I don’t see any other creature, animal or human, as I walk. The only company I keep is picturing Aren trudging alongside me.
“I know, I know,” I say to my imaginary companion, whose condescending look is more than punishment enough. “I should have listened to you…”
My teeth chatter, and I might truly be going mad, especially if I’m comforting myself imagining Aren keeping me company. The infuriating barmaid clearly finds me ridiculous, and I can’t disagree. Most women would leap at the chance to comfort me in this state, but I can’t picture Aren giving me anything but lip. Maybe I’m dying of the chills.
I hear a second set of boots, then the snapping of twigs. I whirl around. But there’s nothing—only a thick mist rolling across the ground like a blanket, curling over tree roots and moss.
I must be hearing things. I try to shake it off, try to keep moving. I take another step, but there it is again—the sound of footsteps growing closer.
My heartbeat roars in my ears as I reach for the dagger I always keep on me. I peer into the thickening fog. I can barely see the trees around me now.
“Hello?” I call out. The mist seems to muffle my words.
The skin around the scars on my back tightens painfully. A distinct sense that I’m being watched raises every hair on my body.
Fear grips me, and I take off at a dead sprint, bolting through the trees, my lungs burning, my legs aching with the effort. Whatever is following me dogs my heels. I glance over my shoulder as the sound comes closer and closer, but all I see is fog.
Then I turn—and she’s in front of me.
Aren.
I must be hallucinating. The cold has made my fanciful thoughts appear real as day.
“Slow down, you dolt,” the vestige admonishes, panting heavy.
My gods, it even sounds like her.
The swirls of her breath curl around her face in the damp air, mesmerizing me further. She looks nothing short of ethereal in the fog. A sorceress, nay, enchantress, all her own.
“You just gonna stand there and look at me like a carp?” She then mumbles something about “idiot men” under her breath, and I begin to suspect this may be theactualAren.
“Aren? Is it really you?”
“Nice to make Your Highness’ acquaintance once more,” she says, the extra flourish in her curtsey accentuating her sarcasm.
This is definitely real Aren and not some figment of my hungry, delirious imagination.
“I should have listened to you and taken you with me,” I blurt.
“Ahh, you’ve met hindsight and how she’s a fickle maiden, huh?”
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you think?”
I was about to ask her if she was lost, too, when I realize. She’s here because she was looking for me. She was worried about me. Huh. “So why’d you come find me?”
“When you weren’t at the engagement announcement…” So Jareddidgo through with it. “I suspected you were woefully lost. I couldn’t very well lose the Crown Prince under my watch, could I? You know—country, duty, honor? I’m told those things matter.”
“I’m touched,” I say, pressing a hand to my heart. “You actually care.”
Aren lets out a huff that blows a stray piece of hair out of her face. Her usual annoyance is clouded with obvious concern, which makes my heart clench in my chest.
“We need to get you back so I can open the pub. People are going to want to celebrate the engagement.”
A pit opens in my stomach. But I haven’t yet found Veteria. Or better yet, she hasn’t found me. Aren’s words echo in my head again. It’s obvious the sorceress doesn’t want to be discovered. Any shred of hope I had vanishes on the back of the fog.
“Come now. Let’s get a move on,” Aren admonishes, but I can’t seem to move my feet. It’s not the mud keeping them mired but the disappointment.
