Why was he here? Was he dead? Was that what the shadow-men were telling her? Or were they playing on her fear? The fear that she would fail, that she would lose him and in turn lose her freedom? Something cold brushed her ankle. When she looked down, a coil of darkness was wrapped around her ankle, creeping up her leg like a vine. She stepped back hurriedly and the shadow released her before melting into the ground.
The step back brought more of her surroundings into view. There were dozens of hanging bodies weighing down the branches of the canopy. In Ottar, when someone was killed their body was hung from the sutvithr tree as an offering to the gods. That was what this felt like—the shadow-men were making her an offering. This is what will happen, they seemed to say, to everyone you care about, to everyone you love. You will break them. And it will break you.
“I don't care,” Sibba said aloud into the darkness. It was the lie she had told herself, the lie she had believed until she had found Estrid in the trial circle, until Tola had put her hands on her and brought her back from death. Until Evenon had betrayed her.
The shadow-men were not fooled. She passed her father, and then Ari, met their lifeless eyes and then looked away, ashamed. The next body took the shape of Estrid, her dark hair falling forward over bulging eyes, her neck raw and red at the noose. “I never loved you,” the Estrid specter said in a perfect imitation of her friend's voice. “It is foolish to kill for someone who would not do the same for you.”
The words twisted something inside of Sibba, brought the girl's name to her lips. “Estrid—”
“I never loved you.”
Shadows were washing over her feet, writhing against her legs. Sibba took another step. It was harder to move now, like wading through tar. But the draugnvithr wasn't done with her because next was Tola. Beautiful, maddening Tola dangling at the end of a rope was almost too much for her to bear. She knew it wasn't real, but it looked real and it felt real. Sorrow and anger tore at Sibba's chest, ripped a scream from her lips. They had not even had a chance.
“Do you believe in me?” Tola's voice asked. It rang through the woods, echoing in Sibba's head.
She was reaching for the body to yank it down when she heard a wail, not unlike her own. Stepping around Tola, she saw Evenon kneeling on the ground. Above him, a girl dangled from a rope. She had beautiful brown skin like Sibba had never seen, and long, shiny black curls down her back.
“You will never be worthy of a Crowheart,” she was saying to Evenon. “I will always choose the crown over you.” Sibba saw for the first time that she wore a silver circlet on her head. It was daintier than the one she had found in her mother's hoard, smaller and more delicate, much like the girl.
“No,” Evenon wailed. “Give me a chance. Let me show you.” Sibba watched the shadows creep up Evenon's back, barely distinguishable from the swirling tattoos. The girl's toes began to ooze darkness that reached down to grasp his shoulders.
“Evenon,” Sibba whispered. She should let him go, let the shadows consume him. She had chased him in here to kill him anyway. It was just a different means to an end.
“I never loved you,” the girl said suddenly, her voice an echo of Estrid’s.
“No,” Evenon said, his voice insistent. The shadows were nearly to his neck, his body barely visible beneath them.
She couldn’t do it, couldn’t condemn even him to this fate. Show your enemies mercy. “Evenon!” Sibba yelled, louder this time.
Sibba lunged forward, plunging through the shadows, ripping her feet and legs free. Every movement sent a stabbing pain into the right side of her body, but it was at least something. If she could feel the pain, it meant she was still alive. She thrust her left hand forward and grasped Evenon by the back of his shirt and hauled him away. He tumbled to the ground with a grunt. Some of the shadows let go, while others were more reluctant, stretching and reaching their tendrils, dragging them along his skin.
“Evenon, we can't stay here. We have to get out,” she said, trying to pull him to his feet with one hand.
“You cannot go.” This time, it was every voice, the voice of a million shadows, that beckoned them to stay.
“Let me die,” he said. “Let me die here with her.”
“No.” Sibba grabbed his chin and turned his face to look at her instead of at the beautiful illusion behind her. “She's not dead. She's waiting for you in Casuin, and you will get back to her. This is not the way to do it.”
“But—”
Sibba was tired of arguing. She turned away from the hanging trees, dragging him behind her. It was harder now. The trees and the shadows reached for them, catching their feet and their hair and their clothes. More than once they stumbled, only to pull each other back up and surge forward. Sibba didn't know where they were going, only that they had to keep moving or they would be sucked into obscurity.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sibba
It was Tola's voice that brought them out of the draugnvithr. It was not so much a sound as a feeling, an echo inside her head, a tug at her chest that steered her in what she hoped was the right direction. When she caught the first glimpse of moonlight through the thick canopy of leaves, she nearly wept with joy. Evenon was barely responsive now that they were out of the draugnvithr. He shuffled through the crisp leaves on the ground, but even he looked up when a beam of light crossed his face.
The world beyond the draugnvithr was turned white by snow. The landscape was so bright that Sibba had to drop Evenon's hand and cover her eyes. But it was a welcome change, as welcome as Estrid's shriek as her friend ran through the yard toward her. Evenon collapsed without Sibba's support. She thought it was less about the stomach wound and more about what he had seen in the shadows.
Estrid flung herself at Sibba, and though Sibba wrapped her up in a hug, her eyes sought Tola in the dark. She found the vala kneeling beside Evenon.
“What happened to him?” Tola was feeling for a pulse, her fingers pressed against his neck. His eyes were wide and unblinking, staring up at the night sky, turned strangely white by snow clouds.
Sibba considered lying. To tell the truth would be to admit she had been wrong. But when Tola looked up at her, she found it impossible.
“The shadow-men,” Sibba said. Estrid pulled away and studied her friend's face. “They are as horrible as you said.”
“Oh, gods, Sibba,” Estrid said, all color leaching out of her already pale skin.
Snowflakes were falling again, and Sibba realized they were all shivering. Together, Tola and Sibba lifted Evenon to his feet and walked him to the house. He made no objections and did not even seem to realize what was happening. He was somewhere else, kneeling beneath a hanging queen, perhaps.
They lay him on the bench and Tola immediately went to work cleansing the stomach wound.
“Why did you stop me?” Sibba asked Tola's back.
Tola didn't look up. “You don't stop and think. You don't ask advice. You charge headlong into situations without wondering if maybe there is more to be gained than murderous revenge.”