I swore again as Kilia dragged us upright, shoving me until I stood next to his brother.
“That man really fucking hates you,” Kilia said.
“Great observation,” I snarled. “Thank you for informing me.”
“Who hates who?” Oscri asked, and I had to keep my face angled to the ground at the tiredness in his voice.
“Darcke hates the heir,” Kilia said as he jerked at another howl echoing through the woods. “He was about to kill us both for it.”
“What did you do to him?” Ottoh’s partner asked.
“Darcke hates all the heirs,” Ottoh replied before I could. “He always has. He lives for power, and being an heir? We’re second only to the king.” His laugh was cold. “Maybe that’s why he’s here, to try to see if he can take one of our places.”
“Well, he can’t,” I said angrily, picking at the burning scratches on my waist. “He’s not an initiate.”
“Any karl can be someone’s second,” Kilia said.
“Don’t even try,” Ottoh teased. “Everyone knows she’s already chosen hers.”
I was about to smack him when a branch snapped.
They were on us before we could take a breath.
Fifteen
Agroup of men had lain in wait in the bushes, and my back slammed into Kilia when they came at us from every direction, pinning us against the tree. Like the ones we’d fought on the beach, these people were gaunt—malnourished—but there were ten of them and only six of us. Five, really, since Oscri’s partner wouldn’t be able to fight.
They also had weapons. Burls of oak, knot-heavy branches of pine, and shafts of ash.
I stared from the bludgeons to the trees towering over us as a warning, whistling breeze blew through my clothing.
The forest hadn’t given its consent for these men to use its branches.
“Fuck, the trees are angry too,” Kilia hissed into my ear.
I nodded as I shifted my weight. Driftwood was one thing—that had already been discarded by the forest, a gift for the sea, or for us to use as we saw fit—but stealing from living, breathing trees, especially here at Svartoarna? We knew better than that.
A sharp crack rattled my bones from a tree somewhere to my left, and the world around us grew a shade darker, the air a little thicker. The ground vibrated beneath our boots, and I pushed atKilia when a root snapped at me, only an inch from gripping the ankle Darcke had just abused.
The trees began moving, shifting across the ground like a silent, deadly army of giants, leaving an opening behind the men approaching us. Silver moonlight streamed down through the glen the trunks revealed, like a torch lighting the way for something, or someone, to come for us.
“I don’t think the trees care who dishonored them,” Ottoh said as he backed up until he stood beside me, his back against the bark as a solemn melody drifted through the night. “They’re coming for us.”
“Guys,” Oscri whispered sharply.
I froze when Kilia’s hand found mine.
“Over there,” Oscri continued. “It looks like the trees called in some friends.”
He jerked his head as the captives laughed manically. The sound sent goose bumps over my skin. It wasn’t the laugh of someone who knew they’d win—of someone ready to fight for their life. No, it was the laugh of someone who didn’t care anymore.
Then my heart leaped.
Behind the line of men, a massive wolf stalked with wide, silent paws. It lifted its muzzle toward the one patch of sky where the moon’s sliver cut through the black. The animal was huge, the largest wolf I’d ever seen, with shimmering black fur raised on its back, narrowed eyes, and paws the size of my head. And behind it…
A rune stone with bloodied marks on it, deep claw marks raking down and ruining whatever had been scripted. Where the stone met the rich soil, a pile of something silver and glittering lay.
“The arm rings,” I breathed.
