Sita, however, does not hesitate. She knows. She sees Dahlia’s reluctance, the way she lingers, searching the darkness. But Sita does not let her stay. She does not waste time scanning the tree line and knows better than to dismiss the sound.
She pulls Dahlia away with quiet urgency, murmuring words I cannot hear. Perhaps a warning or a plea. Wisely, Dahlia listens and follows her to safety. The door closes behind them, sealing them in away from the night. Away from me.
I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders against the tight coil of my muscles. My claws flex at my sides, resisting the urge to tear something apart in place of the man.
I should leave. And yet, I do not. Not yet. I linger, moving higher into the trees, watching over the place where she sleeps.
The fire burns low, fading away with the voices inside the buildings. The stars whirl overhead in their eternal dance while I count the beats of my heart until the world stills under thehush of night. Only then do I turn away, retreating into the shadows.
She is here, back within reach. But still too far.
Tonight, I let her rest. Tomorrow, I will follow her on her quest. The first steps to forever.
I feel my feet tread over the frozen earth, feel the mountain breathe beneath me, letting it bear witness. A vow spoken in the heart is a vow carved in stone. But what I’m about to do? This is no mere vow. This is the weight of fate itself.
I drag a claw across my palm, a slow, deliberate cut, dark blood welling against the pale frost of my skin. The cold bites deep, and though the sting is sharp, I do not flinch. I let the blood fall, let the land drink it, an offering to something far older than even me and my kind.
I have made a vow like this before. And still, the world took what was mine.
The earth does not bargain. The wind does not return what has been stolen. No matter how tightly I held on, no matter how fiercely I swore to protect—I was not enough. But I willnotfail again.
I breathe the words into the night, letting them settle into the bones of the mountain, into the roots of the trees, into the frost that is sneaking over my skin in the darkest hour before the dawn. The words do not belong to the language of men. They are older. They are mine.
“Let the land bear witness. Let the cold remember. She is not mine until she chooses. But I am hers. And I will not let her walk this path alone.”
Chapter Twelve
Dahlia
The cold wind turns brutal as we make our way up the winding trail to the ashram, cutting through my thick layers like a blade. Even with my coat zipped to my chin and my scarf wrapped tight, the chill seeps in, numbing my fingers inside my gloves. My breath fogs in the thin air, each exhale stolen away by the wind before it can crystallize in the air.
Despite the endurance I have built hiking in these mountains, the altitude still burns my lungs. My thighs ache with exertion as I push to keep pace with Sita, who moves ahead of me with effortless grace, sure-footed as ever. She barely seems winded, but even she keeps glancing toward the thickening clouds above us.
A storm is coming. And we’re running out of time.
When we finally arrive, I barely register the relief of being indoors before disappointment more bitter than the weather crushes it.
The ashram is quiet, its stone walls heavy with the weight of old knowledge and prayers. Smoke curls lazily from the woodstove as the warm incense perfumed air wraps around me, but none of it thaws the icy knot in my chest.
After much cajoling from Sita—and my own desperate pleas—one of the yogis finally speaks.
“Yes, we have heard of the plant you seek,” he admits at last, his voice carrying the weight of something more than secrecy.
My pulse leaps.
“But it grows in a place that cannot be disturbed.”
The words fall like a stone into my stomach. I glance at Sita, but she only lowers her eyes. There will be no arguing this point. No convincing them. I’m surprised they have admitted this much.
No matter, I already know where it is. Fate is pulling me across the river to the forbidden woods like a compass points north.
I press my lips together to keep from shouting my frustration. I knew it. Every instinct in my body tells me the plant is there. And despite the warnings, despite the stories of the Migoi and the dangers that lurk in those untouched forests—I must go.
There’s no other choice.
I inhale slowly, forcing calm into my voice. “Let’s head back so I can update my notes.”
Sita hesitates, glancing toward the window, where the clouds have thickened to an ominous grey, swallowing the last hints of daylight.
