Luca freezes, his foot halfway into one scuffed leather boot. He glares up at me, and I grin. Guilt prickles, but I need to get out of this house.
“Come on, princess,” Asmo says behind me.
Luca finishes shoving his boots on, shoulders his bag, and motions toward the door. “After you, Your Highness.” The title drips with condescension.
I swallow my retort. It never helps anything.
This isn’t the first time Luca and I have gotten snippy with each other. None of us are used to living in a cramped, abandoned cabin in the woods, terrified that Marik or Cora will come bursting down our door one day. We’re all fraying at the edges. Nobody knows what to do or how to get back to the throne. In all their years helping the High Throne, Luca and Ivan have never had to deal with a thousand-year-old witch stealing it. We spend most nights arguing over our limited options. Lately, those arguments have grown quieter, shorter. I tell myself we’re not giving up.
Before we can step through the protective barrier, Asmo stops me with an arm and looks at me pointedly. “Glamour.”
I throw my hand up, my magic hiding my antlers and pointed ears. Asmo and Luca do the same. They look so…normal. Shorter, rounded ears, and frankly, duller. Just like humans. Perfect for our destination.
Asmo funnels us as close to town as we dare—just far enough not to risk anyone seeing us appear out of thin air and exposingour hybrid status. The blue sky is full of white, puffy clouds, and I raise my face to the morning sun and beam. For the first time in weeks, it feels like I can breathe. I’ve been longing to explore the forest that surrounds the house, but I haven’t wanted to risk it. Besides, it’s not like anyone would have let me wander outside of the barrier.
“Let us know if you need to take a break,” Luca says beside me.
“Why would I?” I ask.
“The walk is long. You’re still recovering, are you not?”
He might have a point. Only two weeks ago, I was still bedridden. When I was finally able to get up, every muscle in my body ached for days. Even now, I can feel my legs growing tired. On instinct, I reach for the black mark that mars the center of my chest, the remnants of the bolt that almost took more than my kingdom. It still aches, but that, at least, lessens every day.
Holly, on the other hand, still spends most of her days in bed. Her burns are mostly healed now, but spending so much time in bed has left her weak.
“She’ll be fine,” Asmo says, but I can tell he’s not certain.
We fall into a silence, the three of us walking single file down the path as the human town of Briar’s Glen draws closer. Clean, white limestone buildings stand crowded together, thatched roofs forming a short silhouette against the blue sky. Tiny windows dot the buildings, overgrowing flower boxes nestled below.
“When we arrive, we’re going straight to the market. It should be opening as we get there. We get in and we get out,” Luca says.
I nod in understanding.
The town is quiet, so different from Pinebend on a sunny morning, always bustling with hybrids as soon as the sun rose. A thick lump forms in my throat as I think about the town that I called home. About mornings spent with Cally, as we did our daily inventory over shared cups of coffee in Bound, the bookstore we created together. I swallow the lump, wincing as it goes down.
The market is nearly empty, only a few people perusing the stalls and picking out the best produce. A mother and son share a pastry on a nearby bench, their rounded ears the telltale signs of their humanity. Luca mutters something about vegetables before leaving Asmo and me by a vendor selling fresh bread.
“One loaf of sourdough, please,” I say to the portly woman.
Her answering smile is tired. “Three coins.”
I nudge Asmo. I certainly didn’t bring any money. He digs in his pockets and my mouth waters as I plop the loaf into my bag.
“We don’t normally get bread,” Asmo says as we walk away from the vendor.
“I know. Thank the Mother I’m here.”
He shakes his head, but there’s a rare smile on his face. We grab the rest of the necessities—apples, bananas, a lavender-scented bar of soap, rice, and eggs—without incident. The market gets busier as we shop, humans joining with their own bags and carts to load up and bring back to their families. Asmo pulls me to a cart overflowing with flowers—brilliant hues of light pink, pearly white, buttercup yellow, and crimson red.
The floral scent brings me back to childhood, and I can’t help but smile. When I was younger, I would spend hours pretending I had my own flower shop, plucking perfect blooms and arranging bursting bouquets.
An old woman sits on a stool beside a collection of wildflowers. The sun beams down on her, highlighting her warm, brown skin and salt-and-pepper hair. She smiles in greeting, the motion pulling at wrinkles.
“These are beautiful,” I say as I reach for a bouquet of light pink carnations.
She nods appreciatively. “All grown in my garden.”
“I’ll take a bundle.” When I turn to Asmo for the coin purse, he’s eyeing a small bouquet of red flowers that look like drooping hearts.
