Evander glances over his shoulder, back at the camp, no doubt looking for Conri. The king is nowhere to be seen. “If we were to stay in sight of the camp, it should be all right…”
“Especially if I demanded it of you for the sake of my magic?” I grin slightly.
Evander returns the expression. “Definitely so, in that case.”
“Good, take me there.”
On my request, he changes into his wolf shape. There’s a ripple of magic and a curling of smoky haze in the air, like the last sigh of a soul leaving this mortal world. Fur ripples out from where there was once skin and broad muscles become strong legs that could carry me farther than the horizon.
Evander’s silvery eyes meet mine. His wolfish expression is relaxed. Almost like a pup… I can’t stop myself; I reach out. My hand hovers over his head and our eyes remain locked. Untilhis eyes dip closed and he tilts his chin up, pressing the soft fur between his ears against my palm.
A slight smile crosses my lips as I scratch between the ears. He seems to enjoy the act as much as a dog would. After a moment of savoring, Evander folds his legs under him, sitting in a manner that turns his body into a furry loaf of bread.
Grabbing his fur between the shoulders is almost second nature now, as is swinging my leg over. When he stands, I shift once, feeling him do the same. I change my grip and press my knees gently but firmly into his sides. We’ve been traveling for days, but something about leaving the camp feels different. It feels like the first time I was astride him all over again.
Evander can apparently sense the precise instant my resolve crystallizes, because he launches forward like an arrow let loose, soaring through the mist-laden morning. I incline slightly, pressing my abdomen and chest into the rippling strength of his back. My hands glide forward and loosely grip the fur on either side of his neck, rather than his shoulders. I imagine myself as one of the couriers I would see from time to time racing across the old streets and trade-ways, carrying letters and parcels for those privileged enough to purchase their services.
Except Evander is sleeker and faster than any horse I have ever beheld. He is half the size but three times the muscle. Every pounding of his feet against the earth hammers away my worries. The sensations of the wind tangling in my hair, his fur tickling my skin, the aroma of dew-kissed grasses…it strips away the layers of fear and worry from my bones, replacing it all with clarity the moment we arrive at the crest of that once distant hill.
Even though Evander was the one who ran, I am breathless. My eyes sting from the biting air and thin rivulets of tears streak down my cheeks from his pace. At least, I believe them solely the speed and wind’s doing.
Evander eases himself to the ground and I hastily brush away the dampness before dismounting. Though I do not turn to face him—instead, I take a few steps forward and stare out over a landscape more breathtaking than any I have ever seen before.
My instincts about this particular crest of earth were founded. The land slopes gently down and away, providing a stunning vantage. To our left, soaring mountains loom like slate sentinels. A dense forest clusters their feet. Between here and there, and all around, is a large expanse of grass and mist, spotted with towers and small encampments with vast swaths of desolate beauty between. And at my right, so far in the distance that I must squint, is what appears to be a coastline.
“Is that the sea?” I point to the water in the distance.
“No, it is a lake.”
“A lake?” I repeat, shocked, given its scale.
“Yes, the largest in Midscape. It is called Calduwyn. As some stories go, there was once a massive dragon that made that lake its bed. When it took to the skies, the hole it left behind filled with a hundred years of rain that watered the early earth,” Evander says. “Though, I think most believe that to be an old legend that’s more fiction than fact. Especially since other tales conflict.”
“We have legends of dragons in the Natural World, too,” I say.
“I know.”
“Do you?” I lift my brows.
He shrugs. “I know some history of humans and the Natural World they occupy.”
“And of witches,” I point out.
Evander glances at me from the corners of his eyes. He could see the gentle probe into his history, but is clearly uninclined to proffer any information. Instead, he points to the mountains and shifts the topic. “Those are the mountains of the vampir. Thoughtheir ilk hasn’t been seen for a thousand years. Not since the lykin had to sequester them to their frosty peaks to prevent their blight from sweeping across the lands.”
Despite my fascination with the vampir, I return to the lake. I suspect I already know the answer, but I must ask anyway. “The siren, do they live there?”
“No, they live in the Eversea, which is in the waters far, far to the northwest. The most direct route would be to cross Calduwyn and then traverse the marshes that separate the northern fae wilds from the very edge of our world.”
“Sounds easy enough,” I murmur sarcastically.
“If you are asking for the sake of your plans of running away with Aurora, then I would say that your best chance would be to head to the southwest, not north.” He points down at the forest, finger tracing up to beyond where my eyes can see. “The land route will be far easier than daring to brave the magic-steeped and strange waters of Calduwyn. Once you pass the edge of the forest, you’ll be out of lykin land—which should free some of Aurora’s powers.”
“They were not freed from coming to the Natural World?”
He considers this. “You’d need to ask her. But my suspicion would be not, since that was once lykin territory as well.”
Frustrating.
