Page 64 of Ravenrose

Ayer did not return my boots, so every step I take is agony; the forest road is unforgiving against my bare and torn-up feet.

I bite back the pain, distracting myself by taking extra care today to step around the bigger rocks and roots, and despite my injuries, I fall less today.

The company seems to be moving at a slightly slower pace than it did yesterday, due to several of the men being wounded. I also take notice of how they keep a more watchful eye on the thick forest surrounding us.

For better or for worse, the day passes by rather uneventfully. I’m careful to keep my head down, but I keep my eyes and ears open, hoping to catch even just a snippet of where we might be headed—and why. The men mostly ride in silence, continuing southeast along an infrequently traveled road, judging by the amount of overgrowth.

Two days and we haven’t once passed another soul—human, fae, or otherwise.

Again we travel past sunset, and when the call finally comes to halt, I’m barely holding myself together—but I made it. And I’m not too proud this time to immediately collapse into the dirt; my legs had threatened to give way on their own if I had remained standing a minute longer.

Ayer takes care of his horse and once more asks me the same three questions:

What’s your name?

Where are your brothers?

What happened to your court?

I don’t answer, my lips pressed tight, and I don’t look him in the eye. Choosing to stare indifferently out into the woods instead—the pain making me numb.

And once again, he doesn’t make me.

When it’s clear he’ll get no answer, he stalks off, but not before dropping a small bundle of food and a full satchel of water on the ground where I can reach it.

Not for the first time, I wonder why he doesn’t just torture the information out of me. While he’s to blame for nearly all of my injuries—by neglect or some other means—in truth, he himself has barely laid a finger on me.

He needs me alive. Even though he wants me dead.

And he’s at war with himself about it. That much I know.

And with the road as hard and as long as it is, he probably can’t afford to beat the information out of me yet. Any more wounds and I won’t be able to travel. The thought triggers a new wave of anxiety about what they might do to me once they reach their destination.

As much as I want to snub his offerings, I eat all the bread and cheese; there are even a few bites of dried meat today. My hands shake as I down the water, and my head feels light.

Too little food. Too little rest.

Lucky for me, the long day’s travel has left me completely and utterly spent. I curl up at Dash’s feet, still bound to the saddle when I fall asleep, dreaming of nothing. No pain, no hunger.

Nothing at all.

Morning, once again, comes too soon, and I wake up feeling wrong. There’s an overwhelming feeling of emptiness—or detachment. I can see my body moving, but yet… I feel nothing. Like I’m disconnected from myself.

Hollow.

Sleep clings to me, heavy and hard to shake off. All I want to do is curl back up and sleep—maybe forever—but before long, I’m forced up, and we’re off again.

Time blurs.

I’ve lost track of how many days it’s been since Rosecliff fell. And worse—I don’t care enough to try to work it out.

I fall a lot.

The terrain today feels rougher and more difficult than the days prior, and the lack of food, rest, and boots is catching up to me, leaving me ill-equipped.

I almost make it to sunset before my foot catches on a stray root and I go down hard on my knee. And this time, I don’t get up. My jaw locks, waiting for the rope to pull taut, for Ayer’s horse to drag me forward until I’m forced to move, but it doesn’t happen.

Instead, the sound of boots hitting the ground comes from up ahead; those boots stalk back toward me before coming to a halt as he crouches down beside me.