A soft crack behind me of a branch underfoot. I stopped and turned.
Nothing. Just trees and pale morning light filtering through in long, thin shafts, and the ordinary sounds of a forest waking up. Wind in the upper branches. A bird somewhere high above.
I had to be imagining things. Turning back, I continued on the path.
The second sound came several minutes later. Not a branch this time, but a rustling, low and deliberate, somewhere in the thicker undergrowth to my left where the light didn’t reach. I slowed without stopping, straining to hear over my own footsteps.
Silence.
I knew the sounds of the wilderness. I’d grown up studying them—the particular rustle of a startled deer, the skittering retreat of something small, the creak of old wood settling. This wasn’t any of those.
I kept my pace even, trying to keep my footsteps as silent as possible. My hand moved protectively over the strap of my satchel.Don’t react.
I passed the wards, closing my eyes as if to embrace their protection. But Hadrien had warned me it would take weeks to seal, so whatever I felt would be a placebo.
The break in the woods finally appeared ahead, the bright light a beacon in a tunnel that drew me to it. Although my feet itched to sprint toward it, I needed the veilbloom. After two deep, calming breaths, I moved with light steps over to the old wood where I’d seen it. There, mingled with the moss on old roots, the tiny, pale pink petals bloomed. I pulled clippers out of my satchel and harvested some, carefully stowing it in a smaller bag. Then I thanked the forest for its gifts and resumed the trek toward Valgarde.
More sounds behind me, further back. The movement low and rhythmic, like something trying to be silent, just as I had been.
My heart knocked against my ribs. Slowly, I turned.
At the far edge of the path, where the trees grew densest and the shadows pooled deepest, something shifted. Too tall for an animal. Too still. A dark figure, or the suggestion of one, standing in the distance, there and gone as the shadows folded and rearranged themselves.
It’s nothing,I consoled myself.A trick of the light. The trees playing games with the morning shadows. Nobody’s there watching you.
I turned back to the path and told myself to believe it.
With the way my heart pounded, I didn’t believe it. So I rushed down the familiar path.
The stone walls of Valgarde appeared through the tree line ahead, and something in me broke loose. I stopped walking and ran, my boots pounding the packed earth, and clutched the satchel to my side, protecting its contents as if they were both precious and terrifyingly fragile.
I broke out of the forest and fell forward, breathing hard, and gazed up at the rising sun. Hadrien loomed overhead, his gray stone magnificent against the light of day.
Raising my hand, I gave him a small wave and then pressed my eyes shut.Please don’t let me be too late.
CHAPTER 23
HADRIEN
She came back.
The sound of movement through La Forêt de Veillepierre below caught my attention before I saw Lilia step out from beneath a green canopy back on the grounds of Valgarde. She glanced up at me and waved. It felt like something cracked inside my stone chest. She kept her promise.
She smiled up at me. “I’ll be back, Hadrien. I want to tell Genevieve and Victor I’m here.”
She glanced over her shoulder, looking back toward the forest, and her body stiffened. When she faced forward again, her expression was edged with worry, but she planted a bright smile back in place and headed inside.
What was that about?
Once she stepped inside, the excited holler reached me. Lilia came back, bringing with her light and laughter and liveliness, just as she’d done before to the bleakness.
Minutes later, the three of them spilled out into the courtyard. Lilia pulled out the contents from her satchel, including a book and plants and a vial. As she laid them on the table, she detailed how she needed to make a concoction with them.
“Whatever you need, we’ll help gather,” Genevieve said.
Lilia asked for some utensils from the kitchen. Over the next hour, the three of them worked together, sometimes muttering too low for me to hear.
I had an hour until sundown. An hour of listening to her voice drift up, her laughter warming me. An hour during which time I counted down every second until I could break free and touch her once more.
