I choke back a laugh.
“There’s only one way to find out, Saelûn.”
We head deeper into the grove. Bit by bit, the path narrows until snow thins into a lacework of frost and roots. The light filters through the canopy from silver to something more intense... more alive.
Gold ripples through the air like it’s breathed between the trees themselves.
The hum in the air grows louder, but it’s no longer answering to me; it’s rearranging itself around her.
Lumi steps carefully, every tiny footstep deliberate so she doesn’t trip. Bimby rests in the hollow of her collarbone, glowing faintly like a living locket. It’s a lavender beacon that marks her as the heart of this wood. I find myself following that light like a man lost at sea.
I stay half a step behind, watching the way her shoulders tense, then relax, but mostly, I listen as the woods whisper while she passes through its land.
She stumbles on a root, and a jolt of panic flares through me—a phantom ache shoots through my own ankles, as if our nerves are starting to braid together.
She rights herself with a quiet curse, brushing her hands down her thighs as if the forest offended her.
If she only knew how much it alreadylovedher.
I pause when I feel a ripple in the air. She spins fast, her instincts sharper than they were even a week ago.
A low snort rings through the air, followed by the heavy crunch of hooves galloping over frost.
A Vaernorith steps into the clearing. (Sacred reindeer.)
His antlers catch the golden light, massive and gnarled, with a faint glow at the tips. His thick silver fur is dappled with white flecks that shine with a luminous radiance. His hooves steam softly in the snow, leaving no prints.
His soft amber eyes fixate on Lumi, like distant stars blinking through fog.
She doesn’t speak. Just watches, frozen, as he lowers his head to her. His antlers dip to the ground in quiet reverence; the weight of the forest’s history bows with him. He drops a small bundle at her feet. I may be the King of this ward, but in this moment, I am simply a spectator at my own throne.
She doesn’t hesitate to press her fingers into the velvet fur of his cheek like she’s done it a thousand times before.
Slowly, he lifts his head, his tongue slips out, broad and gentle, and he gives the side of her cheek a single lick—his blessing.
A stunned giggle escapes her. “You licked me.”
He huffs low and nudges his gift closer to her boots. She kneels and picks them up, the frostdrop berries glow in her palm like captured tears. When she looks at me, the gold light of the grove makes her eyes look like honey set on fire.
“They’re frostdrop berries,” I explain. “A delicacy in the forest. Sweet at first, then a sudden burst of citrus. Vaernoriths feed them to their young.”
I pause, voice tight.
“He’s claiming you as family.”
She throws her arms around his neck, and he chuffs again, clearly pleased by her acceptance.
“Do I name him too?” she asks without letting go.
“Yes. Every creature in the Ring of Witness will be yours to name.”
She presses her forehead to his and whispers, “Thank you, Mallow. I consider you my family now too...God knows I could use one.”
I watch her embrace him, a creature that could trample a battalion, and I realize that while I’m busy boarding her in to keep her safe, the forest is simply opening its arms.
37
DO MY BOOTS STINK?
