Wren moves towards me as if pulled by the same force that makes me want to remain by her side. I slide my hand into hers,lacing our fingers together. She lets out a soft squeak of surprise, but she doesn’t pull away.
My heart leaps at the small touch. I squeeze her fingers, and she looks up at me with a smile as bright as the suns.
It’s then that I realize the truth: I’ve fallen for Wren. I’m not in the process of doing it—at some point, it already happened.
She snuck into my life, glowing Mark and all, and stole my heart. It’s hard to believe I used to think I’d always be alone, because right now, I can’t imagine life without her.
The day Wren found me in River Bend Forest changed everything. It doesn’t even bother me that my little bird is a beacon for bad luck. Yes, my life has been made infinitely more difficult since we first met, but she’s also brought light into my life that never existed before. It’s as though my eyes had been shrouded by mist, but this smart, beautiful woman ripped it away.
We step out onto the wooden porch, and warmth hits my cheeks. My footsteps slow as I scan our surroundings.
We’re in the middle of a thick forest, and tall trees loom over us on all sides. Some are so large it would take five grown men to circle them. A thin layer of snow dusts the ground. The air smells fresh and crisp, carrying hints of impending warmth. New life, waiting to arrive.
Spring is coming.
I tilt my head up, and the air shimmers high above my head. The blue-green tinge seems unnatural, and it stretches in all directions.
“That’s the net,” Wren whispers, bumping her shoulder against mine.
I’m not sure what I pictured, but this wasn’t it. Creating something like this must’ve been a massive magical undertaking.
Then we’re moving. We pass a few people talking in small groups. A pair of young women carrying buckets of water ambles past us. A gaggle of screaming children is playing a game of tag. This place is teeming with life.
I’m not sure what I’m more surprised by—the fact that the net seems to allow the rebels to live freely or that none of them are staring at me with hostility.
Both are unexpected.
By the time we reach the middle of the camp and climb the steps of a long rectangular building with a wraparound porch, my limbs are weary. The walk didn’t take long, but it feels like I ran for miles.
Alaric nods to the women guarding the entrance, then knocks on the door. A muffled call comes from within. “Wait here,” he instructs before opening the door and striding inside.
I glimpse a fire burning in a hearth along with several people conversing in groups of twos and threes before the door shuts.
The guards at the front entrance stare straight ahead while the others who walked over with us stand back. It isn’t true privacy, but I appreciate it nonetheless.
I tug Wren away from the others, drawing her in for a hug. She fits perfectly into my arms in a way that shouldn’t make sense but somehow does.
Neither of us speaks, and yet, the moment feels full. Perfect in a quiet, comforting way. As if we both needed this. Her hands cling to the back of my tunic, and I rest my chin on her head, soaking in her presence. It grounds me.
Eventually, Alaric returns. He stands in the doorway, his stance relaxed and nonthreatening even as his right hand rests on the pommel of his sword.
“She’s ready for you. This way.”
He strides back into the main hall, but before I follow, I glance at Wren. “Ready?”
She draws in a deep breath and pushes back her shoulders before nodding. I slide my hand into hers, leading her into the building.
The wooden structure reminds me of the cabin where I woke up, although it’s much larger. It’s homey and comforting in a way that my father’s palace never was. Long rectangular windows decorate the walls on either end, letting in light and providing glimpses to the forest beyond. A large fire burns in a red-bricked hearth. Lengthy wooden tables and benches fill the space, each capable of holding several dozen people.
My eyes go to the front of the room where the seer is sitting in a wooden chair, flipping through the pages of an ancient leather-bound tome with wrinkled hands. Her robe is similar in shape to the ones Esyn’s priestesses wear, although hers is a pale purple. Maia would probably know the specific shade if she were here. She was always interested in those types of things.
The robe is long, the bottom trailing on the ground even though the seer is sitting, and the sleeves fall past her fingers. Grassy threads are embroidered around the hem, and the seer’s white hair, accented with green highlights, hangs in an intricate braid down her back. Her violet Mark glows steadily, a splendid light that immediately catches my attention. Its brightness is almost mocking, as if laughing at the fact that I, and countless others, fell for all the lies being told about the Given.
Thank the gods, my little bird found out the truth and ran from her Giving Ceremony. If she’d attended and they’d killed her...
My blood chills, and for a moment, it’s like I’m back in that place of darkness. A life without Wren would be cold and dark and one I never want to experience.
I banish those thoughts quickly since Wren’s fated death never came to pass. She was brave enough to escape before she was Given. Kindhearted enough to save a stranger in the woods.Stubborn enough to keep running despite all the obstacles she came against. Strong enough to continue fighting even after her friend was murdered and we had to leave her sisters behind.
