It was then that Kassandr knew: The city would fall.
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*Good morning, my queen.
Chapter 33
The Western Woods
For Hekla, the days blended together as they traveled through the Western Woods toward the grove housing the second half of the Forest Maiden’s consciousness. The forest was dense and thick, the essence of the leech ever-present—from the faint lingering rot that hung in the air to the brittle foliage drained of color. The only sign of animals was the occasional flap of wings. When investigated, more often than not the culprit was a Turned raven with torn, leathery wings. Maddeningly, the ravens only watched with their glowing ember eyes, screeching angrily when Sigrún fired an arrow their way.
To pass the time, Gunnar had taken up Ilías’s old role as camp prankster. The snake-like vine he’d left in Thrand’s bedroll had drawn the exact response Gunnar had wanted—after sliding into bed, Long Sword had shrieked like a little girl and leaped to his feet. After five minutes had passed with no sign of a serpent, Long Sword’s tale had only grown taller.
“As thick as a tree trunk and slimy as an eel,” he’d insisted, gesturing to the darkness. “Fortune shines upon me, lads—had it bit me, I’d be food for the ravens.” And after that, even Eyvind had taken to shaking out his bedroll at night while Gunnar snickered from behind his flask of brennsa.
Perched on her shoulder, Kritka continued his quest to “bulk up for the winter,” gnawing on any provision he could get his paws on while dispensing terrible love advice.
Leaving food in red mate’s nest will show that Protector cares, andfemales are known on some occasions to perform the mating strut as well. Kritka can show Protector how it is done.
The Forest Maiden slumbered more often than she was awake, a fact that Kritka attributed to the severe energy drain that came from reshaping the woods. Thrand had added increasingly elaborate modifications to the Forest Maiden’s sling—higher sides to act as a windbreak, a pillow made from his spare tunic.
On they walked as their rations dwindled and their blisters grew. Hekla heard the grumbles of Eyvind’s men—saw the wariness in their eyes. They’d signed up for a battle, not to traipse endlessly through the woods.
Slowly, the doubts grew in her mind. Was she leading them on a fool’s quest? Would the Forest Maiden truly be able to muster creatures to aid in their battle? Would Rey be able to gather enough warriors in Kopa? And how would Silla be able to defeat this vile, parasitic leech that seemed to have infiltrated each plant—each blade of grass—in this forest?
Even Eyvind’s laughing hazel eyes grew more somber, though she felt them track her every movement. Felt the words he wished to speak piling up between them. It was impossible not to recall how well the man had learned her body in the span of an evening—even harder to forget the feeling of sharing her innermost secrets with him. Slowly, she felt herself softening to the idea of hearing him out, and the realization terrified her.
Hekla had to remind herself on a daily basis that he’d deceived her the entire time—Eyvind Hakonsson was betrothed to another. The thought drew her ire without fail. Did the fool think she’d never discover it? That Hekla would happily be with him while another woman took his name?
One night, after leaving Kritka to bury his dinner, Hekla headed out to collect firewood. As she walked, she heard Eyvind and Thrandspeaking in low tones. It was wrong for her to listen, and yet, she could not help herself.
“I’m giving her space as she’s requested, but I can’t help feeling like there’s something more.”
“Perhaps it is time for a grand gesture,” Thrand was saying.
Already, Hekla did not like the sounds of it.
Thrand spread his arms wide. “You must write her a poem.”
“A poem?” Eyvind’s voice was rightfully filled with skepticism.
“Aye. A skaldic rendition to woo the thorniest of roses.”
Hekla wrinkled her nose.
“Fair maiden of the slaughter arm, let me plunder thy golden ring with my battle spear—”
Eyvind snorted. “Battle spear?”
“One-eyed serpent of the breeches. Boar sword. Hammer of thy seed.”
Hekla heard Thrand’s softoofas Eyvind landed a blow of some kind. “You’ll get me butchered!”
Scowling, Thrand rubbed his shoulder. “I’ve had great success with my poetry.”
Hekla could only imagine what kind of brainless woman would fall for such things. Eyvind’s sigh was comically loud, and for a moment, Hekla’s lips curved up. But then she remembered the last time she’d overheard these two, when she’d discovered that Eyvind was betrothed.
As though really trying to drive home the point, pain speared up her residual limb. Her pains had grown worse throughout this trek through the woods. It was probably due to her exhaustion, but each stabbing sensation seemed a reminder of all that was at stake, each low throb a reminder of why she’d created her rules in the first place.
