Which was foolish.
I’d known her for four days.Four.And somehow she’d already slipped beneath my skin, a splinter I couldn’t stop pressing on. Iscrubbed a hand through my hair, stood, grabbed my coat, and stepped out into the hallway before I did something unforgivable—like crossing the room to ask what she dreamed about last night.
Making my way to the back of Branrir’s shop, I greeted the horses. Their breath fogged the cool air as their tails flicked. I busied myself with checking tack and adjusting saddle straps I’d already checked twice; anything to keep my hands and mind occupied.
I kept waiting for the tether to yank me backward when the distance between Quinn and me grew too large. When the pull never came, I realized she’d followed me.
I didn’t hear her footsteps, but I could feel her.
Quinn stood a few paces away. Her hair was half unbraided, eyes still soft with sleep, skin catching the early glow as if she were spun from it. She wore one of her new dresses, soft green with loose sleeves. But it wasn’t the dress that swept every logical thought from my mind.
It was her.
“You—uh…” My throat tightened. “You look…”
She raised a brow.
“…the dress suits you,” I finished lamely, mentally stabbing myself for every stupid word.
“Thank you,” she said with a small smile and an accompanying swish of her skirts.
I moved my attention back to the horses like they’d suddenly asked me to solve some elaborate puzzle. Pulled on another strap that didn’t need fixing.
Saints help me, I used to be adept at courtship. For years, I was seen as something of a cad, leaving broken hearts and dashed dreams in my wake.
But with her? Every damn word was a stone in my mouth. Every glance, a test I wasn’t prepared to pass.
This was going to be a long ride.
Branrir brewed a pot of something bitter and vaguely nut-flavored, and we called it breakfast. There wasn’t much talking—only the rustle of bags being slung over shoulders, the creak of saddle leather, and the taut silence of people readying themselves for a journey none of us fully understood.
Quinn didn’t look nearly as nervous as I felt. Not when we mounted up and turned toward the edge of Pinehelm. Not even when the road ahead grew darker with each minute.
We made it less than an hour out of town before the world changed. The Elderhollow didn’t announce itself with fanfare or warning stones carved in runes. No trumpet’s call, no hint of what waited beyond.
The horses sensed it before we did. Their hooves shifted, ears flattening tight. Mine snorted hard and tossed its head, fighting the bit like it would rather bolt back to town and endure a dozen tailor’s pins than take one step forward.
Couldn’t blame him.
I shared the sentiment.
The air shifted, strange and thick. It crawled beneath the layers of my skin before we reached the tree line, reeking of rot and iron.
One moment, we were on an open trail, the sun warm on our backs.
Next, we were swallowed.
The light all but vanished in one long blink.
The forest surrounded us in walls of black-green, exhaling damp air against our necks.
My stomach had already gone cold. Gripping the reins, my palms dampened. Every instinct I had—the old soldier’s ones, the ones that had kept me alive on the worst days—screamed to turn around.
I swore I’d never come back here.
Not after nearly dying with a cracked skull and three broken ribs while a pack of drunk ruffians stole my last coin and left me for dead.
Not after wandering so lost I’d spent three nights talking to trees as though they might answer, because my voice was my only company.
