Chipped stone ripped my fingernails, drawing blood. I winced and dug faster, careful to move as the night shadows—silent phantoms.
The longer I thought on the royal keep, the more I knew Kael faced too great a risk. We had to leave. Tonight. Even if I found Kael, I wasn’t certain we would have the time or ability to free Edvin and Hilda.
I used my fists to dig deeper. They deserved freedom—they were here because I had been found out—but…I would always choose Kael first.
If we broke free, if we stayed hidden just long enough, perhaps we could find a way across the Myrdan border and slip back into obscurity, never use our crafts, and hide the silver curse in my eyes as we’d always done. I cursed when a jagged pebble sliced under my fingernail, and reared back.
I sucked away the blood on my thumb, somewhere inside knowing this plan was foolhardy.
Dangers hid in the wood, but there was also freedom.
By the time my spine was heavy with fatigue, the burrow was large enough to fit my bony shoulders.
With a glance at the canvas door, I slipped my head into the soil. Soon enough the frosted blue moonlight washed over my cheeks. I reached for it, the brine and chill in the air burning my lungs with each ragged breath.
The position of Ashwood’s hut had added a barrier of trees with gnarled branches. I crouched in the tangle of leaves, watching.
Ten paces ahead, the Stav Guard first watch patrolled the edge of the wood. Pairs sauntered shoulder to shoulder, never glancing back when their route curved around the camp to the opposite side.
Baldur’s unit camped just beyond the line of trees. Flames from their torches were hazy drops of gold in the distance. If I could keep out of sight long enough, I could come up on the camp, find Kael, and perhaps find a way to distract the Stav until we faded into the darkness.
Night mists coiled around the thick trunks of evergreens and oak trees. The wood felt haunted and formidable.
I maneuvered behind a wild fern, muscles clenched, when the patrols of Stav strode past again. One guard’s mouth cracked in a sturdy yawn and he stumbled when his companion nudged his ribs, urging him to keep alert.
On my belly like a burrowing creature, I waited for the pairs of Stav to take a step in opposing directions, briefly leaving a gaping hole that would lead to the trees.
I tore from the burrow, sprinting free of the hut, never looking back.
The moment shadows swallowed me, I slammed my back against a crooked oak. Feverish heat scorched across my face, and my frenzied pulse made each draw of breath tight and ragged.
Gods.
All gods.
I’d done it.
I peered around the trunk of the tree slow like a rusted hinge, and studied the camp. No alarms were sounded, no blades, no Sentry.
How long my good fortune would last was not a game I would risk losing. I ducked my head beneath the night mists and hurried in the direction of the sea.
Baldur’s camp couldn’t be too far, not if we were to enter Stonegate together.
The trouble was from this new angle, no golden beams of torches broke the mists. Truth be told, the darkness thickened. Deep black devoured any gleam of the cold moon, coating the forest in shadows I could taste.
Dammit.
The blood casts. I cursed under my breath. Part of me considered Stav Nightlark lied about the spells, but the deeper I went, the less direction I had.
Lanterns from the second camp were lost to the darkness, and Kael was lost to me.
I jolted at every flutter of wings, every snap of twigs in the distance. Twisted vines coated the soil in a cloak of serpentine knots, climbing my ankles like tethers looking to chain me down.
Turn around.I needed to turn around and return to my camp, but I could not make out from which direction I’d come.
Haunts possessed these trees. Tricks of the mind kept folk lost and helpless lest they knew the wood to their soul.
It was no wonder why Roark was the lead party—Dravens were feral people. Some of Jakobson’s servants told tales of howthe people of Dravenmoor could speak to the souls buried in the soil to help guide their way.
