Thran appeared beside her, a strange look on his face. She raised her brows expectantly, assuming his expression meant he at least was experiencing the sensation.
But he said, “I think we’re being followed,” in a soft voice.
Oskaren glanced back. “You didn’t expect the Losrohir to let us pass without supervision, did you?” she asked. There was only a hint of mockery in her tone. She glanced at Dess. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
Dess rolled his eyes, and Thia slid her arm through his, shooting daggers at Oskaren with her own. The girl ignored her, turning around.
They walked on. Thia’s unease grew with every step. Mavrel stayed on her shoulder, unusually still, which did nothing to curb her apprehension. And now that she was cognizant of their watchers, she felt like the trees themselves could see. She was aware of her every breath, every rustle and crunch of her shoes on soil, every curl of hair that she smoothed back into her braid when it fell loose.
As minutes passed, the earth’s thrumming worsened also. After an hour, it was irritating enough that she shifted her stride, trying to land more on her toes, then on her heels when that did nothing to help. She tried leaning on Dess, but at the curious glance he tossed her way, she abandoned the effort.
Somewhere around the three-hour mark, the irritation turned to actual pain. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but could do nothing to stop the wince as needles rattled her shins.
“What’s wrong?” Dess asked.
She didn’t know how to explain it, and it was clear none of the others were suffering the discomfort. And, if she were honest, with all of Oskaren’s warnings, she was slightly afraid the Vale was rejecting her. So she just said, “Nothing.”
He raised a skeptical brow.
Movement caught her eye between the trees. She froze, squinting into the black beyond the path.
It was probably an animal. Or one of the Losrohir sent to watch them was a little too excited.
There.Again. A flash, a pop of color out of place in the dark.
“I think—” Thia began, just as Oskaren froze and Dess screamed, “Watch out!”
Something—more than one something—emerged from the trees too fast to follow, pouring onto the path in front of them to block their way forward.
And beside them.
And behind them.
They were not animals, as she had hoped. They were human. Beautiful. And terrifying.
Or at least, they appeared human at first glance. Once Thia had overcome her shock, she noticed their irises, all a strange, silvery green. And their skin: like tree bark, ranging in tones from the dark brown of cherry to the white of birch, all etched with glimmering lattices of silver, like the veins of a leaf. They wore flowing white gowns, elegant capes of golden lace falling from shoulder to forest floor.
The tallest of them—which was saying a lot, as they were all obscenely tall—stepped forward. Her hair was the deep brown of fresh soil, her skin like oak, her dress matched by a crown of silvery white flowers on her head.
“Oskaren Alinac of the Nutherlunds,” she said, her voice like moonlight on water, sweet and treacherous. “When you informed us of your traveling companions, why did you not tell us the Storm Crow was with you?”
THIRTY-FOUR
OSKAREN BLINKED,THE ONLY SIGN OF HER SURPRISE BEFORE SHEschooled her face into a mask of calm. “Greetings, Lëy,” she said, bowing deeply. Then she straightened, frowning at Dess. “There’s no need for that.” She motioned for the younger boy to lower the sword he had drawn.
The Losrohir were unarmed, but Thia had no doubt who would win if it came to a fight. Numbers aside, the power alone that radiated from them, like the very air was charged, frightened her without any knowledge of what they could actually do.
Dess still gripped his sword, hands trembling the barest fraction. Thia laid a gentle hand on his arm and guided it back to his side.
“My deepest apologies,” Oskaren said, bowing her head. “Thia Witch-Slayer claims no such title.”
The woman turned her strange gaze on Thia. “What you claim or fear cannot change the truth,” she said. “Do you not feel the ache of it in your bones?” She beckoned Thia with the sweep of a slender hand. “Come here.”
Thia didn’t budge. She wanted to, but her legs wouldn’t move.
The woman’s lip twitched as though she was annoyed, or maybe amused, but it was gone so quickly Thia thought she might have imagined it. “Your companion is correct,” she said solemnly. “We have not come to harm you. We have been waiting for you for some time.”
“Waiting forme?” Thia squeaked.
