Page 43 of The Withering Wood

Cerise and the prince glanced at each other. Uncertain. Awed. Woeful. They wanted to lead them somewhere. But where? Were they in control of themselves and trying to lead them to shelter? Or were they under another curse and would lead Cerise and Oberon to their demise? With no other option, the prince and Cerise silently communicated they had no choice but to trust the spirits.

Following their misty, glowing forms, Cerise wondered if the shades of these people wandered the tarnished plains each night. Or did they rise from their rest only to guide them? She had a terrible, sinking sense it was the former. Yet now, rather than aimless meandering around their corpses, they had a purpose.

They followed the spirits through the forest and plains, the ghosts pale illumination lighting their path, shimmering off cursed trees and crystallized snow. The bitter cold of night seeped through Cerise’s clothes, pressed against her skin, tightening each cord of muscle and constricting her skin. Despite the prince’s fading warmth, his chattering teeth louder than their heavy footsteps, he kept a firm grip around her, preventing her freezing body from collapsing.

Cerise didn’t know how long they walked. She didn’t let herself think about it, needing to simply focus on taking one step at a time. If she tried to tilt her head back to find the moon through the trees, she’d surely sway back on her feet and fall to the ground, unable to rise again.

Eventually, the forest thinned, forcefully chopped away by human hands. A structure as tall as the nearby forest’s gnarled treetops sprawled through the clearing. Its decayed, wooden beams splintered the walls and caved in fragments of the roof. The spirits dispersed through the area, standing beside the decomposing building, at the perimeter of the cursed trees, and stared at Cerise and Oberon, waiting. Heat infused the air around the building, steam drifting through gaps.

The prince exhaled a sigh of relief, tinged with manic, disbelieving laughter. “This is it—the lodge I told you about with the natural hot springs. I can’t believe it’s still here.”

The promise of warmth, shelter, and safety livened Cerise’s bones. Rest was in sight. And despite all the odds against them, they’d survive the night.

Oberon and Cerise trundled through the snow. When their feet hit the first ice and mold covered step, the dim light from the spirits evaporated. She looked over her shoulder to see the last vestiges of the ghosts disappearing back into the forest, returning to their bones. Gratitude and sorrow clenched her chest, and as the back of her eyes stung, she asked Zyrdriel and Mirvadel—the two Celestials who seemed to be listening after all—to grant the trapped spirits peace.

Oberon helped her climb the few stairs, then led her through the lodge. Fallen beams littered the floor and deformed the walls. They took careful steps to avoid tripping over logs or colliding with protruding slats of wood. When he first mentioned the space, she’d assumed it was only for clerics—a small, singular space where a few could bathe. But it was also a rest area for weary travelers with dilapidated bedrooms extending from short hallways. Oberon led her through a foyer with a crumbling hearth, past a rusted kitchen, and to the massive back room of the lodge where the natural hot springs steamed.

The pools lay beneath glistening stars, the ceiling long since rotted away from moisture and neglect. Even so exposed, the room remained hot and humid. The prince led her to the largest spring, guiding her to the floor. Her body sang with the relief of sitting, of finally relaxing her muscles, and she shivered as the rising heat fought against the deep cold in her body.

Oberon disappeared, footsteps creaking through the old building. Once sensation returned to her fingers, she stripped off stiff clothes until she was in nothing but her thin woolen underclothes. Rolling up the pants, she dipped her toes into the steaming water, a sigh singing through her body as the heat swept through her feet and up her tired legs. A ledge beneath the water bordered the pool, creating a space for people to sit. Instead of plunging in, she kept her feet planted on the step, water rippling against her calves. She wished to remove all her clothes and submerge, letting the warmth soothe the bulging ache in her knee. But Oberon’s footsteps approached, their heaviness echoing against the aging floorboards, and the thought of revealing all her damaged, scarred body to him made her shrivel into herself.

Instead, she cupped her hands, pooling water in her palms, then swept it over her face, through her hair, wiping away the grime and blood.

The prince returned with a bundle of frayed blankets and flat pillows in his arms. He laid them out saying, “These were the best I could find. Not great, but better than nothing.”

Blankets. What a treasure after these nights sleeping beneath clothes.

“I found these, too.” Crumbling soap bars sat in his open hands. “I’m not sure how much good they’ll do, but we can at least pretend to be clean.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking one from him and dunking it beneath the water, cleaning the dirt from between her fingers.

Oberon stripped off his clothes, laying them gently on the ground, until he too, was in nothing more than thin underclothes that did little to hide his physique.

“Do you mind if I fully undress? I’d rather not get my only pair of clothes wet.”

“Do what you must,” she replied, focusing on cleaning her lower legs, her forearms, neck. Anything to keep herself from staring at the prince as he undressed.

Shudders rippled through the pool as he stepped into the water. He fully submerged, dropping below the surface for a heartbeat before coming up, rivulets of steaming water cascading down his chest, dripping from his slicked back waves. The water was black with reflected night, hiding his nakedness. He shifted closer, sitting on the ledge where her right leg rested. He grabbed his soap bar from the floor and after wetting it, picked up her soaking foot.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Helping, I hope.” He scrubbed her foot and up her leg, massaging the sore arch of her foot, her aching calve. “You must be in tremendous pain.”

Cerise swallowed, his touch at once setting her ablaze and relaxing her pains. He moved to the other leg, dark water undulating around his broad form, and cared for her broken side with attentive tenderness. Tension and discomfort released in waves, relieved by each press of his fingertips, and Cerise bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning at the pleasure of his hands roving up to her swelling knee, gently pressing on the injury.

“Would it not help to get in the water?”

She hesitated. “It would.”

His gaze swept over her face, assessing. The prince lowered his hands and slid back, leaving Cerise to somehow feel colder despite the heat rising from the pools.

“What if I promise to keep my eyes closed until you’re in the water?”

Cerise flicked her gaze over to Oberon, at how the pool, as dark as the night sky, blurred his body. Chest tightening, she nodded, and the prince turned around.

Staring at his defined, broad back, Cerise tugged off her shirt and briefly lifted her legs out of the water to peel off her pants and underwear. Heart racing and fingertips tingling with a sickening mix of anticipation and fear, she braced her arms on the edge and slowly lowered herself, letting the heat seep into her skin. Cerise briefly submerged herself, wetting her hair and face. Then she grabbed the soap bar, shifting it between her fidgeting fingers.

Once only her shoulders, neck, and head were above water, she cleared her throat and said, “I’m in.”