“Prince Hugo has always been…”
“Antagonistic? Difficult? Smug?” I offered.
“Set in his ways,” he said, and I could practically hear the eye roll in his voice. “It may not be popular with everyone, but it doesn’t faze him in the slightest. He’s completely himself and hedoesn’t waste his time with false niceties.”
“Is that why you two are such close friends?”
“We’re close because, once you’ve earned his trust, there’s no greater friend or fiercer supporter than Prince Hugo.”
I was admittedly thrown by this. I’d never thought of Hugo as anything other than the loathsome younger brother of Tarben, but Filip painted a picture of a completely different person. The type of friend anyone would be lucky to have. A man worth saving.
We continued further into the forest until my feet began to ache, and I could feel a blister forming on my left toe. Just as I was about to insist that we stop and rest for a moment, he came to a halt.
I opened my mouth to thank the goddesses, but he held up his hand to silence me. Surveying our surroundings with a furrowed brow, he was clearly gathering his bearings.
By now, the canopy above us was so thick that it blocked any sunlight from reaching the equally dense forest floor. In the dim shade, I could make out mushrooms and mold growing in patches on the ground and on the sides of trees. The air that had been harshly cold and misty was now refreshingly cool and foggy and smelled of damp earth.
Then I saw it—silver yew. Icy fear skittered across my body at the sight of its distinctly twisted base and the shriveled berries clinging to its silver, needle-like leaves. I immediately wanted to get as far away from it as possible, but at its shadowy side sat a holly tree. My heart leaped. There wasn’t just one, but a scattering that led further into the bowels of the forest.
I hadn’t noticed before, but it was completely silent. I could no longer hear the tweeting of birds or the rustling of insects and small animals in the bushes. It was as though no life existed in this part of the woods, aside from the plants and fungi that seemed to thrive in the darkness. The effects of using too muchambient magic, no doubt. It was chilling.
Slowly, silently, we continued through the trees, following the holly until we reached an impressively-sized mound decorated in mud and moss and jutting roots. As we neared the top of the mound, Filip held up his hand to me in warning. He wanted me to stay where I was.
I watched as he crept up to the top, then gestured for me to join him. Panting slightly, I took a spot beside him, crouching low behind a pine tree.
He held a finger to his lips then pointed towards something. An unnecessary gesture because I spotted it almost immediately.
In the nearby distance, a clearing opened up. Nestled amongst the skeletal trees was a small wooden cottage.
We had found Basia’s home.
Chapter 31
The hovel that lay in the clearing was decrepit. Even from this distance, I could see the splintering wood had rotted in places and patches of green mildew climbed the obviously crooked walls. A shabby chimney protruded from the thatch roof, but no smoke came out of it. The cottage had only a few windows, each tightly shuttered.
“I guess no one is home,” I murmured. Both disappointment and relief washed over me at the realization that we would not be greeted by the witch.
“Guess not.”
“Oh well,” I said, making towards the cottage.
“Wait,” said Filip, grabbing me by the arm to stop me. “We go in. Have a look around. If we find anything that proves her guilt, we go back and get reinforcements. If she returns while we’re in there, we ask her some questions. If she’s hostile, we leave. Immediately. And you run as fast as you can. No looking back. Do you understand?”
I was taken aback by the sudden authoritative command to his voice, like a general giving orders to his lieutenant. He wanted to be in charge? Fine, I could humor him for now. “I understand,” I nodded, without so much as an eyeroll. And, honestly, that was impressive for me.
“Good. Now let’s go.”
Slowly, we descended the mound. As we approached the cottage, we passed a washing line rigged between two limping trees. The line sagged slightly under the weight of damp, old rags in various shades of gray and brown. The rags swayed gently in the breeze.
At the front of the cottage, to the right, stood a fire pit, crudely assembled from stone and mortar. An ancient cauldron, dented and corroded, hung from the hook above the unlit fire pit. Nearby lay a meager heap of firewood, waiting to be chopped. The sad-looking trees that surrounded the cottage were all unfelled—how far into the woods did Basia have to venture to replenish her supply?
Hastily, we crept up to the worn, wooden front door. The hinges were damaged but, to my relief, there was no lock or bolt obstructing our entrance. The witch must not have been worried about intruders.
I grasped the bronze handle that was barely clinging to the door. Slowly, I turned it. As I suspected, it was unlocked. When I pushed it open, it responded with a low, menacing creak. Shivers clawed their way up the back of my body and warning bells clanged in my head. This was all too easy, too convenient. What if it was a trap?
“I’ll go first,” whispered Filip.
Before he could take a step inside, I touched his arm. “Careful. I have an odd feeling about this.”
