“I’m Faelyn,” I introduce myself.
“A weaver witch? In these parts? How odd.”
“A friend,” Aurora corrects.
I share a smile with her.
“Look after her, ‘friend.’” Gruvun has the last word, as the distant shore has neared.
A flickering light that was little more than a speck on the horizon has transformed into a bonfire. The land is flat, almost completely level with the sea. Defiant blades of grass poke through the thin strip of sand, almost at the water’s edge. The boat crunches up against the sand of the bone-white shore.
Evander and Bardulf jump from the vessel. Aurora follows much more slowly, and with significantly more grace. I move as well, my hands quivering as I grip the wood and pull myself over slowly. Pins tingle down my legs from the awkward way I was sitting and the blistering wind as we sped across the sea.
“Thank you, Gruvun,” I say to the small waves that lap against the shore, well behind where the boat was deposited.
The water rushes up, farther than the last, to soak my feet. I can hardly feel the chill, even though the leather of my boots is thin. It is not a good sign.
There’s a small camp erected in the sand around the bonfire. Three simple wedge tents are set up at cardinal points, each a fair distance from the other on the empty beach. On the side of each of the tents, three vertical bars have been painted in red. The symbol’s meaning is one I do not know.
“She will share my tent,” Aurora declares, much to my relief.
But Evander has other intentions. “She is with me.”
“Excuse me?” I blink, startled.
“Come,” he snaps, and starts off toward the tent, farthest to the right.
“I am not comfortable with this.” I don’t move, instead widening my stance as though I’m bracing myself.
Pivoting on his heel, Evander storms back in my direction and halts just short of our chests touching. This close, I can see every shade of silver in his mercury eyes. He fixes me with a penetrating glare—the look of a predator, as unyielding as his corded muscle. Yet, despite oozing intensity, there’s an absence of malice around him. Oddly…I don’t feel threatened. If anything, this all feels performative. Yet, I do not know who the performance is for.
“You will not be comfortable with much of anything if your wounds aren’t attended to,” he says in one of the lowest voices I’ve ever heard. Words reserved only for me.
“I’m fine,” I insist.
“Don’t lie to me.” He leans forward, inhaling deeply. “I can smell how much blood you lost; you’re beginning to stink a lot like death.”
“Telling a lady she stinks. You really know all the right things to say, don’t you?” I fold my arms, ignoring the pain in my shoulders and just how right he is.
“Sarcastic remarks aren’t going to mend your injuries.”
“I can look after myself.”
“Ah, yes, because a witch from the Natural World knowsso muchabout Midscape.” His tone grows thin with annoyance.
“I’m quite resourceful.”
“I’m sure you are.” Oddly, the agreement sounds sincere. “But you will find no horsetail or rose here to stave the bleeding. No willow, elm, or chamomile.” He leans slightly more forward. “You might be able to summon your marigold spirit, but will that be enough?” Before I can answer, his eyes flick over to Aurora and then back to me with a knowing glint. “And think of what you’re risking on her behalf by allowing your strength to be sapped like this—you could be making her more vulnerable to illness, or death, even.”
My hands ball fists of my cloak. I am a witch of the wood. I am powerful and can see to my own wounds without help from this manipulative cur.
But, sometimes, true power is knowing when to accept help, Grandma’s voice reminds me from the Beyond.
I hold in a sigh and relax my fingers. I could take care of myself. I know I could. But it would take longer and be less effective than any care he can give, more time than what I suspect I have. Moreover, if I show them too much of what I’m capable of, they might begin to watch me closer, realizing I’m a threat.
Lie low. Wait. Bide my time.
There’s no way I will be able to escape with Aurora tonight if I am exhausted from blood loss. The cold driving me to shivers and numbness isn’t just from the weather and shock of all I’ve been through tonight. I know it’s not. Just as I know that thesemen would force treatment upon me, after a time. Not for my sake, but Aurora’s. I am their prisoner, now, as much as she is. And we are both seen as possessions of the wolf king.
