“This was lodged in the thatching of our hut. Look at the fletching, Rooke. This is a witch arrow, crafted by one of our own. The Ravenswyrd have never been in conflict before. The only folk who have ever wished us ill are the high fae, simply for being witches, but whoever came for our family and burned our coven to the ground—it was witches.”
Terror as cold as ice runs through my veins.
Why would witches come after our coven? Everyone knows the Ravenswyrd are neutral.Everyone.
To think it was one of our own, someone who knew the Ravenswyrd way and how defenseless we truly were…the level of cruelty that would require is inconceivable to me. I’d imagined some monster, some band of rogue travelers but the image of the arrow runs through my mind. We won’t be able to send out for help. We can’t trust anyone to help us rebuild, because it could have been any of the hundreds of covens, and we don’t know where to even start guessing.
Donn could’ve been a part of the attack.
Did he go there looking for me?
I feel the color leave my cheeks as my skin turns to ice. Pemba nods and tucks the arrow back into his pocket before slinging an arm over my shoulder and tucking me into his side, his body like a protective blanket.
“Once we find out your fate, we'll figure out who the witches are and what their motives were. Whoever it is, we'll deal with it. Together.” His voice is as hard as steel, and for the first time, it occurs to me that while violence is not the Ravenswyrd way… it might be my brother’s.
CHAPTER FOUR
The path we have to take up the mountain isn't just abitlonger, it curls around the base of the mountain and spirals up the side of it so that we’re forced to cover twice as much distance as we would have if the fae hadn't shown up.
It means the trip will take us a day and a half, with a stop overnight once it’s too dark to safely travel. By the time the goblin, Url, pulls the horse to a halt, the sky is already dark around us. I had been steadily nodding off despite the aches and pains riddling my body, thanks to being forced to sit rigidly for so long. Pemba curses under his breath as he tries to remove his arm from my shoulders, his bones cracking thanks to him having held me up for so long.
While we traveled, we’d shared one loaf of bread that the innkeeper had given us, but there’s another left in there. After Url makes camp, we share it with him, as well as our remaining handful of berries. I can see that Pemba isn't too happy about doing so, especially when the goblin eats twice as much as we do put together, but he’s given us this ride for free, so it’s the least we can do.
As soon as he’s had his fill, Url sets up a tent and climbs into it with nothing more than a nod in Pemba’s direction. We don't have a tent or any sort of covering, so I leave my boots on to keep my feet warm and pull my jacket off to ball it up and rest my head on it.
The area where we've stopped has a small, lush groundcover of grass and mosses, and though I cringe at what the state of my clothing will be once I wake, I’m comfortable enough sleeping here.
Pemba lies down beside me, but I have no doubt that he’s planning on staying awake for as long as he can, not trusting the goblin or the potential for other travelers to find us here. The same guilt that’s been with me since we left our village creeps into my bones once more, but there’s no use trying to argue with him.
I'm his younger sister, and if he refuses to sleep to guard me, there’s nothing I can do to stop him.
***
When I wake, the first thing I notice is there's no voice in my head.
It's the first time since my family was murdered that Donn hasn't woken up with me and checked that I’m okay. Nervous butterflies flash through my stomach, the thought that he could have been involved in the attack still making me feel sick. My heart aches at his absence though, not at all convinced that he means me any harm. It’s stupid and childish; I need to be smarter than that.
I come from a long line of matriarchs, a society that was built on following three women at all times. I can't be the Mother of the Ravenswyrd Coven if I’m going to be losing my head over aman.
I don't think my mother ever worried about the opinions of a man, not even my father, though I'm sure it helps that he hung on her every word as though they were falling from the lips of the Goddess herself.
I’m awake earlier than Url, but Pemba is already pacing around the clearing, searching through the long grasses fastidiously, and without having to ask a single question, I know that he’s searching for herbs and flowers that might be helpful to us both. There are at least a dozen different tinctures I could brew for us with the right ingredients that would help to ease the aches and pains and bolster energy for the rest of the journey.
The problem is that most of them require herbs that are rare or, at the very least, seasonal. Back home, we’d take camping trips to collect them, carefully preserving our bounty and storing them away in my mother's apothecary.
At best, Pemba might find enough chamomile flowers that we can enjoy a cup of tea before we get back on the road, and maybe he’s stumbled upon some frogsmist moss that’ll keep us from catching a cold once we reach the snowy peak, but we're not going to find much more of use here.
Pemba notices my eyes are open and comes over to join me, motioning with his hands in a reassuring manner that I already know is his way of asking if I slept okay and if my body is still feeling sore from the hard ground. I give him a small smile and a shrug back, trying to appear calm and at peace, but it’s a lie.
When I sit up from my makeshift bed on the grass, my back pops in three different places, loudly enough that Pemba winces in my direction, shooting me an apologetic look. I’m not too bothered by it, and I shake out my coat before pulling it back on to fight the frigid morning air.
It's much colder up here than it was in the forest, even without the damp river running alongside us, and I desperately wish that we could have lit a fire so that my hands weren't aching and numb. Url was quick to point out to us that the fae soldiers would spot the smoke and potentially come looking for whoever had lit it in case we had information about the lost princess they’re hunting.
I wonder if she made it through the night.
I also wonder if the fae know anything about camping. I can't imagine them living anywhere other than their huge, beautiful castles, often built on the sides of cliffs or hanging over lakes as though they were nothing more than a cloud.
I’ve never been to one, of course, but my father once traveled past one while delivering supplies. When he came back, he spoke about the castle for weeks in hushed and awed tones. Something as commonplace to the high fae as the castles the reigning royals lived in was an act of magic to him. We are simple creatures, not used to the finery of the high fae, and when he’d described the shining white marble walls and lush gardens, I’d felt as though maybe he was exaggerating, because it sounded so different from the humble little huts we lived in.
