The last few days had been a tangled mess, leaving me unsettled in ways I hadn’t fully processed. A royal massacre was disturbing enough, but the changes happening to me because of the bond with Rykr? That scared me even more. The blood oath I’d taken hadn’t seemed dangerous at the time, but it was dark magic all the same. Unpredictable and unwieldy.
My parents’ tent loomed up ahead, and mine was just yards away from it. I paused, bracing myself for another inevitable confrontation with Rykr. The messiness of our arrangement bothered me—and yet we had to rely on each other to stay alive, as my mother had said. Would anyone try to hurt one of us to get to the other, like he’d suggested? It didn’t seem beyond the realm of possibility.
“Rykr? I’m back,” I said, pushing my way into the tent.
Empty.
The dagger he’d tossed earlier was gone.
As the ground seemed to tilt beneath me, my heart slammed into my ribs.
Godsdammit, I never should have left him alone.
Turning on my heel, I fled back into the cold night, fear closing in. If he’d tried to escape, he’d be caught and killed immediately. No trial, no sentence. Just instant execution.
Panic rose as I knelt, searching for any tracks or sign of his movement. A faint line of disturbed leaves trailed through the forest—the drag of irons marking his path.
Solric, help me. He’d had hours alone. Who knew how far he’d gotten?
I reached into my satchel, dusted my fingers with spell powder, then whispered a light spell. A small, golden globe flared above my palm, casting a glow on the ground. Rykr’s trail was clearer now, but the light risked drawing attention.
A rustle through the leaves sent my pulse to a sprint. Someone else was out here.
Turning my head toward the sound, I listened.
Nothing.
But my heart sped regardless. Something moved deeper into the woods—as though fleeing at the sight of me.
Rykr?
Lengthening my stride, I followed.
Maybe I should have let Ciaran walk with me.
The rancid stench of death hit me.
My senses quickened, more alert. A wisp of a breeze tickled my cheek and the hairs on my forearms, and the forest was alive with the sounds of frogs and the birds of prey that stalked the treetops.
Something was dead near here.
I followed the scent. Hopefully just an animal. Scouts usually removed any dead carcasses from our territory, to keep the stench at bay. Considering that this one was on the route between the encampment and the market field, it should have been dealt with by now.
Water gurgled from a nearby brook, splashing over stones. Beyond it stood a stump of a tree.
The smell is coming from the tree.
The thought was mad, but my gaze fixed on a dark lump in the center of the stump.
Cold water filled my boot as I stepped into the brook and crossed, drawn by the putrid stench.
In the pale, silvery moonlight, the dark shape on the stump took form.
A human heart.
A scream ripped from me and I staggered back, clutching the hilt of my sword.
A rustle came from behind a tree.
