Page 167 of Blade of the Nightking

He watched me for a moment before leaning against the side of the boat and crossing one ankle over the other. “I'll make you a deal.”

I paused, immediately suspicious.

“If you find out what it does, you can have it back.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How am I supposed to figure out what it does without using it?”

He shrugged and turned his attention elsewhere. I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles cracked.

“In any case,” he continued, pulling his heavy leather boots from the boat. He sat on the gunwale and tugged on his socks before shoving his feet into them one at a time. “You're an Eidra. Use your magic. It'll defend you far better than any knife, bone or otherwise.”

I scowled. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Pulling the knife he'd given me from its sheath, I inspected the blade. It looked plain enough, but when I dragged my thumb lightly along the edge—barely touching it—a sharp sting bit into my skin. I hissed and jerked my hand back, blood already welling from a cut no wider than a hair.

Sharp. Very sharp.

I stuck my thumb into my mouth and glared at the offending blade.

“Why are you so armed?” I asked around it. “We're finding the Gates, not going to war.”

He didn't answer the question. Instead, he finished lacing his second boot and rose to his feet, his face a mask of renewed intensity.

“There are rules when entering the Wildlands.”

I looked back toward the forest. I'd almost forgotten it was there. The wall of moss-draped trees loomed over the beach, silent and watchful, and I couldn't shake the feeling that it was looking back.

“Rule number one,” Rìan said. “We get in, we get out. We have roughly eight hours before sunset. That is more than enough time to find the well, complete whatever task awaits us, and leave before nightfall.”

“What happens at nightfall?”

His gaze settled just beyond the treeline. “Nothing good.”

My skin tingled unpleasantly.

“Rule number two: you listen to everything I say. If I tell you to run, you run. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I said tightly. I hated the idea of taking orders from the Dark Prince, but I knew better than to argue.

Shielding my eyes from the sunlight, I frowned at the endless wall of green. “Who rules the Wildlands?”

There hadn't been a representative of the Wildlands when the Full Circle convened in Solmire, and I'd never heard mention of a Wild Court before. As far as I knew, there were only seven Courts in Elantis—one for each of the Seven Gods.

“No one.” Rìan's voice, so close to my ear, made me jump. He'd appeared at my side, silent as a shadow, his eyes sweeping the underbrush.

“The Wildlands are exactly what their name suggests. Wild.” His keen Fae eyesight tracked something moving deep among the trees. “The magic here is ancient. The Veins that run beneath this land are untouched. The creatures that dwell here answer to no High Lord, no Court, and no laws but their own.”

His fingers brushed the many knives at his belt. When I glanced down, I realized several of them had iron blades. “Many aren't confined to a single plane of existence. They wander freely between worlds.” His gaze slid to mine, as though he knew exactly what I was thinking. “The Moiraithe belonged to the Wildlands.” My heart seized at the memory. The three-eyed crow. Sallow faces and tendrils of inky hair floating on a phantom wind.

“The things that dwell here are strange. Unpredictable. Do not trust what you see. Do not trust what you hear.” He paused. “And don’t touch anything.”

I nodded mutely, a cold knot forming in my gut.

“Rule number three,” Rìan said as he drew a wicked-looking curved blade from his belt and hacked through the first curtain of moss blocking our path. “No magic.”

Not that mine had been much use lately, but the warning still made something inside me clench. “No magic?”

I hurried after him as he pushed into the forest, the blade slashing through vines and low-hanging branches. The muscles in his back shifted beneath his shirt with every swing.