Helena.
I don’t know how the girl came to have the knife after what happened between Raina and me on the green, but the Prince of the East learned that she’d procured it and tried to use an unwieldy shadow wraith to bring him the blade. If he’s after what I think he’s after, he will not stop until he has it. Though the statement about him wanting it back where it belongs still confuses me.
Raina takes a firm step closer. “Why is he doing this? Tell me.”
This is the third time she’s asked, and this time, I won’t hold back—as soon as it’s safer to do so.
“I will tell you,” I sign, in case something or someone is listening. “But first, we must get out of the open. This camp was a reprieve. Gifted by your sister. She knew we would need our strength for what lies ahead. You thwarted the prince’s efforts. He might make certain we are trapped here, but he will also send something worse than a crow after the knife. We cannot sit and pray that he will not retaliate.”
Understanding dawns on her face, and I can see in her darting eyes that she grasps the severity of the moment, even without further details.
This time, it’s me who takes a firm step closer. “I need you to let me have the knife, Raina.”
I don’t know if this is wise. It might be safer with her than with me, but I can’t imagine how, and I just want to feel it, to see if the connection is truly lost.
She steps back, watching me with those sharp eyes.
Again, I lift my hands. “We cannot let the prince take this blade. It is the key to much devastation. And believe me when I tell you that, of the two of us, my darkness is the darkness the Prince of the East will not want to face.” When she still hesitates, I drop to my knee, surrendering before her. “You were ready to trust me with your body, Raina. Trust me with this.”
The tension in her jaw feathers as she stares down at me, but her clenched cheek finally relaxes. Though it takes several moments, she extends the knife between us.
I’m trembling like a newborn foal when I wrap my hand around the warm hilt.
My blood thrums with awareness, the heat from the stone sending a blaze straight to my heart and across my skin. That hasn’t happened in so long that the rush of it is almost as intense as the pleasure I would’ve known had Raina ravished me minutes before.
I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath, gasping around the bond that hums and re-forms in my blood.
“Hello, drallag,” the blade whispers.
25
Raina
We ride steadily on the snowy path, our caution a vibration in the air. I’ve known fear. Those moments standing on the green, waiting for the Eastlanders to attack, and the time after, when violence and fire took all, were pure terror. I also felt it while watching Helena, consumed by a shadow wraith. When I swung that sword, the knowledge that it was her or us was one of the most painful moments of my life. I feel that way now, my insides as twisted as some of the trees in this construct. It’s as though I’m standing on the precipice of a nightmare, so close to falling and never landing.
All I need is someone—or something—to tip me over the edge.
A tingle crawls along my spine, and I glance over my shoulder. I feel a presence. It started a while after we left the refuge, but there’s nothing but dark woods and snow. Ahead, nothing but more dark woods, snow, and looming mountains.
And Alexus Thibault, a man I wasn’t sure could even feel genuine fear until several hours ago. Now his fear is my fear, because if he’s scared, I’m fairly certain I should be as well. I’m just not entirely sure what it is I’m supposed to fear most—the Prince of the East, the worry for what lies ahead, or the secrets of my companion.
Buried in the gambeson, I keep my tired eyes peeled to the tree line, swinging my gaze back and forth with an occasional glance at the sky. For the last few hours, the color has gradually shifted from the soft pink that reminded me of my mother’s flowers to a deep, grim red—a shade that sadly reminds me of her too. The whole world is cast in this bloody moonlight glow, reflecting off the snow.
The white wolves are out, prowling in the shadows, and crows follow us through the trees. I’m past the point of exhaustion and have arrived at the place where I’m questioning everything. Is this real? Or is this some illusion thanks to the distressed state of my mind and body?
The unholy melody of baying howls and gurgling croaks, along with a cold snap of wind, reminds me that this is very real.
It also feels like a warning.
I wriggle my feet in my boots, the press of warm steel reassuring. In my left boot resides the old dagger from Littledenn. In the right, the curved Eastlander blade that Alexus found in the snow. He gave it to me in exchange for the God Knife and dagger belt. It was the right thing to do, but there are moments like now, however brief and cutting, when I question my judgment.
But I trust him. Even with his words of darkness. Even though he knows things he’s yet to share. And even though he’s the Witch Collector—I feel safer with him leading the way, God Knife in his grasp.
More than anything, I believe him when he speaks of his darkness. I don’t know what it is, but the truth of its existence is undeniable. When Alexus saw the God Knife—truly saw it—the green in his eyes turned black and liquid, that primal stare boring into my soul like he could enter me if he gazed long enough. Otherworldly, I’d called it before.
It’s more than that, though. I just can’t define it.
Yet.
We come to a crest in the wood, and Alexus halts Mannus. He throws a fist in the air to stop me as well. I take a deep breath, smelling burning wood.
Soundlessly, he removes his sword and scabbard and fastens them to Mannus’s back. When he dismounts, it’s eerie how quiet he is, how every movement and step is as silent as snowfall.
He creeps up the path with long, careful strides—a cloaked, menacing figure—then he stalks along the path’s edge, his back against the rocky hillside.
I close my eyes and focus my hearing.
Voices. They’re faint, like murmurs around a campfire, but they’re there.
Is this what Nephele hoped to protect us from?
When I open my eyes, Alexus approaches, still hauntingly quiet. He folds his hands around my waist and lifts me off Tuck. Gripping my arms, he bends down and looks me in the eyes.
“Eastlanders,” he signs. “About twenty. Camped on the path. The prince is not with them.”
“To the woods,” I say, pointing.
Because what are our options? As for the prince, I’m worried that he could be anywhere in an instant, so the fact that he isn’t warming his bones with his men isn’t exactly soothing.
Alexus shakes his head. “I know where we are now. Too near the mountains. The landscape is too rugged.”