As though I’m unaware.
“Your king isnot myking,”I reply.“He never has been. He can rot in an Eastlander pit for all I care. I do not want to intercept anyone, certainly not someone who might have taken your pathetic, helpless king. I want to go to Winterhold to get my sister before they attack the castle and kill her like they killed my mother. There has to be a way to bypass the army. I aim to find it.”
Something like anger flashes across Alexus’s face, and he dips his head low, ensnaring my gaze. “You shouldn’t be so quick to doom a man you’ve never met. You know little about him.”
His words aren’t as sharp as mine, but they are edged all the same.
“I know he brought the Eastlanders to our door. I know I would not have spent the last eight years without my sister if not for him. My mother would still be alive. I would still have a home. If the Ancient Ones listen at all, I hope they let the Eastlanders have their way with him.”
Alexus steps forward, closing the remaining distance between us until his nose is less than a finger’s length away from mine. “You have no idea what you’re saying, and no idea what danger lies ahead.”
“I know I am going to find my sister,”I continue, undeterred, “and that I am not running to the king’s rescue. You will find me kissing the Prince of the East right on his disgusting mouth before that happens.”I pause, stretch my fingers, and shake away the fact that I just brought that murderous bastard back to life in my mind.“I thank you for yourhelp,”I add,“but consider your debt to me cleared. I will go my own way from here.”
He assesses me, disbelief clouding his expression. “You are foolish. Do you not grasp that there’s a vicious army and prince inside the very forest through which we must pass? Frostwater is dangerous and difficult, but it’s nothing compared to what lies ahead. You will never reach Winter Road without me.” His verdant, green eyes narrow. “And know this: that is the only way you have any chance of ever reaching Winterhold.” He shakes his head on a mocking laugh, peering at me from beneath those dark, feathery lashes. “Also, if the Eastlanders do manage to take the king, who is about as pathetic and helpless as you, my dear, understand there’s a great chance that your sweet Nephele, the Frost King’s high servant and paramour, will be found ever at his side. Lovers are often protective like that.”
A wave of nausea threatens. Lovers?Lovers?That word ricochets through my brain, and black dots swim across my vision. I ball my hands into fists, a prickle of angry tears stinging my eyes.
“You lie,”I sign.“She would never.”It seems that’s all I’ve said regarding my sister today.
“Oh, but she would.” He smirks, and his scarlet mouth falls into a tight, thin line. “But do it your way. Go off on your own like a heedless child. Not only will you find yourself lost, but you’ll also risk any chance of ever seeing your sister again, because if the Eastlanders take Nephele and the king, I willnothave time to return to this wood to hunt for the likes of your stubborn arse, which means you will likely die out here, or trapped in whatever construct your sister and the others have built.” The tendons in his neck go rigid. “You write your future now, Raina Bloodgood. Make up your mind.”
He hauls himself onto his horse and snatches the reins, waiting for my answer. It doesn’t seem that patience is a virtue for Alexus Thibault, or perhaps I’ve tested his limits. Because after an annoyed scoff and one last irritated glance, he says, “I don’t have time for this. Cursed woman.”
Then he rides into the wood, weaving through the trees, leaving me standing in an infinite forest with no more than a lone white mare and a decision.
The rest of the day passes with Alexus riding just within sight, a speck in the distance. Over more miles than I can count, he never looks back. I decided to follow him for as long as possible, then figure out how to find Winter Road myself, because I can’t let him win. He’s all but shattered my memory of Nephele. I fear I won’t recognize my sister in the least when I see her again.
He’s also created a weakness inside me that didn’t exist before. The Witch Collector is more than handsome, his face created to slay with a glance, kissed and blessed by the gods themselves. That face, combined with that gentle way of his, delivered from beneath all that tempered power, does awful things to my mind. Even when he’s angry with me, my body responds in ways it shouldn’t, perhaps only because I need comfort. I hate everything about it.
But more than anything, I hate that he thinks I need him. I don’t. Not even for this journey. In fact, I don’t want to need anyone anymore.
Ever.
The further I travel, the more my plan to follow Alexus disintegrates. The thick trees grow even more densely spaced, and the airgathers a bitter chill, the dim light of day falling to twilight. At times, if it wasn’t for Mannus’s steam and breath or the chinking bridle or the clanking of the oil lamp strapped to Alexus’s saddle, I would be lost as to which way to go. Frostwater Wood is a confusing place, even without enchantment. No matter which way I turn, it looks the same, especially under the gray cloak of dusk.
Shadows creep into the wood, coming to life like forest wraiths crouching and crawling along the edges of my vision. Eerie sounds drift from behind me, sending an invisible touch trailing along the back of my neck, enough to make me shiver. All too soon, the Witch Collector will melt into the darkness, and then I’ll truly be on my own.
That’s what I thought I wanted, but now, with twilight descending, I must admit that I was—am—being foolish. There are many things I cannot do, and I fear crossing Frostwater Wood alone is one of them. As much as I would rather eat tree bark, I have no choice but to go along with Alexus’s plan, but I must catch up to him first, while there’s still a sliver of daylight.
I urge Tuck onward, but she’s nothing like Alexus’s horse. Mannus, familiar with Frostwater Wood, rides hard and swift across the rough terrain, but my mare, even if obedient, is slow and unsure of every trot. I can’t blame the poor girl. It’s like we’re heading into some unholy world. The boughs are silhouetted by the bruised light of coming dark, and night creatures wake and stir in the undergrowth and shadowy treetops. And when a cold breeze from the north snakes through the wood, a fine frost settles over the earth. It’s enough to intimidate anyone.
Tuck and I press on, regardless of the cold and falling night, but we don’t make it far. After another hour or so of riding, I eventually lose sight of Alexus when he cuts a hard left around a tangled thicket.
When Tuck and I round the bend where Alexus disappeared, I yank the reins and bring the mare to a halt. I listen intently for Mannus’s hooves and search the darkening wood for any glimpse of my former companion, but he’s nowhere to be found, and I’ve no notion where I am.
With a sickening knot tightening my stomach, I try to urge Tuck onward again. Maybe I’ll spot Alexus as we ride deeper into the wood. The mare refuses, though, the darkness a barrier she will not cross.
I’m not one to give up easily, but I also know when I’m beat. I decide to stop trying to force Tuck to do anything, and instead, use the day’s last light to find a place to bed down until morning.
As I dismount and grab Tuck’s bridle, it isn’t lost on me that this delay could cost me dearly. By the time the sun rises, I might never find the Witch Collector again.
I lead my mare across the uneven earth to a bed of pine needles scattered beneath a lofty tree. Filled with the most nerve-rattling dread, I huddle there against the tree trunk, wrapped in the night’s shadows, and look toward the sky. The moonlight is so weak out here.
I can’t stop myself from flinching at every sound rustling the treetops or gasping when a distant wolf howls or some chilling, hair-raising noise I can’t place shatters the quiet. My only comfort is that I’m not alone. Not really. Tuck, much to my surprise, lies down beside me and lets me lean against her flank, soaking in each other’s warmth.
Though I try to think of anything else, my mind drifts toward memories of the attack. Every time I close my eyes, I see my mother or Mena or Finn or Hel, and it’s just too much to bear. The blood. The death. The burned bodies. The flames. I would give anything for a chance to change the past. To warn my village before it was too late.
Wiping hot tears from my cold cheeks, I bury my chilled nose in the hood of the Witch Collector’s cloak. I’m thankful for this comfort, too, even though the fabric is saturated with his scent. Rich spices, dark wood, and—honey, perhaps. It seems there’s no escaping him, even though he’s probably halfway to Winter Road by now.
