No, she just knows you. Sees you.
‘Gwen—’
‘You’ve been looking at me strangely ever since we arrived in this wretched town,’ Gwen blurted quickly. ‘I thought it was the letter, but if anything, today you’re only treating me even more oddly—’
‘Because you said you’d take me back to Darkhaven and thenleave!’ Isobelle had forgotten to keep her voice down, and the last word rang through the trees like the wailing of a frightened child.
Gwen stood, panting and staring, hearing her own words thrown back at her. There were tears in Isobelle’s eyes. Abruptly, Gwen’s own fears scattered, and she exhaled a ragged breath. ‘God, Isobelle, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.’
Isobelle’s tears spilled over and glinted on her cheeks. ‘Really?’
Gwen reached out, and Isobelle moved instantly into her arms. Gwen tightened her hold until Isobelle’s pent breath went out in a soft whoosh.
‘There is nothing,’ whispered Gwen, ‘nothingthat you could do or say that would stop me from … from …’
From loving you, she tried to say. The words wouldn’t come, but they ricocheted around inside her body like captive birds trying to escape a cage. She focused on the sensation of her own fingers tracing gentle patterns against Isobelle’s shoulder blades. The silk cloakdidfeel glorious.
And yet a part of Gwen pulled back. Ordered her to stay wary. For if Isobelle withheld a truth as earth-shattering as that letter from her parents because of Gwen’s nightmares … how might she react if she knew what those nightmares were really about?
If she knew that the dragon hadbrokensomething in Gwen forever?
Isobelle had pulled away enough to look up at her. Less than two inches separated them in height, but she had a way of gazingupat her that could melt every bone in Gwen’s body. ‘You did mean it, at the time,’ she whispered.
Gwen’s heart ached. She had meant it. A part of her still meant it. That part of her wanted to push Isobelle away, hold her at arm’s length, make sure she wouldn’t see the fears tangling inside her like the overgrown roots of a dying tree.
But a much larger part of her could not bear to see Isobelle in such distress.
‘I was mad at you,’ Gwen muttered. ‘I don’t really knowhowto be mad at you yet, I haven’t had much practice. It’s like trying to be mad at the sun.’
Isobelle let out an odd, inelegant sound halfway between a snort and a gasp for breath. ‘What a thing to say.’
‘We’ll get better at it.’
Isobelle’s brow furrowed. ‘Better at being mad at each other?’ she asked sceptically.
Gwen traced her fingertips along the lock of hair that waved down Isobelle’s temple. ‘Well … yes, I suppose. Among other things.’
Isobelle flashed her a tremulous smile, her gaze travelling down Gwen’s face, slowly, lingeringly, as if making up for the last day, during which neither of them had looked at each other very much at all.
And even then, there was still a shadow in her eyes.
They could pretend all was well again. But it wasn’t.
Isobelle’s smile faded as her gaze lifted. ‘Gwen … you weren’t wrong. You said I’ve been looking at you strangely, and … there’s a reason. Do you remember that sachet we found in your pocket?’
Gwen blinked at her, trying to think her way through this total non sequitur; her mind suddenly felt like it was swimming through thickened honey. ‘At the welcome banquet? Kind of. Why?’
‘Well, I—’
She got no further. A desperate, terrified scream rent the quiet of the forest.
Gwen and Isobelle stared at each other, eyes wide withsudden horror and surmise – and then the scream came again, this time horribly cut off mid-cry.
Gwen let go of Isobelle and took off through the forest, calling back over her shoulder for Isobelle to follow. She could no longer see the orange glow of the fire, but she remembered which direction they’d come and recognised the trees she passed. Her sword was in her hand, its weight notquiteright, different from her other sword, but ready.
She burst into the clearing. The fire had been kicked apart and half smothered with dirt, and was now smoking and hissing, sending feeble gasps of smoke up towards the moon overhead. The objects on the altar had been scattered, the sigil in the dirt smeared out of existence.
Isobelle was close on Gwen’s heels, and stopped abruptly as she saw the chaos. ‘Where is Tabitha?’ she whispered urgently.
