“Yes, duck,” Arthur said,“but itfeelslike Christmas.”
Sasha wrinkled her nose. “It doesn’t feel like it to me. We haven’t had a tree or stockings or carols oranything. It’s just cold.”
Tears welled in Charlotte’s eyes. Her children were cold and lost in the forest with her brother. It seemed as if it had been inevitable. She’d come here for so many reasons, but among them had been the hope that her action would prevent Sasha from searching for Arthur herself. Charlotte ought to have known: Whether she’d entered the forest or not, Sasha would have. To find her uncle, if her mother wouldn’t; to find both of them, if she would.
“Arthur—”
Charlotte reached for him. Her hand passed through his arm like he was a ghost. Shuddering, she pulled back. Her family had fallen silent, even Sasha, whose small fists curled in the horse’s mane like she’d never let go.
Think, Charlotte told herself. The Lord of the Wood had said they might find Arthur if she could describe where he was. All right. So she had to describe it, and “there were a lot of trees” certainly wouldn’t do.
She followed her family, searching for anything that might stand out. Rowans surrounded them, veined in black and dripping, interspersed with goat willow and thickets of holly. A single yew rose from the gloom and sank back again as they passed.
That single yew stuck in her mind like a burr. A rarer tree, but odd to seeoneinstead of a handful scattered among the other species.
Charlotte examined it. Like the other trees, the yew was veined in black, but no ooze dripped from its branches. The veins followed the grooves of the bark, neater than the chaos of veins she’d seen on skin and bark and leaf before. The leaves were a sickly green, not gray like those of other infected trees or the leaves she’d collected for her tests.
Burned into the trunk was a symbol. A circular knot, cracked through the middle. Ooze bubbled up through the crack without spilling. Maybe she could touch it safely, since she didn’t seem quite real here. She reached for it—
She was standing back in the Lord of the Wood’s house.
Her fingers were so stiff they ached, but the painkillers had reduced the throb over her left eye. She leaned on the table, breathing hard. Calyx rustled in concern.
“What did you see?” the beast asked urgently.
Her head fuzzed. She swayed. Calyx slithered from her shoulders to support her.
“The children. The children are with him.”
“Where?”
A wave of nausea swept over her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on what she’d seen.
“A yew tree. There was a symbol burned in the trunk, a shield knot, I think, but it was cracked.”
Swearing, the beast struggled to his feet. “I have to find them. Now. I’ll fly if I have to—I can hardly get any worse than I am—”
Charlotte straightened slowly. “Fly?”
He stumbled toward the door. Charlotte grabbed her medical kit and cane from their spot by her chair and followed him outside.
“If you fly, how do I come with you?”
The beast turned on her, his eyes faintly angry. “You don’t.”
“But—”
“It’s dangerous. If anything happened to you— Stay here. I’ll bring him back.”
“Absolutely not,” Charlotte snapped. “I spent days at home waiting for him to come back. I spent days here waiting for you to come back. You’ve already left him once—”
The beast flinched, but she ignored him.
“—and it’s not just him anymore—mychildrenare with him, for God’s sake. If you think I’m going to sit here twiddling my thumbs, hoping nothing’s happened to them... I have a mule, I can—”
The beast dragged his hands over his face.
“You Throckmortons,” he growled. “A mule won’t keep up with me, but maybe—Calyx?”
