My stomach twists with indecision. I turn away from him, facing the window and the snowy world beyond as tears sting my eyes.
“Colden, please don’t.”
He takes my arm by the elbow and turns me around, hands on my waist as he stares deep into my eyes.
“Whatever you’re hiding, I need to know, Nephele. I’m the king of the Northlands. For Loria’s sake, woman, let me be that man.Trustme to be that man.” His voice is more serious than I’ve heard in a long time.
“Idotrust you.” Tears streak down my cheeks. “More than anyone. I’m just scared.”
He shakes his head, his voice gentle. “You can’t be. If you believe in me like I believe in you, then you know we’re going to be just fine.”
I don’t know that, but I do know he won’t allow me to lie any longer.
“The prince and his army are nearing the edge of the construct,” I finally confess. “They’re beyond the ravine. They slipped past when everything happened with Helena and the wraith. I don’t know exactly what magick they have in their band, but it’s powerful, and I won’t be able to hold the construct if they fight it from within like they did early on. I’m too weak now. The entire construct is unstable. I feel it trembling sometimes. I’d hoped to come up with a way to stop the prince before he and his warriors made it this far up Winter Road. Sentient trees. Vines. Rumbling earth. But I need my strength to perform such magick, and lately, keeping everyone alive has taken all the strength I have.”
Colden clasps my face, his eyes tender. “You should’ve told me.”
“I know. But I also knew that, if I did, you’d want to go to him more than ever, no matter that he’s here to collect you as a pawn in his political games. And I will die before I let him hurt you.”
As the deepest ache settles inside my heart for my closest friend, hekisses me softly and wraps me in his arms. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “We face this together. All I ask is that you let me handle the prince when he gets here.” He draws back and looks me in the eyes. “Ineedthat concession, Nephele. He’s mine. Promise me.”
The same pain that lived on his face the last time we argued about the prince haunts his voice, like it’s infecting him.
To ease him, I press a kiss to his mouth and whisper, “You have my word.”
I just hope I can follow through when the time comes.
We ride steadily on the snowy path, our caution a vibration in the air. I’ve known fear. Those moments standing on the green, waiting for the Eastlanders to attack, and the time after, when violence and fire took all, were pure terror.
I also felt it while watching Hel, consumed by a shadow wraith. When I swung that sword, the knowledge that it was her or us was one of the most painful moments of my life. I feel that way now, my insides as twisted as some of the trees in this construct. I’m standing on the precipice of a nightmare, so close to falling and never landing.
All I need is someone—or something—to tip me over the edge.
A tingle crawls along my spine, and I glance over my shoulder. I feel a…presence. It started a while after we left the refuge, but there’s nothing but dark woods and snow. Ahead, nothing but more dark woods, snow, and looming mountains.
And Alexus Thibault, a man I wasn’t sure could even experience genuine fear until several hours ago. Now his fear is my fear, because if he’s scared, I’m fairly certain I should be as well. I’m just not entirelysure what it is I’m supposed to fear most—the Prince of the East, the worry for what lies ahead, or the secrets of my companion.
Buried in the gambeson, I keep my tired eyes peeled to the tree line, swinging my gaze back and forth with an occasional glance at the sky. For the last few hours, the color has gradually shifted from the soft pink that reminded me of my mother’s flowers to a deep, grim red—a shade that sadly reminds me of her, too. The whole world is cast in this bloody moonlight glow, reflecting off the snow.
The white wolves are out, prowling in the shadows, and crows follow us through the trees. I’m past the point of exhaustion and have arrived at the place where I’m questioning everything. Is this real? Or is this some illusion thanks to the distressed state of my mind and body?
The unholy melody of baying howls and gurgling croaks, along with a cold snap of wind, reminds me that this is very real.
It also feels like a warning.
I wriggle my feet in my boots, the press of warm steel reassuring. In my left boot resides the old dagger from Littledenn. In the right, the curved Eastlander blade that Alexus found in the snow. He gave it to me in exchange for the God Knife and dagger belt. It was the right thing to do, but there are moments, like now, however brief and cutting, when I question my judgment.
But I trust him. Even with his words of darkness. Even though he knows things that he’s yet to share. And even though he’s the Witch Collector, I feel safer with him leading the way, the God Knife in his grasp.
More than anything, I believe him when he speaks of his darkness. I don’t know what it is, but the truth of its existence is undeniable. When Alexus saw the God Knife—trulysaw it—the green in his eyes turned black and liquid, that primal stare boring into my soul like he could enter me if he gazed long enough. Otherworldly, I’d called it before. It’s more than that, though. I just can’t define it.
Yet.
We come to a crest in the wood, and Alexus halts Mannus. He throws a fist in the air to stop me as well. I take a deep breath, smelling burning wood.
Soundlessly, he removes his sword and scabbard and fastens them toMannus’s back. When he dismounts, it’s eerie how quiet he is, how every movement and step is as silent as snowfall.
He creeps up the path with long, careful strides—a cloaked, menacing figure—then he stalks along the path’s edge, his back against the rocky hillside.
