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I do.

I urge the horse forward and scan the sky. The break in the weather is temporary, and dark clouds are already rolling over the mountain. If it rains, the trails will turn to ice.

And that’ll kill him for sure.

24

Boone

“C’mon, boy,” I murmur, leaning forward to pat Bramble’s neck through my glove. “We did this before.”

I draw my hood higher around my face, trying to block the wind, but the cold has already worked its way through every layer I’m wearing, sinking deep into my skin. I’m shivering hard enough that my teeth occasionally knock together. Although I dressed as warmly as I could during my insane dash to escape, pulling on layer after layer without much thought beyond getting out before Rhys discovered what I was doing, I’m beginning to realize it wasn’t enough.

Bramble struggles through the snow, each step cautious as he searches for solid ground and tests it with his weight. It makes our descent painfully slower than the climb we made all those long weeks ago. The snow has deepened since then, burying familiar landmarks and smoothing the mountain into endless stretches of white. More than once, Bramble stops completely and chooses another route around a drift too deep for him to cross safely.

“Easy,” I whisper, rubbing his neck again. “Take your time.”

Except we don’t have time.

I just want to see my father. I want to make sure he’s all right, that he has enough food and enough firewood to survive. It might be warm down in the village, but winter will return. I need to know whatever illness weakened him before I left hasn’t gotten worse. I’ll come back afterward. Rhys won’t have to search for me or drag me back to the castle because I’ll return willingly once I know my father is safe.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

I glance over my shoulder, but the mountain behind us is little more than white forest and dark trees. There’s no sign of Rhys or another horse moving between them. I know him well enough now to understand that the empty trail means nothing. The moment he realizes Bramble and I are gone, he’ll know exactly where I’m going.

He’s probably already coming.

The thought makes me tighten my grip on the reins. I urge Bramble forward a little faster, immediately regretting it when one of his front legs plunges deep into the snow. He jerks backward and stumbles, pitching me forward hard enough that I have to grab a fistful of his mane to keep myself in the saddle.

“Whoa. Whoa, boy.”

Bramble catches himself and stands trembling under me while I stare at the hole his leg disappeared into.

“All right,” I whisper. “Slowly.”

Fear of Rhys means nothing if I break my horse’s leg trying to escape him.

We continue down the mountain at Bramble’s pace, winding between trees and avoiding the deepest drifts wherever I can recognize them. The farther we descend, the less certain I become that I remember this route at all. Everything looked different when we climbed the mountain. Weeks of storms have transformed it further, covering rocks, fallen trees, and every trace of whatever path once existed.

Something cold touches my cheek.

I wipe it away without thinking.

Another lands on Bramble’s mane.

Then another.

I look up.

“No.”

Tiny flakes drift between the trees, harmless enough at first, but within minutes, there are too many to count. The wind catches them and sends them sideways through the forest. The distant trees begin disappearing behind a thin white curtain.

“No, no, no.”

Bramble’s ears flick backward at the panic in my voice.

I look behind us again, but this time I can barely see the trail we just made because snow is already settling into the depressions left by Bramble’s hooves. Ahead of us, the mountain disappears between the trees, and when I try to find something familiar—a particular ridge, a break in the forest, anything that tells me which direction leads home—I find nothing.