I reach for her hand. It's warm but the heat isn't from her. It's from the warm blanket the healers change every hour to keep her body temperature stable. I press her hand to my lips anyway.
She doesn't stir. Her breathing remains shallow and labored.
But she's still here. It means she hasn't given up.
"I have to leave for a while," I tell her, even though she can't hear me. "Hrolf knows someone who might be able to help. Ahealer in Avalon. I'm going to find him and bring him back. You just have to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me?"
No response. Just the steady, too-slow beat of her heart.
Coinneach materializes from my shadow.
"Stay with her," I tell him.
I will keep her safe,my familiar promises.
"If anything changes—"
I will take you back in an instant,he assures me.Now go. Save our little fawn.
The shadow thins, retreating to the far corner of the room.
I press one more kiss to Rhianelle's hand. Her skin is cool beneath my lips. Then I make myself step away. If I linger, I will not leave.
Within the hour, we're ready to depart. Eyepatch and Red have gathered supplies for the journey. Dried rations, water skins, and weapons. Hrolf has been given similar gear, though he insisted on keeping his own boots.
We take Noctrals as far as they'll go. They carry us swiftly through the elven territories, their hooves barely touching the ground. Hrolf sits his mount with surprising ease for someone who spent months in a cell.
The landscape changes as we travel south and west. The neat farmlands around Völundr give way to wilder country. Forests grow denser and the hills become steeper. The very air takes on a different quality, thick with old magic.
Shadows stretch and deepen the farther we go. Even the wind sounds different here, carrying whispers in strange languages.
We cross into Avalon as the sun reaches its zenith.
The change is immediate and unmistakable. The trees do not grow straight. Their trunks coil slowly around themselves, bark gleaming with a wet emerald sheen. A stream cuts across the path ahead, but the water runs uphill, slipping over stone in defiance of gravity.
Fae land is where all rules end.
"We walk from here," Hrolf says as we reach the edge of mapped territories. "Where we're going, not even the Noctrals can follow. The paths wind through spaces they can't navigate."
"How far?" Eyepatch demands, already dismounting.
"Four days if we're careful. Three if we push hard."
"We don't have three days," Red says quietly. "She doesn't have three days."
"Then we'd better move fast." Hrolf shoulders his pack. "This way. And stay close. The paths like to shift when you're not looking."
I feel the weight of every step as we begin walking. Each one takes us deeper into the unknown. The dwarf could be leading us to salvation or to our doom.
But I don't care anymore. I'd follow this path to the very edges of the world if it meant saving her.
We walk single file through terrain that makes no sense. Hrolf leads, navigating by landmarks only he can see. Eyepatch follows close behind with one hand always near his sword. Red brings up the rear, his eyes flicking to every shadow and every movement.
It hasn't rained but the air clings damp against our skin. The ground beneath our feet changes from dirt to moss. The trees watch us pass with eyes hidden in their bark.
Hrolf leads us through dead thickets that reach for us with brittle branches. He mutters dwarven curses under his breath every time his boots sink into mud that tries to hold him. He moves with surprising agility for someone weakened by imprisonment and blood loss.
"How do you know these trails?" Eyepatch demands after we crest a ravine that shouldn't exist according to any map. "These paths aren't on any charts I've seen."
