“Listen, if you change your mind, we can pick up where we left off. I admire your temper; rarely does a bitch take vengeance to such extremes. I’m honoured.” Dante addresses me.
“Stop talking. I don’t care about your nonsense, but I’ll do it by the book,” I growl, then turn to the Fae he brought with him. “Generals, if you don’t abide by my orders, you will be punished. Spread the word that your High Queen has returned.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Dante barks at them.
I continue, disregarding him. “I caution you, Dante. Do you think that after wiping my bloodline I would be merciful for you? Think again.”
Generals shake now.
“Alright, alright.” Dante winks. “I’ll tell my father to reinforce the walls. If you ever survive the forest.”
Then his Water General creates a portal, and they head through it. But before stepping into the blue rectangle, Dante grins at me, bowing mockingly.
“You never will!” shouts Aidon. Dante’s eyes bore into him before disappearing.
My teeth clench; the silence he leaves behind is heavier than his contemptuous bow.
Chapter 17
The ambience shifts entirely the moment we cross the invisible border of Mystic Forest. Urgency and dread fight for dominance, twisting together into something that keeps the nerves tight and the heart uneasy.
The hair on my arms rises, my body bracing for a threat I cannot see, and the rare silence among my companions tells me they feel it too.
The air thickens with every step, smothering freshness and swallowing sound. It is as if the forest closes its jaws around us.
A whisper of metal scrapes the quiet. I glance back. Nulok has drawn his weapon. I am ready to scold him for his paranoia, but the fear in his eyes stops me cold. Jestin signals sharply for him to sheath it.
We exchange looks. A nod.
We move on.
You could always portal us away, Aidon murmurs inside my head, his tone carrying mockery.
You do not need to rub it in.
Oh, I can rub, darling.
Crunch.
I look down. A crown of vines, flattened under my boot. My stomach drops.
“Have you just crushed a Faerie gift?” Aidon’s voice abandons all subtlety. Someone gasps, likely Nulok; I expected more restraint from the rest. Jestin should not have brought Nulok; he is not a warrior.
“Pick it up,” Riven orders, voice urgent, and closes the distance between us. Fortunately for him, his ‘do it, do that’ attitude goes to my lower belly, so I bend to pick up the Faerie crown from the green carpet.
I crouch and gather the fragile remains from the mossy carpet. Up close, it is unmistakable, woven flowers now broken.
Not wanting to worsen the insult, I collect the fragments and tuck them carefully into my satchel.
Great purchase, that one,Aidon hums.
“We need to come back and ask for an escort,” Nulok states, and I wholeheartedly agree.
Jestin’s sharp look answers before I can. Whatever silent exchange passes between them works, because Nulok straightens and says no more.
The path unfolds as if the forest grows it beneath our feet. There is no way to plan ahead, only to follow. The ground is soft and treacherous, muffling not just our steps but every sound around us.
No archive in Rhodria has a complete record of the forest residents. Travellers often found themselves dead before they managed to leave the land. Their discoveries vanished along with them.
