She filled her mind with thoughts of Valorre, letting warmth and kindness radiate from her heart, down her palms, into the space between them.
The creature calmed further and took a step forward. Cora mirrored her every move until they were almost close enough to touch. Then, crouching down, Cora extended her hands. The unicorn tottered the rest of the way on her tiny, shaky legs until Cora’s hands met her hide. Cora nearly choked on a sob when she felt how prominent the unicorn’s ribs were beneath her palms. “It’s all right,” she whispered to her, voice thick with emotion. “We’re going to help you.”
Remembering Teryn’s presence, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Teryn’s expression was nearly painful to witness. His eyes were glazed as he stared at the unicorn. He met Cora’s eyes then, and she smiled at him. She wasn’t sure why, only that she wanted to erase his pained countenance and remind him that they’d done something good, something worth celebrating. He smiled back, which was perhaps an even sadder look.
Berol dove down from overhead and landed on Teryn’s shoulder. There was something uneasy about the way she perched, in the splay of her wings as she nipped Teryn’s cheek. Cora didn’t need to be bonded to the falcon to know the bird was delivering a warning.
A hunting horn sounded, shattering the air. It was too close. Far closer than the last one had been. The baby unicorn startled and made to dart away, but Cora lifted her in her arms. She wasn’t exactly a creature made for carrying, but she was so thin, her weight was hardly a burden to bear. “Shhh,” Cora whispered. “Easy.”
Teryn ran to her, and Berol launched back into the sky to circle overhead. He angled his head in the opposite direction of the horn, and Cora followed him. They crept away, their pace hurried. “I can carry her,” Teryn offered.
“It’s all right,” she said. “She feels comfortable with me.”
Another horn blast, this one from straight ahead.
Then another off to the side.
Cora’s heart leapt into her throat. They were surrounded.
“We need to get out of here fast,” Teryn said.
He was right, but no matter where they turned, another echoing horn would sound. She glanced between the boughs. It wasn’t yet sundown. The hunters shouldn’t be back yet. But, of course, she’d chosen risk over caution today instead of ensuring she knew exactly when to expect them back. Now Cora and Teryn could be caught. The hunters would be upon them. They’d seize the unicorn and Cora would have failed again.
Her legs begged to run while another part of her burned for a fight. Teryn was the one who’d insisted on avoiding bloodshed, while she’d only grown more furious at seeing what these hunters had done to the creature in her arms. Her heart screamed for vengeance. Her head, on the other hand, reminded her they had no idea how many men they could be facing. It was only her and Teryn—her quiver of arrows and his sword—against what would undoubtedly be insurmountable odds.
Then I fight to the death, part of her said.
No, I flee and hope I make it out alive, said another.
She felt torn in two, unsure which instinct to heed. She’d followed her impulse to stay and fight when they’d thrown caution to the wind and rescued the unicorns right away. Had that been the right choice? Or the wrong one? Regardless of what was right or wrong then, which choice would serve her best now?
A wave of vertigo seized her, forcing her to stagger her feet. But it helped her remember the soil that stood beneath her, acting as a source of stability. It reminded her of other things too. Of the air surrounding her, filling her lungs. Of the fire that was her fury. The water that was blood. The elements. Her magic.
The last thing she wanted at a time like this was to slow down and turn inward. Not when she was feeling so frantic.
But, as Salinda always said, magic was strengthened by challenge, and the simplest challenge of all was doing what felt the hardest in any given moment. If there was ever a time for magic to prove stronger than weapons, it would be now.
Fighting through her more predominant instincts, she closed her eyes and focused on her breath. She detached her emotional bond from the unicorn to focus instead on the feel of a soft wind dancing over her skin, the sensation of her hair prickling at the back of her neck. She noted the way the ground felt beneath her feet, firm and strong but with subtle give. A sense of calm went over her, telling her she’d tapped into her deepest Art. Extending her senses around her, she sought nearby feeling. At first, she felt only the unicorn and Teryn, but she brushed past them to clusters of energies beyond. She was struck by a cacophony of emotions belonging to several others—excitement, trepidation, desire, hunger. There was a darkness to these energies, a density that made her stomach turn. At least half a dozen hunters were closing in on Cora and Teryn. A spike of alarm threatened to break her composure, but she breathed it away.
Another horn sounded, and Teryn placed his palm on her back, angling her away from it. “Cora, we need to go.”
She put a hand on his forearm to still him. To tell him to stay. To do what, she still wasn’t sure.
Hide.
The feeling originated deep in her gut, firm and calm and certain. Opening her eyes, she saw a wide tree straight ahead, its boughs low and dense. It wouldn’t hide them, not if the hunters drew close enough, but she was going to try.
She met Teryn’s puzzled expression. “You’re going to have to trust me,” she said.
“How so?”
She tugged him toward the tree, following the internal pull she felt with every fiber of her being. The baby unicorn struggled in her grasp, but she made a soothing noise at her. “You’re going to have to trust me too.”
The question was…could she trust herself?
She shook the doubt from her mind and hefted the unicorn closer to Teryn. “Help me hold her.”
“What are we doing?” Teryn’s whisper was laced with terror, but he helped her hold the unicorn between them.
