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I roll up the excess fabric around my ankles, hike up the sagging waistband, and run to the tree for a closer look. The crook is at least ten feet up.
I know I can do this.
I step back and charge, planting my feet on the bottom slope of the trunk. I leap for the lowest branch. By some miracle, I make it and swing one leg over, giving me the leverage to bring my body on top.
Panting and exhausted, I climb higher to a thicker branch and drop to my chest, hugging the tree limb. I miss my home. I miss Bard and Master. I miss Grandma Rain. But my body burns for the Blood King. I can only pray that by sunrise, I’ll find the strength to fight my addiction. Because I know if I don’t, I’ll probably die.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Throughout the night, I doze off for a few minutes here and there, but returning to the Blood King is never far from my thoughts. It’s a tug-of-war because I want to go home and check on Bard, too.
I hear a loud thud off in the distance, jarring me from my dazed state.
I lift my head, equally amazed and terrified by everything around me.
The sun is finally up, giving the sky a burnt-orange and blood-red hue, but unlike my world, where the sun tints the landscape, everything here radiates color. Not reflects, like the ocean. Not creates the illusion of color by refracting light. The forest around me glows with a thousand shades of green, like an art exhibit made of millions of LED lights. I can’t begin to understand how a place with such dark and frightening nights turns into a daytime light show.
The thud sounds off again.
I look up at the sky through the tree canopy. The sun is too low to tell exactly which direction it’s traveling. If I want to find the wall, I have to wait.
I wish Uhrn had given me better directions, but I guess she was expecting me to run for it yesterday afternoon. That plan didn’t happen, obviously.
I shiver, fighting my urge to return to the palace. I long for that bliss, even if I know it’s wrong.
Will I ever shake this addiction?
I wait for another twenty minutes, feeling the effects of dehydration and hunger kick in. I need water. I need food. Real food. A cheeseburger or a slice of bread. I’d take anything.
I press a hand over my growling stomach. I know I’ve lost weight. I know I’m unwell. Hasn’t helped that they were feeding me rotten meat and whatever drink that was while Benicio drained me.
If I want to heal and get better, I have to push myself to run to the wall and get home. But will the giants allow it? Will Alwar help me once I warn him?
I don’t know, but I have to try. I just hope Bard is okay. I’m sure he is. Bard is strong. He’s probably out chopping wood right now, wondering where I’ve run off to.
After I see him and regain my strength, I can return here and find my king.
Stop! No. I shake my head and stab my fingers through my hair. You’re not making sense, Lake.
The voices in my head turn on each other, contradictions flying every which way. Fight, Lake. Fight. You know Benicio will kill you. He nearly drank me to death the last time.
But I’ll never make it to the wall. I should go back. Uhrn will be angry, but… It dawns on me that Uhrn probably gave her life to help me escape. Why would she do that?
I remember her being afraid of Benicio betraying the Blood People in turn for support to take the wall. I remember her saying something about a rash and not wanting me to die. Hell, I don’t know, but I can’t turn back.
Okay, I can do this. I can stay focused.
I check the surrounding meadow for monster fleas, hamsters, masterbeasts or anything else that wants me for a meal.
The coast is clear.
I climb from my perch and take a moment to shake off the sting in my ankles. The sun looks like it’s moving to my right. If I keep my mind from drifting off, I’ll stay oriented.
I jog with the sun to my back, using the trick that Grandma taught me once. Always search for fixed points. Landmarks. Anything to orient you. If you get lost, you find a flat sunny spot and poke a stick in the dirt. Mark the location of the shadow and watch which direction it travels to tell you how the sun is moving. A redneck sundial, she called it.
Unfortunately, the foliage here is dense, casting a shadow on most of the ground. The only thing telling me I’m not moving in circles is that the thudding sounds are fainter.
