“Let’s not dwell. We need to get out of this loop.”
One down.
Thistle went next, shoulders drawn taut beneath her shawl. She touched the tree.
“I heal with Hedgework,” she said. “And sometimes people come to me with hurts I can’t mend. Not of flesh—loneliness. Grief. Heartbreak.” Her glance flicked toward me. “So…sometimes I give them hot water and herbs that won’t do a thing. I let them believe it’ll help. Because sometimes belief and a kind word are the only remedies I can offer.”
“Yes,” she added after a pause. “I’ve done it for you, Mav. More than once.”
I stared at her, throat tight.
The tree glowed again, brighter this time, and she withdrew slowly, fingers trembling as she let her hand fall away.
Vesper rolled his eyes and sauntered up, placing a front paw on the bark. “I have fathered no less than a dozen litters of kittens.”
The glow shone brighter with his confession. Thistle looked positively scandalized.
“Wewillbe discussing this when we get home,” she said, shaking a finger at the feline.
All eyes fell to me.
Wonderful.
I stepped forward, jaw set, careful not to look at Quinn. The bark was rough and damp beneath my palm, the grain catching against my skin. “I broke my oath,” I said flatly. “Didn’t hesitate. Wasn’t tricked or forced. I chose it.” The words ground out like stone dragged across steel. “I disobeyed a direct order. And I don’t regret my choice.”
My mouth twisted into something too bitter to be called a smile. The glow beneath my hand burned warm, seeping into my skin. When I pulled away, the light held fast.
Only one left.
Quinn didn’t move at first. Her fingers were clasped, knuckles pale. She looked small then—small and uncertain. Then, with a breath trembling at the edges, she moved forward and rested her hand on the tree.
“I…” she paused, posture tensing as she started again. “This is the third awakening I have lived through,” she said. “I have watched the world change. Watched everyone I loved die. Everything leaves, piece by piece. Every century, I lose more.” Her voice cracked. “And sometimes, on those last nights before I am pulled under again, I think perhaps…perhaps it would hurt less to end it all—to choose something for my own life, even if that choice was to end it.”
Sorrow ripped a hole through me.
She ducked her head, as if she couldn’t bear to face the words. The bark beneath her hand lit with a pale, gentle glow.
The pressure around us broke, the wet setting of a bone. The forest exhaled until the air moved freely again, rustling the leaves overhead. We were free, but it didn’t feel like freedom. The loop left us with a raw, open wound.
Quinn turned from the tree with deliberate composure, her face smooth as glass. She brushed her cheek in silence, failing to hide the tears I’d already seen. No one else spoke. Even Branrir, usually too full of words, was speechless as we all mounted our horses and resumed our path through Elderhollow’s gloom.
Quinn glanced back, checking to make sure I still followed. I gave a single nod and nudged my horse forward to fall in behind her.
I couldn’t stop looking at her. While I never thought being under a spell for centuries was joyful in any measure, I hadn’t considered it might hurt enough for her to contemplate ending a life that hadn’t truly begun. And the worst part? I believed her. Not because she looked fragile—she didn’t. Quinn struck me as the sort of woman who kept rising no matter how hard the world tried to break her. But there was something about the way she carried herself afterward. A quiet folding inward too close to the shape of surrender.
And I…I didn’t know what to do.
I wasn’t built for comfort. I was built for fighting. For breaking things in need of breaking. For following orders—right up until I decided they weren’t worth obeying.
Watching her tuck such pain back inside her, having to hold it alone, drove an icicle through my chest. The thought of her waking again and again to silence and loss clawed at me.
I wanted to unmake every person who’d ever left her feelingunworthy or unwanted. Starting with that bastard prince, bones or no bones by now.
Because if anyone dared to harm her again?
There would be no mercy. Not after how merciless life had been to her.
My hand drifted to the hilt at my belt in a silent vow. I would send anyone who hurt her to the seven hells.
