"Never mind." She turned her attention to tiny creatures nestled in the crooks of tree branches. They looked like rabbits made of moonlight, their fur shimmering with an opalescent sheen that shifted from silver to pearl as they groomed themselves with delicate paws. One lifted its head, enormous dark eyes meeting hers, and made the softest chirping sound.
"Oh, those are sweet," she breathed, charmed by the way one stretched and yawned, revealing a pink tongue no bigger than a rose petal.
"Lure hares," Eliam said. "They mimic the appearance of whatever their prey finds most endearing. That chirping releases a paralytic toxin. Once you're close enough to touch them, their real teeth emerge—three rows of them. They keep their victims alive for days while they feed."
The creature tilted its head at her, whiskers twitching innocently.
"Is there anything," Briar began, frustration bleeding through, "anything at all in this forest that's beautiful without being horrible? One thing that's just... pretty? Without feeding on death or causing pain or trapping souls?"
Eliam was quiet for a long moment. Then, with the same matter-of-fact tone he'd used for everything else:
"You."
Before she could respond—before she could even process the statement—he pointed ahead.
"We're here. The Silverwood should be just ahead." His voice had already shifted back to business, as if he hadn't just called her the only beautiful, non-deadly thing in his domain. "I can feel Malachar's magic like a festering wound."
She could feel it too, or rather, the warmth in her chest could. It recoiled from something in the air, something wrong and cold and foreign.
They rounded a massive oak that must have been growing since the world began, and there it was.
"Oh," Briar breathed.
The Silverwood River was magnificent. Even frozen, she could see its scope. Twenty feet across at least, winding through ancient trees like a serpent of ice. But this wasn't natural winter freeze. The ice was too blue, too perfect, with strange patterns etched across its surface that hurt to look at directly.
"Malachar's signature," Eliam said with disgust. "He couldn't resist showing off."
He dismounted in one fluid motion, then lifted her down. His hands lingered on her waist for a moment, and she felt him tense.
"What is it?"
"The magic. It's..." He frowned, scanning the frozen river. "Wrong. Even for Malachar."
"Wrong how?"
"Too much power. This should have exhausted him, especially after losing an eye. Unless..."
The ice creaked, a sound like breaking bones.
"Stay back," he commanded, moving toward the river's edge. "And whatever happens, don't go near the ice."
"What are you going to do?"
"What I have to." He shed his cloak, and she saw darkness gather around his hands like living smoke. "Break his hold. Return the water to its course."
He knelt at the river's edge, pressing both palms to the frozen surface. The moment he made contact, the strange patterns flared brighter, and he hissed through his teeth.
"Eliam?"
"I'm fine. Just... fighting me more than expected." Dark veins spread from his hands across the ice, battling the blue patterns. "Typical Malachar. Even his parting gifts bite back."
She watched anxiously as he worked, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold. The warmth in her chest pulsed with each surge of his power, reaching toward him.
Then she saw it.
A figure in the ice. No,madeof ice. Rising from the frozen river behind him, formed from Malachar's magic. A trap within a trap.
"Eliam!" She didn't think, just moved.
