I busied myself with Equinox so she could strip her soiled clothing in privacy.
Muttered curses and the heavy sound of wet fabric hitting the earth broke the silence. I spared her the briefest of glances as I built a fire. Her cheeks were flushed red, with cold and embarrassment in equal measure.
She tugged at the cloak, wrapping it around her bare shoulders, and I cursed myself for not bringing a spare tunic. As it was, the trousers were mine and far too large on her smaller frame. There was nothing to be done for it now.
“You can’t go back,” I told her, fearing she would try to flee in the night.
She laughed, low and dangerous. “You think I don’t know that?”
“You won’t survive this forest without me,” I cautioned.
“Well, you certainly are sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Seren narrowed her eyes at me. They sparkled wickedly in the firelight.
“The Varázis Erva isn’t like the woods in Ordelés. We aren’t alone here, Seren, and you need to stay close.” I brushed my cold fingers over the healing gash at my hip. The foxlike faces of the manók flashed across my vision.
“And what if I’d like to take my chances?” Seren asked, but defeat laced through her tone—dragged at the line of her shoulders.
“Stay close,” I whispered.
We settled in for the night, lying in beds of supple moss. Drawing our cloaks tightly around our bodies, we nestled close to the fire.
The flames roared between us, and neither of us spoke as the moon crested the night sky. Silver light turned her gaze metallic—sword sharp.
She watched me, calculating, before finally looking away.
Seren laid in the grass, eyes locked on the sky as I had seen her days prior. Her carefully placid expression had broken and was laced with anguish. A single tear blinked from the corner of her eye, tracing her temple and falling into her hair—brown turned black beneath the cover of darkness.
Surely she could feel my gaze upon her, but she did not turn—did not waver from her communion with the stars—and, eventually, my mind quieted.
I awoke to the slightest sound. Had it been the creak of the branches? Or the rustle of the wind? I blinked through my sleep-addled thoughts.
My vision cleared, and Seren loomed over me. She held a wicked dagger, the curved blade glinting in the moonlight as it angled over my prone form.
But Seren was not looking at me. Her eyes were locked on something in the distance, and her scream carved through the night, sharper than any blade.
I scrambled to my feet, tangling my legs in the long cloak I wore. My stomach dropped, a free fall in my middle. My weapon was already in hand as I righted myself.
The firelight burned low, but the first echo of dawn lit the sky above. The forest was awash in shades of gray.
Seren scrambled backwards, face wrought with fear. Her heartbeat pounded alongside my own, so strong I could feel it in my own chest. She brandished a dagger in one hand as she drew her sword with the other. The borrowed cloak barely clung to her bare shoulder, rough fabric lost on smooth skin. The line of her collarbone mocked me.
I forced myself to look away.
Before her was a wraith, one of the Sziravit. Its pallid, hazy form twitched through and around the looming trees. The wraith painted a fearsome picture, reaching toward Seren with long-nailed hands. Matted, dirty hair streamed out behind it as it moved ever closer.
“Seren, calm yourself. Wraiths feed on fear and enjoy leading humans away from their paths. If you succumb to your terror, it will do just that.” Seren did not take her eyes off the creature nor did her fear abate.
I wrapped my fingers around her wrist. Her skin was cold, but the blood beneath was undeniably hot. My thumb stroked once across the fragile veins before she tore herself away, raising her sword once more.
“Sziravit are not known to attack when they are outnumbered. Do not give it a chance to change its mind.” I threw a scowl in the wraith's direction, raising my own blade for good measure. I was unwilling to tempt fate.
Seren did not respond, her breaths overloud in the darkness.
“Do not look at it. Look at me.” My fingers curled around her chin, skimming the line of her jaw. I tilted her face toward mine. Then, to the wraith, “Be gone, Sziravit. There is nothing for you here.”
With a chilling, toothy smile, the wraith shuddered forward—close, and closer still.
The Sziravit smelled of rotting earth and stale clothes—fetid in my nose, vile in my mouth. It cracked open its jagged-toothed maw—inhaled the bouquet of our fear.
