After a second, her head shot up. “There’s a spirit nearby.”
“You’re the one with the power,” Ven said, watching her as he deliberately bored the knife deeper into the wood. “Send it away.”
“You’re the one with the knife; you send it away,” she countered, and then stopped. “What are you doing?”
“Starting your training.” He plucked the knife from the tree and used it to point at a branch behind Naelin. “Be alert.”
She flung herself to the side, stretching her arms wide, to block the branch between the spirit and her children. She then grabbed the charm she’d been working on, ripped it from her son’s jacket, and held it ready to throw. Reaching over, Ven plucked it out of her hand and tossed it off the branch. It fluttered down, hitting branches as it fell, until it was out of sight. “What are you doing?” she whispered—he noticed that even scared she kept her voice low so as not to wake and alarm her children.
“Use your power.”
“It will draw more.”
“Then you’ll use more power. You will use it until you understand it.” He twirled his knife in the air. “I know many ways to anger spirits, and I will keep doing it until—”
She didn’t wait for him to finish his pronouncement. Instead, she scooped Llor into her arms and shook Erian awake. “Come on, loves, let’s climb a little, all right? Just a little climb, down to the forest floor.”
Erian rubbed her eyes. “Mama, what’s wrong?”
Llor wrapped his arms around her neck and burrowed his face into her hair. His legs clung around her waist like a baby monkey. Ven was pleased to see Naelin was strong—she appeared to be planning to climb while carrying the child. Physical strength wasn’t essential for an heir, but it helped.
But what exactly was she doing? She wasn’t leaving, was she?
Yes, she was.
“Champion Ven is not making good choices,” Naelin told her daughter, “so we are going to give him a little time by himself to think about what he’s done.”
“Oooh,” Erian said to him, “you’re in trouble. Once Mama locked Father out of the house for a whole night, even though it was raining. He got very wet before she threw him a tent.”
“Champion Ven can handle his own messes,” Naelin said crisply, “as can your father. It’s important to understand that actions have consequences.” She was already climbing down, positioning her body to block Erian from the spirits, while carrying Llor—she’d clearly done this before, climbed defensively. Mama bear, he thought.
Behind him, Alet murmured, “You’re just going to let them go?”
He tried, and failed, to keep the amusement—and admiration—out of his voice. “I believe I’m supposed to stay here and think about what I’ve done.” Above, he spotted a rustle of leaves, and an angular face poked through—its features were twisted bark, its eyes were embers, and its hands were covered in thorns. It hissed at him, displaying rows of teeth. Instantly, he felt less amused. Naelin was supposed to use her power to protect all of them. Instead, she was rapidly fleeing the area, and the spirits had correctly decided he was the one who’d damaged their beloved tree. Behind him, Alet sighed. He heard her draw her sword.
Naelin heard the fighting overhead, and it was quieter than she’d have imagined: the scuffling of feet on bark, the hollow ring of steel as it hit flesh, a grunt, a hiss. She climbed faster. Erian and Llor stuck to her as if glued and didn’t speak.
She jammed her feet into the crevasses of the bark, feeling her way down. Llor clung to one side of her—he’d wrapped her belt around his waist as they’d practiced. Erian was in front of her, climbing within the curve of Naelin’s arms. She felt her daughter’s movements as she brushed against her, and heard the breathing of both her children. Away from the camp, darkness closed around them like a blanket, and Naelin listened as hard as she could, hoping the spirits didn’t notice them.
Eventually, her foot landed in dirt—the forest floor. She peered into the darkness around them. They’d come down between the curves of the roots. “Hide here,” she whispered, and herded Erian and Llor into the folds of the massive roots. They clustered together, roots on three sides of them, snug in the embrace of the tree. Naelin gathered her children close and wished they hadn’t left home. She didn’t belong out here, risking her family, trusting a man who didn’t understand that some risks weren’t acceptable. She thought of Renet and wondered if she’d traded one man with bad judgment for another, but she couldn’t bring herself to miss him. At least Champion Ven had never lied to her. “Sleep,” she whispered into her children’s hair.
“I can’t,” Erian whispered back.
“I know. But pretend, and maybe you’ll fool yourself and actually fall asleep.”
Llor snuggled closer, and she breathed in his sweet little-boy scent. It didn’t seem to matter how many mud puddles he fell into, he exuded a smell that was better than baking. “Mama, I’m scared.”
“That’s good. Fear can be your friend. It tells you when to run and when to hide. The trick is that after you’ve run and hid, you have to tell your fear thank you very much, you’re fine now, come back later.”
“Will Champion Ven and Captain Alet be okay?” Erian asked, her voice small. Naelin held her tighter. It was easy to forget that Erian was still a child too. She was growing up so fast and wanted so badly to be an adult already.
“Yes,” Naelin started to answer and then stopped as she saw a shadow move within the other shadows, a shift of gray. “Shhh.”
They obediently quieted, knowing better than to ask why.
It didn’t feel like a spirit. She couldn’t sense any crinkling in the air, but she heard the nearest bushes rustle, and then Erian let out a tiny gasp and squeezed tighter. An animal? It sounded larger than a squirrel. Raccoon? Badger?
Naelin saw a shape move again and heard a low rumble, a growl. Predator. She held still, feeling as if every muscle had locked. They’d tucked themselves into the crook of branches for safety, but now it felt more like a trap.
And she knew in that instant she’d use her power again. But not as a first resort. Not the way Champion Ven wanted. If she did this, she did it on her own terms.
Resolute, she held her children in the crook of the tree until their breathing slowed, becoming even, and their bodies relaxed, limp against her. Awake, she stared into the darkness.
Night was never just blackness in the woods. It was layers of colorlessness, shapelessness, and silence. Here, the silence was buoyed by the crickets, whose song melded into a steady hum in all directions.
She didn’t intend to sleep at all, but somehow, despite the fear, despite her swirling thoughts, despite whatever lurked out there in the shadows, exhaustion overwhelmed her and she drifted into sleep, curled up with her children.