“It would appear you already know as well, Bastian.” My stomach rolls at the name.
“My name is not Bastian,” I say, a bit defeated. Shadows stretch across the forest as another day turns to night. “My name is Sorin Rudhek, I am?—”
“The king does not remember.” The fates laugh again, the high shrill piercing my ears. “So why are you here?” The crones take a step forward, their long, silvery hair covering their naked bodies.
“I need…”
They continue to approach, and when my back presses into a tree, my stomach drops. Alaric tries to angle himself between us but even he scampers away as the crones close in on me.
Inches from my face, they stop. Their cloudy eyes scan my face while their fingers prick at my cheeks. Inspecting every inch of me.
“I need to know how to break the bargain. How to bring Elora back to me.”
The first crone throws her head back and laughs and it takes everything in me not to cover my ears or run away.
“What makes you so sure such a bargain can be broken, King?” The second crone joins her sister in laughter and the doubt I felt earlier intensifies.
There is no saving her.
There is no bringing her back.
“She is lost, lost, lost,” the two chant in unison. There’s something melodic about their tone. Something familiar andfrightening and yet the longer they sing, the more I can’t take my eyes off of them.
Ruse’s bark snaps me from my stupor, the puppies whining behind me. I glance over my shoulder. Rook and Skoll have hidden behind a tree, but Grey and Hati stand tall, their eyes darting between Ruse, Alaric, and the crones.
“Lost, lost, lost! Just as she was before!” The crones continue to chant when a tiny, yellow bird perches on a branch. The bird opens its beak, and despite the noise from the crones, its soft song drifts through the wind and the rain and all at once, I’m overcome with memories.
Elora and myself.
The shared dreams and visions.
The storm and a crown, a bargain, and agoldfinch.
“You called me Bastian before,” I say, squaring my shoulders and projecting my voice over their relentless chants and the rising rain. “What did you mean by it?”
The crones grow silent, their heads again whipping in my direction with unnatural speed.
“Let us show you, King,” the first crone says. Dread fills my veins as she reaches for my hand. “It will only take a moment.” Her nails dig into my forearm but I rip it away, leaving lines of red across my flesh.
“Nothing is ever free,” I say. “Name your price for helping me first.”
The crones curse under their breath, whispering nonsense to each other. The goldfinch behind them sings again, bringing forth another muted vision in my mind of Elora and I, hands clasped tight. A jolt of pain shoots through my palm. I glance down at my hands, both unmarred.
“How far are you willing to go, to find what’s been lost?”
I wipe my hands on my breeches, attempting to erase the phantom sting. “As far as it takes and then some.”
The crones glance at each other again.
“We will help you find Soleil, if you can help us find something in return.”
Sighing, I run my hand down my face. “Her name is Elora, not Soleil. You must be mistaken, Soleil was the founding queen, I’m not sure?—”
“We know of what we speak, KingBastian.” The crones smile, their pointed black teeth making my hands shake. “But it seems as though you don’t.” They begin to chant again, swaying together, voices shrill and carrying through the forest.
“Take our hands, Bastian.” They reach out to me, still swaying and chanting under thick, black clouds that have rolled in.
Alaric barks, his teeth sinking into my tunic. Begging me to stay.
