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“North, my lord, north! Through the woods. I-I believe she’ll follow the river to the port. Likely board a ship there and head for Demrov. Her sister is there.”
Rowan nodded, then let him go in a harsh gesture. Sir Royce nearly fell to the floor from the force of it. “Nay. She won’t. You stay here, Edrick, and watch the castle. I’ll fetch her.”
He crossed the solar in long strides, the beginning of battle fever stirring inside him. All the while, Smoke stuck to him like a shadow.
* * *
He didn’t need a team of soldiers or Sir Edrick. They’d only slow him down. He didn’t need Sunbeam, the fastest and most devoted destrier he’d ever ridden. He didn’t need the kennel hounds to catch her scent or his loyal wolf. His rage was sufficient. He’d chase that godforsaken princess through all seven rings of hell if needed.
Anger roiled inside him—a storm of emotion that thundered in his ears.
Rowan pressed his boots into Sunbeam’s flanks as the horse masterfully dodged trees and jumped over fallen logs. Smoke darted beside them, a deft shadow sliding through the trees. The wolf was at home in the wood—at one with the soil and trees and the moon shining above.
Blanchette would set off for the port… or possibly for the castle of her betrothed… and likely under cover of darkness. She’d steer clear of the open roads for certain. She was impulsive, fierce, temperamental… but far from downright stupid.
Damn fool, trusting a Winslowe.
Sir Edrick was right.
He’s always been right.
Slowly, steadily, mournfully, the cry of a wolf filled the forest. The sound carried through the rustling trees and the babble of the streams. There was a pain in its voice—a grief that spoke to his soul’s darkest corners.
Kill them all. Let the pirates forage their ashes.
Rowan heard the eerie creak and sigh of bodies hanging from trees… swaying, swaying, swaying…
Let every rebel know what happens when they betray their king.
He lowered his head as a pair of dangling feet materialized from the darkness and swayed toward him. He hooked his heels into Sunbeam’s haunches and pressed on. He dodged another hanged body. Then another and another. He tugged on Sunbeam’s reins and looked about in a panic. Hundreds of rotting corpses swung from the trees… an entire forest built from death. Dizzyingly, his mount wheeled in circles as Rowan’s gaze scanned the forest of swaying bodies—looking, searching…
Kill them all.
He kicked Sunbeam’s flanks, sending him jetting forward. But then he reared and released a whinny as if the smell of death sent him into a panic.
No, the bodies aren’t here.
It’s in my mind.
But was it?
I will turn and see her hanging from a tree, her throat red and bleeding, and it will have been my fault.
Again.
He blinked. All the bodies were gone. They’d vanished as if they’d never been.
Again and again.
“I’m going mad,” he whispered, his heartbeat roaring. “Or am I already mad?” As if in answer, Smoke threw back his head and howled.
* * *
Dusk came with a vengeance.
A chilled wind brought the wood to life; every tree and stream stirred awake and deepened the darkness. Branches rattled like bones, and the river made a constant murmur.
Blanchette dismounted at the edge of the forest. Her thighs and backside were sore and aching. Hunger gnawed at her stomach like a dull knife. The air was cold in her throat, and her mouth felt as dry as dust. Her tongue was a plank of poorly carved wood. The sinking sun cast a glow on the world, drenching the trees and greenery in liquid gold.
