What if someone stumbled across the slaughter? What if they traced the tracks I’d left in the snow? What if Almira came again and found her garden veined with cursed—
A dark slumber swallowed me before I had finished the thought.
SIX
A magic unseen, but a magic still.
Nightmares plagued me that night.
I woke often with a gasp on sweat-cold cushions, wondering whether the howling belonged to hounds or wind, whether the shadows on the wall were those of half-dead corpses or of prowling beasts, and whether the tightness around my throat stemmed from fear or from the black-clawed hands of a faerie.
Hello, little bird.
Whenever I woke, I was rigid as something dead. I counted minutes before the low flame in the hearth thawed me. Then, silence settled over my feverish mind, and I turned my weary gaze to the window.
To where the shadow of a fox still lingered as if to guard me.
I no longer feared it.
It was neither night nor day—the world wore a shroud of morning-blue and the wind had swept snow far and wide to cover my tracks and bury the cursed garden—when a soft knock roused me from my delirium. Terror still clung to me like rottenflesh. I was eager to bask for a while in Lorell’s companionable silence. But it was not he who came through the door.
Adrik staggered with a burst of cold inside, golden curls tangled, sun-kissed face pallid. The low firelight drew sharp shadows into the vales beneath his cheeks and jaw. He looked so devastated, I almost longed for a return of his arrogance and cheer.
“I could not sleep,” he said hoarsely and ran a hand over his drawn face.
I shivered in the icy wind that slithered past him into the chamber, reducing the fire to sickly embers. I could not stand to meet his gaze, soft and open. It made me only aware of my own callousness. As if I were something carved of stone.
“Neither could I.”
“I came to apologize.” He sounded sincere, so I considered him with a gracious nod, hoping he would take it as his cue to leave. He entered. “I was unkind and unwelcoming. Please, allow me to start over.” He produced a golden platter and an elegant teapot. “Welcome to Wildemire. I am Adrik, and I was a right idiot last night. I promise to be onlyhalfof one this morning.”
I cursed him quietly. His voice was warm with a gentle charm, and I was so delirious with fatigue that his feeble attempt at humor softened me.
“Evana.”
“Hello, Evana,” he said with a light bow. A distressed heat rushed to my cheeks. I was not practiced in dealing with people—much less those with fine manners. “I brought tea, cake, and an offer of reconciliation—” said Adrik, “—andthis.”
I sobbed with surprise when he handed me my tattered satchel. Inside was my notebook, wrapped in soft leather and tied with braided string. I traced its gold-stamped edges and the tiny flowers I’d painted into the cutout at its front. Thewinterberries, the autumn-red leaves, the snow hare, the little robin. All of it unharmed.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
“It was no trouble.” He said nothing else while he poured a glass of tea, allowing me to catch my breath from relief. Curls of steam filled the air with the scent of spiced apples. “Ah, to experience for the first time the wonders of Zora’s tea,” said Adrik with a wistful smile. “You are fortunate.”
I did not inform him that I’d felt decidedlyunfortunate ever since I’d first opened my eyes in this bed—such things seemed better left unsaid in light of our new, fragile peace.
“A fine black tea,” said Adrik when he offered me the glass, “infused with cinnamon, cloves and a touch of sun-dried apple, I believe. Zora gets excited about all things related to tea, and I must admit that I often cannot quite follow. She is the baker’s daughter, our firekeeper, and she runs the teahouse.”
I cradled the glass as if he’d handed me a treasure. Even in my better winters I’d never had enough coin to spend on luxuries such as tea. On winter eves—once the bustle ebbed and the sailors rushed to the taverns—I'd often stroll through the snow-dusted streets of Kresting and pause to peer through the tall windows of the teashop, wondering what a tea of roses or jasmine might taste like.
The tea melted the cage of terror from my bones. By the time Adrik handed me a slice of cake on a gold-rimmed plate, I’d sunken deeply into the pillows. It was a layered honeycake coated with crumbled biscuits, like the one my mother had once baked for my nameday. It must have been a good summer in the Ravenwoods, for the cake had dripped with honey and worn a silky coat of sweet cream.
“Sai is our baker,” said Adrik. “He makes the best bread in the land, but his true passion is to ensure we must never suffer a shortage of cake.”
I studied him cautiously; the sparkle in his gaze, the delicate lines at the corners of his mouth. Though he looked barely older than I, his good humor had carved itself into his face. Rather than age him, the fine lines only added to his loveliness. He glowed with delight and pride—such exuberance only made me wary.
“You make it sound like I’ve stepped into a land of wonders.” Of wonders and of half-dead corpses.
“Perhaps.”
