I followed the woodsman’s trail. The scent of smoked meats filled the air as a thin track appeared. My stomach clenched, a rumble of hunger shaking through me. The trail opened up into a small clearing with a log cabin in the center. The cabin was unkempt, shutters hanging on by one nail and the weeds climbing the walls. Were it not for the trail of thick smoke billowing from the chimney, I would’ve assumed it was abandoned.
Clothing flapped on a line strung from a window to a nearby ash tree. Perfect. I’d need some less conspicuous clothing. Wearing my shined battle leathers would draw too much suspicion. I crept up to the line—mostly sheets, but I snagged the wool socks before the front door snapped open. I ducked down behind the swaying curtain of blankets.
“Alice? Is that you?” a crotchety voice called.
I peeked up at the swaying aprons and worn dresses. So this woodsman wasn’t alone. I waited until I heard the door shut and nicked the woman’s clothing off the line. I grabbed a coin from my pocket and left it on the ground, hoping they’d find it.
I stood tiptoeing back toward the safety of the forest when I heard the faint scratch of a bowstring being tightened. I whirled to find a pair of brown eyes watching me in the woods.
“You must be Alice,” I murmured, taking in the middle-aged woman and the bow in her hands. I smelled the blood before I spotted the kills at her feet, the brown fur popping up from where she dropped them in the leaves. Rabbits, I suspected.
“And you must be a thief,” she hissed, pulling her bowstring tighter.
“Wait! Wait,” I pleaded, dropping her clothes and holding up my hands. “I left a coin and-and . . .”
“Leaving coins doesn’t mean you can just steal from me.” Her eyes scanned me from the top of my head to my bare feet. “You’ve been stealing from the capital, too, I see.” She chuckled at the royal brocade on the sleeves of the tunic beneath my leather vest. “You can’t fool me into thinking you’re a Wolf just because you wear their crest.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. Maybe I didn’t have to try so hard to rid myself of these clothes after all. No one believed who I was anyway. Wolves were tall and lean and elegant . . . I was none of those things.
I trained my eyes back to her arrowhead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”
She paused and lowered her weapon, clearly thinking I wasn’t much of a threat. “Who are you running from?”
“Someone I can’t let find me” was all I said, still holding up my hands.
“Aye. Skin chasers.” She pursed her lips and I didn’t correct her. “I’ve been there myself when I was your age.”
“Who is this?” the man’s voice boomed from the doorway.
I didn’t turn to look at him, still watching Alice and her fingers stroking the fletching of her arrow.
“It’s just a lost girl,” Alice called to him.
I bit down on my snarl at the word “girl.” Correcting someone who was about to shoot me with an arrow seemed like a bad idea.
“Lost all the way out here?”
“I’ll point her the right way, Logan.”
She put the arrow back in her quiver, and my stomach dropped, thinking of Grae and our secret words. Quiver. I almost wanted to laugh at my na?veté, thinking we could carry on like we had when we were young. I felt the loss of that childhood friend all over again.
“She doesn’t want to come in for supper?” Logan offered.
“No,” Alice snapped. “Go on inside, Logan.” The door shut again and Alice folded her arms. “If you had just knocked on the door, we would’ve helped you, but I can’t blame you for thinking otherwise. Sounds like you’ve been given plenty of reasons not to trust.”
Her eyes drifted over my face, landing on my bruised neck where Sawyn’s power had strangled me and my temple where it had cracked into the stone floor. She’d come to the wrong conclusions, but she wasn’t entirely incorrect. Grae’s father had given me plenty of reasons not to trust him.
“Follow the path.” She hooked her thumb behind her. “You’ll reach a wider trail with red markers. Ignore the white ones, those will lead you astray. Follow the red to Pinewood Valley. There’s an inn there called The Broken Fiddle.” She untied a bit of fletching from her arrow, passing the indigo feather to me. “Tell them Alice and Logan sent you, and they’ll give you a room for the night.”
I twirled the feather in my fingers, reaching into my pocket to grab another coin. Alice’s weathered hand covered my own, staying my movement.
“Take the clothes and keep your coin,” she said.
I furrowed my brow. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because no one did when I was you,” she murmured. “Just do me a favor? If it ever comes down to you or them. Make sure it’s them.”
I blinked at her. She spoke with an undercurrent of pain I felt as acutely as my own.
We stared at each other for one more moment—strangers, only sharing a handful of minutes together. And yet, I was certain I would never forget her face or her gruff sort of kindness.
“I promise.”
Thirteen
I changed into Alice’s clothes before joining the wider trail, shoving my leathers into my bag. I doubled back in the wrong direction to discard my silver sash, hoping it might throw the pack off my trail . . . but if they had followed me that far, they would surely search Pinewood Valley. I hoped the pack wouldn’t descend on Alice and Logan’s home, that I hadn’t inadvertently put them in the line of attack. It was an actual worry—no one got between a Wolf and their pack. But there was nothing to be done for it now.
Pinewood Valley was just as its name suggested—the little town nestled between two steep hills of evergreen trees. The long, narrow line of houses led up toward the Stormcrest foothills. With steep sloping roofs and houses perched on stilts, this town clearly weathered heavy snow in the winters. I squinted up toward the sun setting over the mountain peaks. When I reached the summits towering above, it would be winter still.
I paced down the trail into town, the wear of grueling winters evident even in the midst of summer. Wildflowers grew in a blanket down the lane, beautiful shades of reds and yellows, making the most of the brief summer months. The shadow of the mountain crept across the town as the evening sun fell from the sky. As I ventured into the shade, I felt that strange pull toward the snowy peaks and what lay beyond them. This was the closest I had ever been to my homeland. Beyond the snow-covered ranges of Taigos, Olmdere waited, a ghost kingdom for twenty long years.
A few townspeople stopped to give me a quick look before carrying on. In Alice’s dress and apron, I seemed like just another traveler passing through—probably a bar wench or laundry girl moving to the next town for work.
The Broken Fiddle sat at the end of the main road next to a battered stable and paddocks of burnt yellow grass. I entered, and my eyes strained to adjust in the dimness of the windowless room. It wasn’t the boisterous banter I expected from a tavern based on the stories Vellia told us. No roaring drunks sitting at the bar or clamorous music bouncing off the low ceilings. Rather, a few small groups gathered around tables, their hushed conversations stalling as they looked up at me.