Lines grooved into Grigorios’s weathered brow as he looked around. “I’ll make a fire, set up camp. We’ll keep watch … and the second jergin’s strong. She’ll attack if anything tries to press in.”
Mother nodded. A small, clipped motion. But I saw the flicker in her mask … the sliver of fear she couldn’t quite bury. Her mouth parted like she meant to say something more, but no sound followed. Only a shallow breath and a glance back toward the trees.
Her fingers lifted to the pendant at her throat, clutching it tight. “She’ll protect us … until the forest decides she shouldn’t,” she whispered.
And behind us, somewhere in the trees, I swore something began to whisper my name again.
Chapter6
After starting a fire, Grigorios moved fast, gathering stones from the edge of the path. His hands worked with practiced precision, building a loose ring around theokhèma. Not a perfect circle, but intentional. Like he knew what he was trying to keep out.
I stepped out to help, though no one asked me to. One of the younger servants, Filippos, startled at my approach, nearly dropping the rock in his hands.
“Here,” I said, reaching for it.
He blinked, then flushed as our fingers brushed. His mouth opened, then closed again like he couldn’t remember how it worked. Dorian, the other boy, lowered his head quickly, studiously avoiding my eyes.
“You seem to know this place better than most,” I said, taking a stone of my own and setting it beside Grigorios’s.
He paused, one hand curled around a jagged chunk of shale. “Well enough to fear it.”
A chill skittered down my spine.
“My brother came this way once,” he added, placing the stone with a carefulness that didn’t match the haste in his limbs. “Didn’t make it through. The creatures in this forest have rules. Old ones. Older than Sparta. Older than kings.”
His gaze lifted to mine, steady and unblinking. Firelight danced across his eyes, catching the gold at the edges like embers about to flare.
“You don’t sleep against the trees,” Grigorios said evenly. “Not unless you want dreams that wrap around your throat. The kind that don’t let go.”
He set another stone with a softclack, his eyes flicking to the woods. “And if you see something, someone you love, something you’ve lost … you keep walking. Don’t look twice. The Thornmaids show you what your heart aches for, just long enough to make you step closer. That’s when they catch you.”
I tucked my cloak tight beneath me before dropping to my knees, trying to shield the white folds of my dress from the ground. My hands trembled as I reached for another stone.
Behind us, the fire snapped and spit, throwing shadows that couldn’t seem to reach this far. Out here, the dark pressed closer. The trees too, like they’d crept nearer while we weren’t looking.
Grigorios tilted his head toward where I was staring, to the branches looming like watching gods. “This place isn’t just cursed,” he said. “It’sintentional. Every horror … by design.”
It wasn’t hard to believe that as I stared at the dark leaves, still as death despite the breeze brushing my skin.
“It’s the perfect wall around a king’s throne. You think any army could cross this? They’d be swallowed whole before they made it a stadion—lost to roots that bleed and branches that whisper lies. The creatures in this forest don’t need swords. They are the swords. Silent, patient, and lethal where it hurts most.”
I let out a dry, harsh-sounding laugh. “Wonderful. You’re really making me feel safe.”
Clang.
I flinched and whirled around, only to see Mother crouched by the packs, a cup rolling at her feet. Her eyes snapped to the trees like the sound had called something.
“You want to survive the Twisted Forest, Lady Helena?” Grigorios’s voice lowered to a rasp, the fire painting his face in gold and blood. “Don’t trust anything that makes youfeel.”
He leaned closer, like the words were a secret. Or a prayer.
“That’s how they get inside.”
Mother was across the fire, her legs folded beneath her and her back straight as a spear. Her blade lay unsheathed beside her knee, the point angled toward the trees.
Grigorios crouched beside me, elbows on his thighs, staring into the fire like it might blink first. I held a crust of maza in my lap and broke it apart, letting the pieces crumble between my fingers. I wasn’t hungry. I couldn’t even pretend to be.
The other two servants moved around the outer edge of the stone circle, heads ducked, eyes skimming the darkness. Filippos, the younger one, trailed behind the other, his eyes flicking nervously toward the trees. He flinched when a twig snapped beneath his heel, then bent quickly to pick up a fresh stone for the barrier.
