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Still, it’s hard to forget what I’ve been taught.I make a mental note to slap myself next time any such modern idea comes to me here. Feminism is awesome, but survival would be great right about now.I’m not in debate class, where the worst thing that can happen is a bad grade. The people here want to kill me. Actually murder me. And some have even worse things in mind.
I say we tie her to an altar and only let her go with a belly full of children.
Just because Ryther found out I’m the last queen’s brat doesn’t change the position I’m in, which is the same as it was two days ago. A lone, magicless, powerless, person with no idea where I am, no clue what these people are capable of.
I’m running back in the direction we came from, I think, but there was never any clear path and the trees are too similar. I’m going to get lost.
I know I should follow the direction of the castle, as Ryther’s camp is right at the edge of the woods but in view of the building, but the greenish, yellowing cover of the trees is too thick for me to see much.
Here in the Hollow, dawn starts in early spring, it’s summer by midday, autumn in the afternoon, and winter at night.
I’ll be able to see through the trees later, check I’m going in the right direction.
If I’m still alive by then.
At a sharp sound, like a branch snapping beneath a feet, I glance back nervously for at least the tenth time, still running, but no one’s following. Yet.
I checked the path ahead before turning, but although there wasn’t anything directly in my way moments ago, I hit a solid form. The motion sends me flying back, and falling on my ass. I wince, feeling my foot crack under the uneven ground.
Shit.
I shift to face forward, staring at the thing I fell into.
A tall man, slender in the way of those folk—muscular, but built like a runner or a swimmer, without a single hint of extra bulk anywhere—with white-blond curls and piercing blue eyes smiles down at me.
It’s not a kind smile. Somehow, he makes me think of a Disney fox, or a hyena. Cunning. Mocking. Untrustworthy.
He leans in. “Well, what have we here?”
He extends a hand, offering it to me, but I only watch it, expecting it to hold a knife he can shove in my back.
Almost every part of me wants to flee, except one.
There’s something about this man, and his voice, and his smirk that I recognize. Something that speaks to me, deep down, telling me that I can trust him—or at least, trust him not to kill me right this second.
I still don’t take his hand, climbing up to my feet alone.
“You don’t have much time, so I’ll be brief. No questions, no interruptions,” he demands. “You’re a hag.”
What now? “Excuse me?”
“What did I say about interruptions?” He rolls his eyes, shifting his weight to the back of his heels. “I’ll spare you the history lesson. Before she was given power over all courts, dear old Mor was a woodland hag. As you don’t have her royal power, that’s what you are right now.”
Oh. That's...news. Why is that news?
His sky-blue eyes lift up, toward the foliage of the trees. “Nature here will listen to your needs, and come to your aid if it can. All you have to do is ask for it. Your greater weakness is your thoughts—anyone listening can hear them from a mile away. They'll make it easy to locate you.”
He tosses something in the air, at a high curve.I reflexively move to catch it.
A stone shaped like a diamond and slightly translucent shines in my palm, catching the light. It’s purple-ish, and the size of a fist. Whatever it is, it looks...seriously expensive.
“This won’t quite tune out your thoughts, but they’ll seem fractured, and it’ll be too hard for anyone to actually track you from the sound, unless they're very close. But you need to do something to mask your scent.”
He’s helping me, that much is clear.
“Why are you doing this?” I can't help asking.
There's something different about him. He doesn't seem deferential, or cunningly trying to determine the best way to use me. I can't detect ulterior motives. Honestly, after the week I've had? It's confusing.
