He grumbled, and my stomach dropped. “Yes. They’re disgusting. At least their natural form is. Their skin’s blue and clammy, and their legs are inverted like a goat’s. Unfortunately for us, they’re twice as tall as fae, just as strong, and love drinking our blood.”
My skin crawled at the thought of Frazer meeting that in battle. “Have you ever fought one?”
Wilder signaled for me to pass over his skin. “I’ve fought two. Why d’you ask?”
I turned over the flask and replied, “Frazer. He chose to hunt one for the trial.”
His eyes widened a touch, but he offered a slice of comfort. “He’s the best recruit we’ve had for a long time. He’ll be fine.”
Still, my stomach churned with hot shame. Frazer was alone because of me. Because I’d agreed to let Wilder escort me. I hadn’t even asked him how dangerous the navvi were. And I was a selfish shit for it.
While guilt was eating me alive, Wilder packed the skin and what was left of the food away. Finally, he walked to me, reaching out his hand. “We may as well try to bed down now.”
Wilder lifted me and spread his wings wide. Spinning on the branch, he sat, resting his immense bulk against the trunk. Then he prompted me to shuffle around so that my back was to him. Now, slumped against his front, those muscular arms and wings wrapped around me and tucked me in. It felt a little like spooning.
Any flicker of desire was quickly cooled as my mind wrestled with images of Frazer fighting off some nightmarish goat-thing.
I looked up at the thousands of stars that watched us, coldly winking through the canopy. Sleep began to feel like a remote possibility. Especially as howls and snuffles accompanied the rising moon. My body grew as taut as a bow string. Wilder’s purr started up again, deep in his chest, vibrating outward into my body. The sound soothed the knotted tangles in my muscles. Like slipping into a hot bath. A small and failing part of me tried to stay tense and alert. Somehow, it felt disloyal to relax in Wilder’s arms while my kin wandered the wilds alone. Auntie’s voice entered my thoughts. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself, and you won’t help him by worrying.
That shifted something in me. Enough for me to close my eyes and whisper, “I thought you only did this when you’re super happy.”
I knew he’d sensed my teasing because a chuckle rasped from him. He moved his chin so that it was resting atop my head, and said, “That’s right.”
It was less playful than I’d expected. More earnest. The corners of my mouth tilted as he traced lines down my arms. I sent out one last desperate plea for Frazer’s safety before finally submitting and sinking into oblivion.
Chapter 27
The Heart of the Forest
The pale light kissed the lush grass underfoot and painted the sky in strokes of pumpkin, lavender, and rose. To the right, in the north, a swollen storm cloud threatened. It hung over the Pass; the valley and doorway to the Barsul Mountains, whose jagged peaks were broken teeth dominating the landscape, lurking over us. And yet, I would’ve happily endured rain and ominous stone giants to avoid descending into the black cavern that awaited me.
Attia. A web of twisted black trees that stank of rot and damp and death. Home of nightshade. Hazel’s map placed the sap in the center of its sinister, gnarled heart. Wilder had already circled the area from above, trying to spot a discernible path. But even fae eyes couldn’t see past its impregnable mass of thorns and tangles. Only one option remained: to land and hope where fae sight failed, his keener sense of smell might save the day. For nightshade had a distinctive scent: decay.
Wilder’s touch at my arm meant it was time. “Do you want me to go first?”
I fought the impulse to weep tears of joy. “Well, you’re the one with the tracker’s nose.”
A lofty eyebrow and a curling smile answered back. “Was that a yes?”
“Yes.”
With a subtle nod, he walked on a few paces, his wings flaring a bit, rustling against the folds of the cloak he now wore. I filled my lungs with a calming breath and forced my chin up to face the forest. Shoulders back, spine locked, I joined him, striding into that hostile shadow. The cold light of the morn quickly got cut off, strangled by the latticework above. I halted in the twilight and said, “This is going to get a lot more dangerous if I can’t see properly.”
In the gloom, I spotted a sidelong smirk. My mouth parted in a question, then immediately closed as he pulled something from his pants pocket. A whisper passed his lips as he revealed a glowing gemstone in his palm. A living ember that spawned dozens of firelights and chased away the darkness.
I blinked in wonder. “Are you going to tell me how you did that?”
“I told you when we hid from Dimitri that it’s not my magic. I just know a good supplier of spelled stones. And firelights don’t often dwell in dark places like these. I wanted to be prepared.”
He didn’t get a response. I was too busy tracking the firelights’ swarming patterns, mesmerized by their bee-like movements as they danced and swayed in sync with a silent melody.
Wilder moved closer, brushing a hair from my face. My head twisted up toward him as he tucked the offending strand behind my ear. His head tilted. As if to say, We need to get going.
My pulse skipped. I hid it with a steely jaw and nodded, determined to keep my wits intact. He turned and led us into the forest’s depths. I stuck close, keeping a firm hand on my sword’s hilt.
The ground gradually changed underfoot. The earth turned damp and soft as moss and lichen replaced grass. I almost slipped a few times, even with the grips on my regimented boots. After long minutes spent wandering, watching Wilder track, it came to me that without him, I would’ve been hopelessly lost by now. For Hazel’s written instructions gave a general northwesterly direction and a starting point—to the left of the Barsul Pass—but there was no sun with which to orient myself, and so little in the way of landmarks. Only a sea of tree skeletons with twisted trunks and branches formed like fractured bones, their life being sapped away by parasites: fungi, thorns, and creeping vines.
To find the nightshade alone in this twisted maze would’ve been tantamount to searching for a favorite star among a sky’s worth. Impossible.
We continued at a brisk pace, but it still felt like over an hour before we neared Attia’s heart. It was obvious when we did, because the trees became denser and the air thickened. That disgustingly sweet tang of rotten fruit now saturated everything. And no wind streams moved through to lift the heaviness. So a vicious cycle began: inhaling more to compensate for the stuffiness, and having the rot stick in my throat, which only caused me to breathe more deeply.
To make the situation worse, Wilder had to intervene more than once to stop our path from crossing with murderous sprites. Once for a korgan—Wilder flew us into the rafters and waited for its moss-stained hide to amble away—and the second and third times he saved me from grasping trees that contained benors. They were new to me. Apparently they lived in the root systems, snacking on the odd passerby.
These near misses had my heart pounding-pounding-pounding in my veins and feeling more useless than usual, but when the firelights suddenly hung back as if scared, my very bones quailed.
Attia’s core loomed large. No birdsong reached us. No sigh of the wind. Just our ragged breath as we moved forward slowly.
Wilder caught my arm, halting me. “Be careful where you step. The nightshade’s close.”
“You’re sure?” I breathed.
The firelights’ distance meant we moved in semi-darkness, and I had to squint to see him wince. “The smell of the sweet rot gets stronger.”
Stronger?
I whimpered. The forest was already too hot and cloying. Panic rose in my chest, drowning me.
“Wilder … I can’t breathe.” I choked as the forest stole the air from my lungs.
He pulled me in close, one hand resting on the small of my spine while his other went to cradle the back of my head. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Sticky mouth. Sweaty palms. Erratic heartbeats. It felt like dying. I was dying.