The tension ebbs as we dig through our overstuffed bags for paintbrushes. Nick and I repaint the protective wards over the old ones, layering fresh lines of blood in steady strokes until the symbols thrum faintly beneath the wood. The crate is then secured into its hiding place, and I press my palm to the pantry door for a moment, feeling the magic seal click into place.
Afterwards, we gather our bags and set off for our adventure. Nick fastens E’s lantern to his backpack now that he doesn't have to carry the crate, which frees my hands.
The forest swallows the small cabin the moment we turn the bend in the creek, as though it never existed at all. Our greatestleverage is now hidden where only Bloodraven witches can reach it, far from the Mist King’s grasp.
A smile tugs at my lips.
Max: One. Nick: Zero.
“You did that on purpose,” I whisper to E.
“What?” he whispers back.
“You suggested taking the spindle so Nick would change his mind and agree with me.”
He pauses for a breath. “I might have discerned that he would dislike the idea of me touching it more than the idea of leaving it behind.”
A soft chuckle escapes him, and a big grin threatens to show on my face.
I nudge him with my hip. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The path ahead dips toward a larger river, the breeze carrying a metallic aftertaste. Sunlight pours through the canopy in molten ribbons, igniting the leaves overhead in tones of amber and garnet and bruised gold. The trees are impossibly tall, their trunks the deep, dark color of old wine. The bark of the tallest, oldest-looking tree peels in thin curls, revealing patches of sap that have long since coagulated beneath—scars from old fights, remnants of a violent past that never quite healed.
If we were to encounter a Red patrol here, we’d either be killed on the spot or dragged in chains to the capital.
“What were you talking about yesterday? When you said something only happened once, and that Nick should stop holding it over you?” E asks.
His breath stirs the fine hairs behind the shell of my ear. He’s so close, so…solid.
I avert my gaze, even though I can’t see him. “Oh… That’s a long story.”
“We have a long walk ahead.”
He says it lightly, but the nearness of him feels anything but casual. I’m still not used to the way his shoulder brushes mine, to the subtle shift of his weight over uneven ground.
The upper branches of the canopy curl in the wind, and my cheeks flush. “I can’t speak of it. Not now.”
He grazes my shoulder. “Here, since I have a body now, let me at least carry your bag.”
I grip the straps of my backpack and sidestep away from him. “I’m okay.”
“As you wish,” he says, and the sting of rejection echoes in every syllable.
To be honest, I’m not sure why I refused. Maybe out of pride, because I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own backpack. Maybe out of fear that it would tire him and make him vanish again. Who knows? My heart is all knots, too complicated to untangle.
I don’t want to admit that I once fell for a Red’s tricks, too. That the only true friendship I made growing up—the only person aside from my family who ever saw the real me—turned out to be one ofthem. Just like Lillivere. That the betrayal still burns, even though I never speak of it. Never let myself think of it.
I don’t want him to know I almost single-handedly brought doom upon my entire coven because I was tired of feeling lonely.
The forest leans inward as we walk, branches knitting overhead.
“So,” I murmur, keeping my voice low because everything feels amplified here. “Does being in Faerie bring back any memories?”
“Not memories, no, but there’s something about this place,” he croaks.
“Do you think you’ve ever come here before?”
