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Forgetting the other barghest and leaving the remains of the banshee behind, Juliana fled downstream to retrieve Briarsong, and bolted into the fog.
It was almost dark by the time Juliana stopped again, hunger replacing fear and desperation, exhaustion padding every footfall. She might have forgotten to stop entirely, merely walking until she fell, if she hadn’t wandered into a tiny hamlet.
It was a mewling cat that jolted her back into existence. Juliana had forgotten that such sounds existed in the woods, that something as normal as a cat could be found.
It mewled again, demanding to be stroked, and then, seeing that Juliana came without food, quickly slunk away to the lap of a fae woman sleeping propped-up on a bench nearby.
Juliana swallowed at the image, wondering what would happen if she failed, and if this woman would awake in a hundred years to find a pile of dust and bones in her lap in place of her beloved pet.
“Sorry, little kitty,” she said, stroking its ear. “You’ll have to find your own food for a while.”
It occurred to her that although the fae had fallen under the curse, their animals seem to have been spared, at least the more mortal ones. It had been two days—what about Cercis? Would someone have freed her, or would she get so hungry soon she’d break out of her stall?
If the sluaghs hadn’t got to her first.
That thought in her head, she hurried to the hamlet’s stable. There were three fae horses there, fast asleep, all bright green manes and golden hooves. The only creature awake was a small brown pony that barely reached her waist. Too small to ride.
Juliana freed it, refilling the trough and giving it a good pat. She didn’t much fancy its chances in a wood filled with barghests, but it was better than staying here. With any luck, it would stick around for a few days, eating the food Juliana had left, and would still be here after Juliana broke the curse.
Because she had to break the curse.She had to.
Brushing off her clothes and trying not to think of the ones swirling in the stream, she stepped inside the first of the houses. She ought to be savouring the closest thing she’d had to luxury in a few days, but she couldn’t. The incident with the banshee still chilled her.
Aoife has a green shirt like that. The knight’s tabard—was it broad enough for Miriam? Dillon was wearing a brown doublet at the feast… did any of them look like a doublet?
She circled through other friends, ones she hadn’t spoken to that last night, old school friends that didn’t live in the palace, the countless servants who did.
Her thoughts clung to her the way she used to cling to Iona’s aprons, before she learned not to show her fear.
That did not make its claws any less sharp.
She forced herself to eat the last of the perishable goods she could find, hung up her still-damp clothes, and made herself a bed by the hearth. With the door locked, she trusted herself to build a fire for tonight. She needed it if she was to get warm and dry again.
Even when the cold felt like an infection, like warmth had been stolen from her reality.
She cleaned her blades, packed everything away and fell exhausted into her make-shift bed. She tried not to fixate on the clothes, or the delicate lace on the shirt bubbling in her memory… like the one Hawthorn had once torn to bind her wounds with.
Not him,she prayed, to whatever forces might be listening.Please. Anyone but him.
She woke in the palace gardens, robed in moonlight.
“Well, well,” came Hawthorn’s voice, “the wandering knight returns.”
Not thinking, hardly breathing, Juliana spun around and launched herself into his arms. All his quips and smiles faded. After a moment of shock, his arms circled around her, clutching onto her securely.
“What happened?” he whispered into her hair.
“I had a run in with a banshee.”
He stiffened. “What did you see?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right,” he said, voice soft. His hands brushed her back. She tried not to think about the fact she was wearing nothing but a shift. He’d seen her in far less over the years. “You’re cold.”
“I fell into a river. I set up a fire. I won’t be cold for long.”
His hold on her only tightened. “This can be just for warmth, if you want,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be anything else.”
