“I will come back for you,”Raina tells the girl.“I will come back, and we willtake our revenge. Together. The Prince of the East will pay for this. For everything. On my honor.”
A cringe comes over me, and every muscle pulls taut when she slips her arm through a gap in the roots. I will have no choice but to end her friend’s life if she tries using Raina as a shield.
The wraith is still buried, though, and Helena only leans closer, allowing Raina to press the same sign they shared at the lake into her chest. Except this time, I realize that it’s not one buttwosigns.
Tuetha tah.My sister.
Helena’s brow furrows, and a choked-off sob resounds from her throat. The same desperation that lives inside Raina radiates from her friend, yet she still gives Raina the slightest nod of understanding—one that says she believes in Raina and her promises of salvation and retribution.
Raina forces herself away from the cage and stands, wiping her cheeks. When she faces me, seething, I believe her.
As we mount the horses, the wraith returns.
“You will never escape him!” That eerie voice is a scream, a howl that makes the skin on the back of my neck prickle.
Raina and I face the wooden cage as the wraith presses Helena’s face between two branches. The vine that covered her mouth and wrists moments before now struggles to crawl back up Helena’s body, as if something is fighting it.
“Call to your witches all you want, Collector.” The wraith wears a wicked grin. “Beg your ancient gods for help. But it’s the Prince of the East to whom Tiressia will eventually pray. He sees. He knows. Evenyoursecrets are not safe.”
With a glance toward the sky, sinking dread fills me.Itisyou,the wraith had saidwhen it tasted my blood.
I close my eyes. If the wraith knows who I am, perhaps the prince knows, too. I’m not sure what that means for Tiressia or me, but it can’t be good. The Prince of the East means to rule this empire, and he’s executing his plan—one I have yet to fully comprehend.
And I have no idea how to stop him.
Iride between Alexus’s legs, nestled against him, the God Knife hidden in my boot. When Alexus left to gather the horses, I spotted the knife in the upturned earth near Hel’s cage. It’s so warm now, where it was bitterly cold for so long.
Though I sense that change in the weapon, and it feels more alive, I find myself far less sure if the God Knife is as powerful as Father always said or if Mother was the one who was right. Because I slid that blade into the face of the Prince of the East, and even still, he lives.
Not for long, though. Somehow, someway, I’m going to get out of this construct, and God Knife or no God Knife, I’m going to destroy him.
It’s been so long since we left Hel. Four days at least. Maybe more. My hands grew too cold to hold the reins shortly after we turned for the mountains, and my hands are my lifeline.
And so here I am, huddled against a man I thought I hated, letting him hold me tight, hour after frigid hour, easing me with the curve of his body, breathing his warmth into my neck. Any discomfort at being so near him has vanished. The God Knife hides a fewfeet from my hand, but I can’t imagine using it to harm Alexus now. We aren’t anything like strangers anymore, and certainly nothing like enemies.
Compassionate like friends. Tender like lovers.
I’m learning the shape of his body. How he sleeps. The sound of his breathing. And I’m thankful for all of it—the gentle way he runs his hands along my thighs to build heat inside me, the way he clasps my hands and holds them against his chest when they tremble, how he nuzzles his lips into the crook of my neck when he needs to warm them as we ride. It doesn’t bother me. Instead, it feels oddly right, like we somehow fit together in every way.
And that confuses me to the point that I have to stop thinking about it.
The gambeson isn’t large enough to fold around both of us entirely and provides little comfort as we fight to remain awake. Poor Tuck follows behind, tied off and covered in the blanket from Littledenn.
Our lamp is broken, but the sky provides more light than before. It’s an odd color now, reminding me of the soft pink shade of my mother’s roses, like a morning sunrise, if a sunrise sky never changed. We can’t know how many Eastlanders might be waiting in the surrounding forest or what animals might be waiting to spring, so the light is a blessing.
Every so often, we stop to rest for a few hours, usually curled together against a tree while I try to summon fire threads and fail. Then we get back to the path and trudge onward.
We haven’t talked about what happened with Hel. Whatever the wraith did to Alexus, it rattled him. He rode in a daze for several hours after, his mind in another world. But when my grief for my friend became too much, he shook off his own unease and held me, wiped my tears, and whispered kindness into my ears as another cresting wave arrived.
As we travel, Alexus fills the time by telling me stories about distant lands that I’m sure must be fiction, and he speaks to me in Elikesh, reciting what sounds like poems that are so beautiful they easily lull me to sleep. Another few times, we pause our riding to move our legs and nibble on what we can from the pack. The walnuts have been gone for days, and the cold has ruined the apples, though we still feed the mush and skins to the horses. We’ve already drainedthe flask, leaving us longing for the drink’s warmth in the pits of our bellies.
We’re wearing down fast. We need real sustenance and sleep and fire, or this construct could become our final resting place.
When we set to riding again, I beg Nephele to send aid soon, to find some enchantment that will weave everything we need into this godsforsaken construct. The snow and blistering winds have all but stopped, and Alexus swears the cold has relented, but we’re both still struggling. My eyes keep closing of their own volition, an awful fate, because when my eyes are closed, I see all the things that led me to this moment, beginning with the God Knife being delivered to our cottage door. After that, I see my scheming and thieving, my hidden preparations, and the little white lie I told my mother the morning of Collecting Day.
It only gets worse from there.
I’m also met with the devastating truth of our circumstances when I close my eyes. Three times since we left Hel in the wood, the Prince of the East has found me. He stares at me from my dreams like a figment, but I know he’s here, very much alive, and I know he’s watching.
