I watched, trying to mirror the way he moved. How his legs and back flowed with the horse instead of fighting it. But it was more difficult than it looked.
“Better,” he said after a moment. “You’ll have it by Graymere.”
“That’s days away.”
“Well, then we’ll either arrive with you riding like a proper scout, or I’ll carry you across the border myself.”
A burst of laughter escaped me, shaking my shoulders. The pain in my spine, while still present, seemed to recede, a manageable throb now.
We pressed on beneath the trees; the road stretching ahead in dappled light and dust. Behind me, the palace had vanished into the haze. Before me, the world waited.
Chapter Five
Erindor
Three days into the journey, we passed a landmark known as the Whispering Spire. A single jagged stone jutted from the forest floor like the tooth of some ancient god. Faint carvings spiraled around it, half-lost to moss and time. Someone had stacked three smooth river stones at its base, which was either a silent offering or a stark warning.
Wynessa gasped softly when she saw it, reining her horse to a halt. “I’ve read about this,” she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. “The Spire marks the place where the gods last spoke before the silence. It was a place of oaths. Of unmaking.”
Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Charming. That’s exactly where I hoped to pass the morning.”
No one laughed.
Even the birds had gone quiet.
Wynessa remained still for a moment longer, sketching the stone’s outline into her journal before nudging her horse onward, her expression heavy with an unspoken thought.
“Were you aware marrowgrass only grows in places where the veil between life and death is thin?” she said moments later.
I glanced at her.
“No.”
That was all.
She’d turned back in her saddle, clearly trying to pretend she hadn’t hoped for more.
By midday, the forest changed before us.
The path narrowed as we approached a rotted blackwood bridge arched over a chasm so narrow it looked like a wound in the earth. Jagged stone teeth jutted from the sides below, partially hidden by rising mist. Charred handrails leaned precariously, and half the planks groaned under our weight.
Alaric peered down. “If that drop doesn’t kill you, the embarrassment will.”
“It’s said that a company of Caerthaine soldiers disappeared crossing this very spot,” Jasira said, her voice low. “Some say the forest swallowed them. Others say they turned on each other.”
Wyn tilted her head. “It’s likely someone misled them. Someone omitted checking a map?”
She smiled subtly, but her gaze lingered on the trees, as if searching for something unseen.
The shadows on the other side of the bridge were deeper. The trees grew denser with every step, their branches knitting together overhead as if the forest itself had been waiting for us to cross.
And we did. One by one. Without breathing a single word.
It began with the trees. Gradually, towering giants replaced pale-trunked birches and sleepy elms, and their bark flaked in red and black, like something had scorched them and left them to bleed. The leaves hung in thick clusters overhead, colored crimson, copper, and ember-gold. The wind moved through them in fits, sending the rustle of dry paper across our path like a whisper that didn’t want to be caught.
The horses’ ears started twitching, their hooves scuffing nervously along the ash-dusted path. The forest wasstrangely muted. No birds chirped. No breath of a breeze stirred the crimson canopy. Instead, an oppressive stillness reigned, the forest not welcoming them, butwatching.
They called this place Emberwood.
