence by my side for weeks. He’s been a hand in the dark places, begrudgingly helping me through them. An ember of sadness stirs at the thought of never seeing him again. It’s quickly snuffed out by all those words he said. He clearly hates me almost as much as I hate him.
He’ll probably be relieved to see me gone.
I paddle and paddle, until that small island and castle become just smudges in the rain. Until the boat roughly washes onto shore. Until my boots crunch against rocks, and I’m climbing a cliff face.
Until I’m through the trees and away from Raker for good.
I guess I’ve found the fucking Storm Woods.
On the map, it looked peculiar. A simple patch of forest with a few added whorls.
In real life, I’m being brutalized by leaves flying in vortexes, roaring winds, rain like hellfire, and branches intent on stabbing me through.
Every step takes enormous effort. I grit my teeth and push against the current, and it’s like pushing against a wall. I feel my energy unspooling.
Shit.
I should find shelter or take my time … but I can’t. Soon Raker will realize I’m gone. And if he really wants this sword, he’ll chase after me.
I’m surprised he didn’t steal it, back in the ruins. Did he think I was too weak to actually make a run for it? Too cowardly?
Did he really think I would just leave it?
It doesn’t matter now. No, what matters is getting the hell away from him.
Sword in hand, I push my way through, eyes alert, looking for any sign of the many beasts that thrive in storms—the ones from the book that are awakened by claps of thunder and energized by spears of lightning. I don’t see any movement beyond the trees being ripped apart by brutal winds.
But I smell it. The metallic, biting taste of magic. I duck behind a trunk still standing. Peer around it, and am struck— By a smattering of giant leaves. They smother my face, and I gasp in shock, only serving to tighten them around my nose and mouth. I try to pull, but they fasten to my skin as tightly as a mask. I can’t breathe. Panic pounds through my blood, and I claw, scratching up my face in the process, before finally peeling them off. I suck in air, head spinning. They could have suffocated me. It was almost like they tried.
Something is seriously wrong with this forest.
As if in response, thunder rumbles, rattling the woods, rattling my teeth.
Fuck. This. I stagger through the tangle of trunks, until they end completely.
I’ve stumbled upon a dirt road through the woods.
The rain is heavier without the cover of treetops, but there’s also less debris for the storm to kick up.
I remember that one ancient road, with the Masks. Are they here? Would they be out in such weather?
I look back at the forest. Then at the path. Time to make a choice.
A lick of fear running down my neck, I take off down the road, desperate to get out of these woods as fast as possible. It’s only when I nearly trip over an errant root that I see the faintest pattern in the dirt. I duck and squint.
They’re hoof marks. Dozens of them, in a line. Some have been washed away by the rain, but others are still perfectly shaped. Fresh, then.
Which means many, many horses were just on this road.
I must have just missed them. Are more coming? I look to either side.
Strain to listen. But it’s impossible to hear much beyond the onslaught of weather.
I should go back into the woods … I glance at the trees, at all the brush flying through them, and don’t move a single inch.
Another ground-shaking roll of thunder makes the sky shudder. It’s
immediately followed by another roar.
This one comes from right ahead.
My veins turn to ice. There’s a gust of wind hurtling down the road, dredging up all the dirt in its path, stealing peels of bark forming a face spun from roots and leaves and moss and spears of wood as teeth, rushing
right at me.
Well, fuck.
I guess the book really didn’t include everything.
Terror clutching my chest, I jump out of the way with only feet to spare, sheath my sword, then cling to a wide trunk. My feet lift off the ground.
And the world splits around me.
I scream as the surrounding trees are ripped away, the wind a bellow that turns into voices telling me to let go, pulling at my heels, pricking my fingers, shaking the trunk back and forth, trying to throw me off of it. My braid whips my cheeks, branches pelt my body, but I don’t release my grip, using the strength I’ve been training to hold on, until, finally, the wind settles, and my feet hit the ground again.
In a half-mile radius, there’s almost nothing left. My knees buckle. I’m covered in dirt. The rain is falling sideways, the large drops blinding me.
My skin is cold as ice.
I have to get out of here.
On unsteady legs, I race through the plundered forest, boots sliding in the mud as I weave around the remaining trees, some just trunks without branches, their limbs ripped clean off.
I veer to the side to avoid a pile of trunks stacked like kindling—and step right into the path of a wind spout like a fallen tornado. Before I can retreat, I’m soaring. I land with a sickening crunch, hoping to all the gods it’s branches snapping beneath me, and not my bones.
There’s no time to assess any injuries. I roll out of the way and run like hell, turning in a different direction, only to be met with another mangled face, formed from the forest itself. Headed right toward me.
Its body is a tunnel of violent wind tearing everything in its path to form scales of wood it wears like a storm serpent. It opens its jagged mouth with
an ear-splitting howl.
Shit.
My chest feels like it’s going to explode with panic, but I wait. I wait until it’s just a breath away, then I dive out of its path and roll, hitting rocks and roots, bruising everywhere, before I come to a stop.
I’m soaked to the bone. Cold, and trembling. I think of that fire Raker made. How good it felt to put my feet by it.
Gods, I wish I was back there. I know why I snuck out, but right now … I fucking regret it.
Especially when a startling flash of lightning spears across the sky, and I’m thrust into a memory.
A clear blue day, hunting wildflowers with my sister. Going way too far outside of town. Laughing. Chasing each other in circles. My sister in a cornflower-blue dress that she loved. The one with a wide white ribbon that tied in the back. That ribbon whipping wildly in the breeze as she ran from me. As she looked over her shoulder.
The storm came from nowhere. That bolt of lightning spiraled right at her. And I remember that fear. Pure, soul-shredding terror.
I— A gasp rips me back into the present. It is no ordinary gasp. No … it sucks all the air out of the forest, leaving only muted quiet. Just like in the mists.
That smell of magic is all that’s left, searing the inside of my nostrils.
I get to my feet. Look around. I’m alone. The storm serpents are gone.
There are only endless sheets of rain in front of me.
Another flash of lightning— Illuminating a woman.
Her hair is bone-white and clinging to her face. She wears a thin white robe over an elegant dress, with a hood and a long train. It drags behind her, whispering over rocks and twigs and fallen branches. There are just sockets where her eyes should be, with long scratch marks around the holes, as if she clawed them out herself.
In her hand, she carries a velvet pouch. It’s drooping with weight. It’s embroidered with glimmering gold.
I swallow. The lightning disappears, and the woman with it. Thunder roars.
I don’t dare breathe. I can’t see her anymore … but the forest is still far too quiet. The metallic smell is everywhere. My eyes search the woods wildly for any trace of her. Nothing. She’s gone.
I lean against the trunk behind me, finally taking a breath. I can feel my pulse beating against its remaining bark.
Another flash of lightning brightens the forest.
And she’s right in front of me.
I gasp. Her lovely mouth parts— And a scream splits my mind in half, like the lightning has pierced right through my skull. My teeth clench painfully. My hand reaches toward my sword. Somehow, I know this metal would go right through her. Especially when the light disappears and she’s gone. So is the scream.
No … not gone. Just not corporeal. I can feel the chill of her breath on my cheek. I can feel her searching … smelling … for something.
I remember what Raker said about that puddle in the mists. How it gained strength from my attention. From my fear.
I will not feed it. I will not be afraid.
I close my eyes tightly, and I don’t think about the creature in front of me. I don’t think of the storm.
I think about one of those nine remaining memories.
The day the tree in our lawn—the one my mother had nursed and cared for over several years, the one that many generations had given up on, but my mother never did—bore fruit for the first time.
Our neighbors came to celebrate. Wearing my longest dress, and fabrics that covered my throat, I joined them.
No one had much, but everyone brought something. Jam. A loaf of bread.
A rare pheasant, caught by the local huntsman.
My mother carefully cut each fruit, and everyone got a piece. Its skin was deep violet. It was swollen with juice. I remember biting into it and feeling pure and utter joy. Especially when I opened my eyes and saw everyone else smiling.
There was so little to smile about on Stormside. So little to covet. But that one moment … it felt like a rope, tying us together.
That night, I asked my mother why we would share the fruit from the tree. Why we always shared everything we had. It was ours.
“Because what’s the point in having anything if you don’t share it?” she said.
I didn’t really know what she meant. All I knew was that it had felt good to see my neighbors happy. It had felt good to share, even though I only got a small piece of the fruit for myself.
As the years passed, I understood more.
I understand now.
I can feel the moment the screaming woman releases her hold on me, as if I have lost her interest. As if, unlike the creature from the mists, she does not relish happiness.
The creature passes on. I feel the brush of the end of her robe, hear it murmur against the dirt and grass at my feet, until it vanishes completely.
The sound of the storm and woods rushes in again, and I fold over, fighting for air. For some reason, I’m sweating, as if what just happened took great energy.
Rain slips down my body. I lean back against the tree, trying to catch my breath. Wondering what the hell that being was.
Then I hear it. The snapping of a twig. I move in a flash— And an arrow pierces the tree I was just leaning against. Cadoc.
No. I recognize this arrow. When I look up and squint through the rain, I
see her in a tree.
Valen.
Her bow is already set again. There’s the twang of the string releasing.
I lunge out of the way as another arrow slams into the place I just occupied.
“What the fuck?” I scream through the storm. As if I haven’t faced enough. As if this tempest isn’t enough of a danger.
I haven’t seen another competitor since Raker and I started working together. I can’t help but feel like Valen’s appearance is this world telling me that I should have stayed with him. Or maybe that I should have listened to him and gone home.
Was she tracking us, to get my sword? Or did she just get lucky and run into me?
A tree in the distance shakes as she leaps into it. I don’t even hear the snap of the bow this time.
Pain sears through the skin just below my ear. An arrow buries into the tree just behind me.
I reach up and—blood. That’s blood. A small adjustment, and it would have gone through my throat. She’s making killing shots.
Why? Is it truly for my sword?
There’s a wider tree just a few feet in front of me. I throw myself behind it, using it for cover. I pant, frost coating the inside of my lungs, burning
through my chest.
I feel a thud in my spine as one of her arrows burrows in the bark behind me. It traveled far through the wood. But not all the way. Not enough to pierce me.
Another tree shakes as she moves closer.
I’m a sitting duck here. But if I move away from this protection, I’ll be wide open. The next tree is several yards up, and it’s thin. I won’t make it.
“Why?” I yell through the downpour. “I’m not your enemy.”
She’s a skilled archer. My sword would only weigh her down. Besides, she has her own blade. An elegant, small one, decidedly easier to carry. I saw her claim it during the Culling.
I’m surprised to hear her voice. It’s deep and smooth. Straight to the point. “It’s nothing personal,” she says. Another arrow strikes the bark. This one with more force. I can feel it almost reach my spine. Leaves tremble as she jumps into another tree. Closer. “Cadoc and his group caught up to me a while back. They managed to stab me before I got away. It’s infected now.”
What does that have to do with me? I want to scream.
Another arrow. This one has enough force to go right through the tree, and I lurch forward, out of the way of its point.
Another jump. “I won’t make it to the end like this. I was offered another chance. A goblet of magic without making the journey. You see … there’s a
bounty on your head.”
I frown. A bounty?
I startle as another arrow pierces the tree, going all the way through and then some, its point sticking out right above my skull. If I was a little taller, it would be the end of me. She’s so close. She won’t make another mistake.
Maybe if I keep her talking … maybe if I convince her— “I—”
She’s done speaking. There’s the rush of air as she jumps. I brace myself for an arrow through my head.
A snap sounds. Followed by a blood-curdling scream.
Hands trembling, I grip the bark and peer around it, just enough to see a body sprawled on the ground. Valen. Her bow is on the forest floor, just a few feet away— From her arm that has been crushed by a branch so thick it might as well be a trunk. Other branches lay splintered around her.
Her limb is twisted at a gruesome angle. It’s ruined.
She keeps screaming. “No. No.” Her entire body is trembling. I take a step closer. Another, until I see her face is flushed with fever. There’s a bandage wrapped around her middle, where she must have been stabbed.
“Just kill me already,” she snarls. Her face is contorted in pain. I’m not sure why she’s on the quest. I’m not sure why she needs that cup of magic.
It doesn’t matter, I suppose. We all have our reasons.
When I don’t move an inch, she thrashes like a beast. “Kill me. I’d rather a blade across my throat than to be picked apart by whatever lurks in these woods.”
I wonder if she saw the woman. I can almost hear the whisper of that long white cape, as if she has turned back around, having sensed suffering.
Valen must hear it too, because she lets out a whimper.
And I am so very, very foolish. I can almost hear Raker’s voice in my head telling me so. Because I walk over to her side, then squat. Grip the end of that massive branch crushing her arm, pinning her to the forest floor.
Then, with a groan, I begin to lift.
“What are you doing?” Valen demands.
“Just roll out of it,” I manage to get out, my voice tight with strain. I lift another inch.
With a bellow of agony, she rolls herself from underneath it, and I drop the branch, heaving.
Her bone is shattered. It’s sticking out of her ripped, bloody skin. Her muscle is flattened.
“It’s no use,” she scrapes out. Her face has gone pale. “I’m dead.”
She’s right. I can feel that spectral woman getting closer, her hunger an endless well that can never be filled, her misery bleeding through this forest. And she’s not the only starved creature in these woods.
“Who is after me?” I say.
Valen gives me a scathing look, as if I am a villain for not letting her die in peace. She’s clutching her arm, as if it would do any good. Finally, she says, “I don’t know. Some immortal told me about the bounty. I was told to bring you to a cavalry, if I caught you.”
My heart stills, remembering the hoof marks on the road. “Cavalry?”
She nods. She gasps with pain as that bone sticking out of her arm moves. “I followed them here. They seemed to know you were in the area.
They—they’re not only after you. They’re after … after him. The head of the king’s guard.”
Raker.
My throat feels tight. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” she growls. She grits her teeth. I can imagine that right now death would be a mercy.
Those hoof prints were headed directly for that black lake. Could they really know he’s there?
I remember the curl of smoke from the hearth. The one I didn’t put out before I left. The one Raker set for my benefit, given that he stayed in
another room entirely.
A rush of guilt seeps through my chest.
I try to ignore it.
Valen is still glaring at me, as if she didn’t, just minutes ago, try to kill me. I have no doubt that if she could reach for her weapons in her current state, she would try again now.
Still, I reach into my pocket. And I admonish myself for being so very stupid as my fingers curl around the vial of steelclaw saliva.
I need this. It’s invaluable; it could save me. But I can’t leave her here to die. I know it’s foolish, I know this is what I signed up for … but I just can’t.
I open the vial and pour it onto her arm.
Valen seizes. Opens her mouth to scream. But before she can, the bone lurches and rights itself. Her skin crawls together. Everything goes back to the way it was. She’s panting with pain. I can’t imagine that was pleasant.
A fold forms in between her brows as she looks at her arm with wonder.
She turns toward me. “How—”
“Magic,” I say simply. “Now show me that wound of yours.”
There’s the slightest pause, in her wariness. Maybe she’s weighing whether she should reach for her bow in a flash and shoot an arrow right through my forehead.
Then she scrambles for the bandages on her stomach. Pulls them off. I pour the rest of the vial over the infected mess and watch it melt away, until the gaping wound is no more than skin.
I get to my feet. Step around her, toward the rest of the forest. The wind has lessened the slightest bit. Here’s my chance to make up some time.
Valen’s voice stops me in my tracks.
“Why?” she says, still on the forest floor. Looking at me with a mix of confusion and trepidation.
I shrug. “You’ve come too far to be taken down by a tree.”
Then I turn back toward my path.
The storm rages on. I just keep running.
I make it another mile before the knot in my chest tightens. I remember Valen’s words. There’s an entire cavalry after us. There’s a bounty.
I saw their marks on the road. They might not know exactly where Raker is, but he doesn’t even know they’re looking for him. He could run right into them. And he … he’s the best fighter I have ever seen, but even he would fall against an entire cavalry.
An image flashes of that fate. Of a blade going right through his spotless armor. Of that magnificent sword belonging to anyone else.
Fuck me.
Fuck my weak, bleeding heart.
Fuck the sense of loyalty I feel toward someone who has told me they won’t hesitate to strike me down.
He called me reckless. Foolish. He told me I wasn’t strong enough for this journey. I should not care. I should not.
But I suppose I’m just proving him right as I curse through my teeth and turn around.
Rain batters the top of my head as I run through the woods I had carefully prowled through earlier. Running right toward the very warrior I had fought so hard to escape, facing every single danger a second time.
Because even though he has made me feel small, even though he has called me pathetic, even though he has pointed out all my flaws, again and again … He went through the mist for me. I don’t even care if it was for my sword, because if it really was, he would have taken it then. I know how easy it is for him to kill anything, so there is a reason he has kept me alive, beyond using me as a mule, beyond the map. I won’t pretend it is care, or loyalty, or companionship.
I won’t pretend there isn’t a high chance he’ll kill me if he ever sees me again.
Regardless of the reasons, he has saved my life countless times.
Regardless of the execution, he has forced me to become better.
And maybe I just can’t bear the fact that someone like Raker would be crept up on by a group of immortals. Not after everything.
The scars on the bottom of my back pull and burn, the tissue stinging in the storm, the way it does whenever it rains. It’s a reminder that I should leave him there to die, because he did the very same thing to me.
But I am not Raker.
I am loyal, I have mercy, and those might be flaws in a place like this, on a quest like this, but they are traits my mother taught me. So they can’t be wrong. They can’t.
It’s the reminder of her, the reminder of everything she gave me, that has me sprinting through that forest without stopping. That has me ignoring the pull of every wicked thing lurking within it.
And the reminder of him. Of the relief of seeing him in those mists. Of the awe as he cut everything that was about to gut me down.
I’m heaving by the time I reach the cliff that looks out over the black lake.
There it is. The ruins. It’s undisturbed. A wisp of smoke is still curling from the chimney.
They haven’t found him yet. The rush of relief I feel at that is surprising.
It’s too strong, like a current that could sweep me off my feet.
It’s quickly smothered when I notice a flash of light on the other side of the water. Panic clutches my chest.
A wave of knights on horses is advancing out of the valley, right toward the lake. There are dozens. All armed with swords.
Raker. My eyes find the boat upon the rocks. The one I took, leaving him no way of getting to shore. Not without swimming in that ominous water.
I’ve just made it easier to get to him. They will use that boat, and the other one that was already there, to catch him unawares. They will surround the lake, making escape impossible. Guilt pierces my heart as I look from the advancing cavalry to that ruin. To that fire that we sat in front of together.
They’re after both of us. It is foolish. It is ruinous.
But before I can think about every way that I’m about to seal my fate, I take a deep, rattling breath, bring my hands to the sides of my mouth, and open it to scream across the lake— A large hand smothers my lips, pulling me forcefully back against a hard
chest. My skull bounces off armor.
And a blade settles against my throat.
I go very still. And I don’t know whether to weep in relief or weep for myself for being so damned stupid, because I know that sword.
A voice dark as night says, “You didn’t go home.”
His blade is still against my neck. “No,” I whisper, my pulse beating against its metal.
“You … turned back,” he says, like it’s the most idiotic thing in the world. Because it is.
“To warn you,” I manage to say, the foolishness of that endeavor hitting me with full force as he presses that blade harder, right at the base of my jaw, metal against flesh. I wait to feel the sting of blood. To suffer the consequence of this very stupid decision that I almost certainly deserve. I inhale sharply.
“Fuck, Aris,” he says, and the cold metal is ripped away. Sheathed.
I whip around to face him. He’s soaking wet, water dripping from his hood, and down his armor. He swam through the dark waters.
Was it to hunt me? Or did he hear the cavalry somehow?
All I know is he just had every opportunity to end me for good and take my weapon. But he didn’t.
We just stand there, staring at each other. I’m still panting from the running.
“There’s a bounty on our heads,” I finally say, through all the heavy breathing.
His head turns slightly toward the cavalry behind me. I hear the splash of water as the warriors begin to wade into it. “I figured.”
“Do you know why?”
“Our swords” is all he says.
Right.
My sword is a gift—but it’s also a death sentence. Apparently it’s special enough that powerful people on Starside want it. It must be one of the heirs.
Only they could command such forces.
And if they’re here … someone gave us up.
Was it those knights from the village who alerted their lord to it?
Someone else who caught a glimpse of us? Was it the hunter?
Either way, it doesn’t matter. Raker knows about the pursuit. He’s safe.
Of course he is. Did I really think I would be the one to save him? Stupid.
I never should have turned back. I just lost hours. My body is aching with all the energy it took to get here so quickly.
He’s made it clear I am a burden to him. He doesn’t want to work with me. Shame heats my face, shame that I came back, and that I am all the things he called me.
“Good luck, then,” I say tightly, trying to maintain any shred of self- respect. I make to move past him.
His fingers graze my wrist. They’re still burning hot, even in the freezing
rain.
Slowly, I turn to face him.
Is this the moment he demands I give up my sword again? Or finally takes it from me? Or does the honorable thing of challenging me to a duel, one I know I won’t win?
I wait for his next move, chest rising and falling quickly, and he just stares down at me. He stares, and stares, and all I see is a shadow. A glint of a mask. A demon.
Finally, Raker drops his hand, like my skin has burned him. “You can follow me,” he says, his voice a deep rumble.
I blink, shock rendering me speechless. It takes a few moments for the words to sink in. When they do, I’m immediately furious.
“Fuck. You” is what I want to say. I want to scream. I want to tell him how much his words hurt me, and see if I could ever hurt him back. But this isn’t personal. There’s nothing between us.
This is a quest of survival. And if the snarls and stomps of the dozens of horses below us are any indication, this journey just got much harder.
I can’t trust him. I know that. But I won’t make it to the end of this alone.
I raise my chin. Rain spills down my cheeks. If I’m going to work with him again, I need assurances. “Are you going to kill me? Are you going to take my sword?”
A second of consideration passes. Two. Three.
“No,” he says simply.
“Which one?”
He doesn’t answer me.
And that’s just as well. Because I can’t promise I won’t do either to him.
“Lead the way,” I say, my voice as cold as his. He turns.
I look back at the cavalry one last time—and a shard of light spears through the storm clouds. It illuminates one of the shields hanging off a saddle.
I don’t know that crest. But by its color, I think I know who it belongs to.
“It’s not a lord after our blades …” I say, my voice quiet. Raker has turned around. I watch his body tense as he reaches the same conclusion.
This entire time, we’ve been on a quest to reach the gods. I’ve been on a journey to hunt them down.
And now it’s clear … the gods are hunting us.