I feel like that’s all I’ve said regarding my sister today.
“Oh, but she would.” He smirks, and his scarlet mouth falls into a tight, thin line. “But do it your way. Go off on your own like a heedless child. Not only will you find yourself lost, but you’ll also risk any chance of ever seeing your sister again, because if the Eastlanders take Nephele and the king, I will not have time to hunt for the likes of your stubborn arse, which means you will likely die out here. Alone.” The tendons in his neck go rigid. “You write your future now, Raina Bloodgood. Make up your mind.”
He hauls himself up onto his horse and snatches the reins, waiting for my answer. It doesn’t seem that patience is a virtue for Alexus Thibault, or perhaps I’ve tested his limits. Because after an annoyed scoff and one last irritated glance, he says, “I don’t have time for this,” and rides into the wood, weaving through the trees, leaving me standing in an infinite forest with no more than a lone white mare and a decision.
14
Raina
The day passes with Alexus riding just within sight, a speck in the distance. Over more miles than I can count, he never looks back. I decided to follow him for as long as possible, then figure out how to find Winter Road myself, because I can’t let him win. He’s all but shattered my memory of Nephele. I fear I won’t recognize my sister in the least when I see her again.
He’s also made me weak. The Witch Collector is more than handsome, his face created to slay with a glance, kissed and blessed by the gods themselves. That face, combined with that gentle way of his, delivered from beneath all that tempered power, does awful things to my mind. Even when he’s angry with me, my body responds. I hate everything about it. I feel like a youth again, incapable of controlling whatever it is that puts such fire in the blood. More than anything, I don’t want to need him.
I don’t want to need anyone anymore.
The further I travel, the more my plan disintegrates. The thick trees become even more densely spaced, and the air gathers a bitter chill, the dim light of day falling to twilight. At times, if it wasn’t for Mannus’s steam and breath or the chinking bridle or the clanking of the oil lamp strapped to Alexus’s saddle, I would be lost as to which way to go. I’m no tracker, and I was right about one thing: Frostwater is a confusing place, even without enchantment. No matter which way I turn, it looks the same, especially under the gray cloak of dusk.
Shadows creep, coming to life like forest wraiths crouching and crawling along the edges of my vision. Eerie sounds drift from behind me, sending an invisible touch trailing along the back of my neck, enough to make me shiver. All too soon, the Witch Collector will melt into the darkness, and then I’ll truly be on my own.
It’s what I thought I wanted, but now, with night descending, I must admit that I was—am—being foolish. There are many things I cannot do, and I fear crossing Frostwater Wood alone is one of them.
As much as I would rather eat tree bark the entire time we’re here, I have no choice but to go along with Alexus’s plan. I need to catch up to him first, while there’s still a hint of light.
I urge Tuck onward but lose Alexus when he cuts a hard left around a tangled thicket. Mannus, familiar with the wood, rides hard and swift, but my mare, even if obedient, is slow and unsure of every trot. I can’t blame the poor girl. It feels like we’re heading into some unholy world. The boughs are silhouetted by the coming dark, and night creatures wake and stir in the undergrowth and shadowed treetops. When a cold breeze snakes through the wood, a fine frost settles over the world.
We won’t make it much further, Tuck and me. Not before we must stop and bed down on the cold ground until morning. By then, we might never find the Witch Collector again.
I bury my nose in the hood of his cloak, thankful for the warmth, but his smell—like rich spices, dark wood, and—honey, perhaps—is all over me. It makes me push Tuck harder.
When I round the bend at the thicket where Alexus disappeared, I yank the reins and bring Tuck to a stuttering halt. I listen for Mannus’s hooves and glance around the darkening wood for any glimpse of my former companion. He’s nowhere to be found, and I’ve no notion where I am. Bitter, I wish I could tell Alexus that his drawing of Frostwater Wood was sorely lacking in detail and wholly inadequate.
A terrible, eerie howl echoes through the forest, sending a burst of crows from the treetops. Gasping, I duck low, covering my head, and clamp my legs against Tuck’s sides when she stamps and snorts.
I’m not so fearful of being thrown from her back or of what sounded like a white wolf. What I fear are demented crows. I’d forgotten about them. Are these the prince’s winged demons? Were they left behind without their master? If they are, they don’t attack.
The cawing fades, the trembling treetops still, and Tuck settles. I sit up, heart racing, and peer at the foliage blocking most of the moonlight. With a sigh, I rake a shaky hand through my hair, clearing the strands from my eyes, and will my heart to slow. I inherited my father’s hot head, something that has often led me to quite the predicament, but perhaps none such as this.
“I didn’t take you for such a difficult student.”
Startled, I whip Tuck around only to find Alexus sitting casually on Mannus’s back, both hands resting on his saddle’s pommel. A shaft of silver light splinters the forest’s canopy, illuminating him enough that I can make out the smug look on his face. Though I want to throttle him, I cannot deny the overwhelming sense of deliverance I feel in his presence.
I ride into the soft light.
“And I did not take you for a trickster teacher,” I reply with quick hands, “so I suppose we were both wrong.”
One dark brow rises, and he lifts his chin. He gives me a once-over that—if I’m not mistaken—holds a twinkle of admiration despite his eyes being filled with barely bridled irritation.
“You have fire in you. I don’t despise it.”
I scoff, but he continues.
“I don’t. I’d rather have a fighter with me, even if she is scared of her own shadow.”
My anger flares and I ready my hands to land a harsh retort, but he stops me with a glare.