She led Phillip aside and dismounted, walking alongside him briefly before deciding to continue on foot, even if she knew she was safer atop the giant horse. He would draw far too much attention when what she needed was stealth. So, she left Phillip to his grazing and walked on alone.
As the forest grew thicker, the air stirred. A familiar buzz passed over her, similar to the one she’d experienced coming and going from Agnes’s warded home. And yet, it was different. The pressure on her head was nearly unbearable. Her skin tingled, the locket warmed, and the hair on her arms stood on end. She was pimpled in gooseflesh as the sensation rolledover her. It was cold. So cold. Someone called her name in the distance. It might have been Slaide, but she wasn’t sure. Her hearing was muffled and her head was a bog.
She remembered his promise. Histhreat.Go ahead and run, little witch. It will be that much more fun when I catch you.She pressed on anyway. Let him catch her. She was done caring.
Hazel knew in her bones she’d reached the Border. The magical palisade between Aeos and everything Beyond. She didn’t see the obelisks, but there must be one close, given the vibrations in the air. She just needed to make it through, and then past the restricted zone beyond.
She came to a halt, head pounding, and seemingly out of nowhere, Slaide caught up with her. He must not have liked what he witnessed.
“What did I tell you about—shit,” he said, moving to her.
“Slaide?” she asked, the world around her growing hazy. “W-what’s happening? I feel…” She spilled her guts then, vomiting what was left in her stomach onto the forest floor. When she sat up, a trickle ran from her nose.
Slaide’s eyes went wide. Had she ever seen so much surprise in his face before? Such concern?
She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her leathers and it came away blood-streaked. Her eyes met his. She was so light, a feather that might float away.
He lurched to her side, catching her just before she could hit the ground.
Hazel giggled, trying unsuccessfully to push his hands away. “S-stop. That… tickles.”
“Hazel, stop.” His words were muffled as she shoved her hands in his face, her fingers smashing into his lips and mouth. “I’m… trying… to help… you,” he got out while attempting to fight her off. He finally got a grasp on her wrists and held tight, pushing her to the ground.
She laughed again, bucking her hips and kicking wildly. Much to her surprise, Slaide straddled Hazel, pinning her wrists to the ground above her head.
“I knew you liked me,” she slurred. “I never thought you’d be so direct, though.”
A sinister expression overtook his face, as though a war waged within. His grip tightened on her wrists, and his eyes began to darken. But as quickly as it had come on, the feral beast shrunk away as Slaide shook his head, seemingly trying to clear his mind.
“Hazel. Hazel, look at me,” he commanded. When she didn’t listen, he let go of one wrist and grabbed her chin. He turned her head, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
Weightlessness overcame her and Slaide’s touch was hardly noticeable as he shook her.
“Snap out of it, Hazel. Come back.” But she didn’t respond.
All she could do was watch as Slaide started rummaging through his pack. “Gods damn it all. Where is—gotcha!” He returned to Hazel, still lying on the ground where he’d left her. He sat her up slowly and her head lolled to the side. Try as she might, she couldn’t control her neck.
She couldn’t decide if time was moving both unusually fast or painstakingly slow, but Slaide was moving in slow motion as he grabbed the cork stopper between his teeth and pulled it from the vial. When he cringed at the smell, she tried to laugh at him. The joke was swiftly turned on her when he shoved the vial under her nose without warning.
Hazel came to in a violent fit of gagging and coughing, followed by a heave of bile into the grass. “What. The fuck. Was that?” She spat.
Slaide chuckled, and she glared at him after wiping her mouth. “Welcome back.” He brought forth a waterskin and offered it to her.
While she drank deeply, Slaide said, “That was Border sickness. And this,” he held up the vial, cork replaced, “just saved your life. Hartshorn salt. Potent, unpleasant stuff. Better than being dead, though, which is where you were headed.”
She stared at the vial and the white powder within, stomach roiling in response.
Something in the distance cried out, a mix between a howl and a scream. Judging by Slaide’s reaction, it wasn’t some simple wolf or were-cat.
“Do I even want to know?” she hesitantly questioned.
Slaide bristled, his entire body fraught with tension.
“Slaide?”
“Shh!” he scolded her. “Border wraith.” As though that was supposed to answer her questions.
Border… what?“Excuse me, what now? What’s a Border wraith?”
