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Thicket pried the remains of her heart from where it had been buried beneath a mound of doubt. “I acce—”

A sword cut through the air.

Thicket took a few startled steps back as the blade plunged through the spider’s middle. It plummeted to the ground, landing in a twitching heap.

“Princess!” Marcellus was panting. “Are you alright?”

Bayo was at his heels, yipping incessantly. She jumped up and Thicket staggered back, doing her best to keep her footing under Bayo’s massive weight. “I—I’m fine.”

He sighed in relief, running a hand through his tightly woven curls. It might have just been her lingering adrenaline, but she swore there was a slight tremble to his fingers.

“Marcellus? What are you—”

“What the actual hell were you thinking?” he demanded, cutting a fierce glare her way. “Do you comprehend all the ways you could have died?”

“I’m fine,” she protested, agitation creeping in to replace her confusion. “In fact, I was about to be more than fine.” She pointed to the spider. “It said I can change fate, which means I could have guaranteed our freedom. Until you killed it.”

“Princess…” Marcellus’ voice lacked its earlier anger, yet his frustration lingered. “Messing with fate is never a good idea. Especially not with the help of this spider.”

“What’s so bad about it? Just because it’s a spider doesn’t mean—”

“It’s a Fate Eater.” The name alone made all her false confidence shrink away. “While most spiders can do as this one claimed, Fate Eaters weave fates of damnation, suffering, and death. They eat other spiders and then crawl into their skins, posing as ordinary spiders to trick humans into trading their treasures for horrible fates.”

Thicket’s stomach felt like it had been flipped inside out. She glanced over at the spider’s body. It was nearly invisible amongst the dirt and dried leaves. “H-how did you know?”

“By their unique coloring.” Marcellus nudged the spider with the tip of his sword, flipping it over onto a patch of sun. “From the right angle, you can make it out through the skin of the spider they stole.”

The golden light trickling from the treetops caught on the spider, revealing a flicker of red and gold glimmering through the thin coat of brown.

All the strength left her legs and Thicket crumbled onto the forest floor, staring at the spider—and the mistake she had been about to make.

Something trickled down her face. Was it water from her still wet hair? She couldn’t tell. Her entire body was numb.

Marcellus studied her for a moment, taking in her ragged appearance and sopping clothes. “You went to see the Sculptor.”

She didn’t respond as she squeezed her eyes together, sending another batch of wet sliding down her cheeks.

She tasted salt.

Tears. They were tears. She was crying.

Marcellus sighed and bent in front of her. His hands grazed her cheeks, wiping away her tears. Next, nimble fingers picked the remaining cobwebs from her hair. She sat in silence, not wanting to look at him. Not wanting to acknowledge how broken she felt.

Marcellus whistled. Bayo approached, gracing her cheek with gentle kisses. Thicket wrapped her arms around the wolf’s neck, breathing in her scent and letting it lull the stream of silent tears.

“Let’s get out of here,” Marcellus said. “It’s getting dark.”

“I… I don’t want to go back.” Not now. Not until she fixed things. Fixed her.

“We aren’t going back to the house.”

“Then… Where?”

“I know a place.” He rose and held his hand out to her. “Do you trust me?”

Those were the same words she had said to him when she begged him to let her save Bilya. It was enough to make her eyes finally lift up to meet his. His expression wasn’t sympathetic. It was as harsh and intimidating as ever. It usually set her on edge, to not know what he was thinking. But the last thing she wanted was to be pitied. And she knew Marcellus was the last person who would ever pity her.

No… He was the one who told her to get up off the ground and keep on trying.