Page 66

It’s not a question, but I answer. “The Wild Woods are a dangerous place.”

Not a lie. The damn wildlings who live there tried to eat me the last time I was there.

I wrap the longer strips around my torso, binding the pad in place with tight, controlled movements. I wince more than necessary, letting him think the wound is worse than it is. Better he believes me weakened than suspects my true abilities.

Blood seeps through the first layer of silk, staining the makeshift bandage, but the bleeding is already slowing. My magic pulses beneath the surface, demanding to be used, and with the wound now hidden, I let it get to work.

“How bad?” Kelaros demands.

“I’ll live.” I tie off the bandage with a hard tug, using the fresh stab of pain to focus my mind. “Not my first time being wounded.”

His eyes narrow. “No, I imagine it’s not.”

Unspoken questions bristle between us. He’s certain I’m hiding something. I’m just as certain he is, too. Neither of us is willing to be the first to crack.

“Your knife.” He offers the borrowed weapon handle-first.

I take it, noting how carefully he cleaned the blade. No trace of the beast’s ichor remains. “Thanks for not stabbing me in the back with it.”

His lips twitch in a half-smile. “The night is young.”

I slide the knife back into its sheath, wincing for real this time as the movement pulls at my side. “Do these things usually converge in packs?”

“No. And their appearance scares off other predators. We should be safe until daylight. I’ll rebuild the fire. You should rest. Tomorrow will be a long day with you injured.” He offers me one of the crystal fragments we’d gathered earlier. “Eat. It will help with the pain.”

I accept it, popping the fragment into my mouth. It crunches between my teeth, and the tingling rush spreads through me, dulling the healing fire in my side to a manageable ache.

As we prepare to return to our small campsite outside, the last of the monster’s crystalline dust fades into the floor. A faint tremor runs through the ground beneath our feet, and the veins of opal in the surrounding walls pulse once, brighter than before, with a flush of vibrant red color.

Goose bumps rise on my arms. Every fairy tale warns about blood spilled in magical places. It binds, it reveals, it transforms. And this dying court, starved for centuries, has just taken its first piece of me.

“As soon as there’s light enough to see by, we need to leave,” I say, my throat tight.

Kelaros follows my line of sight to the glowing veins. “Agreed.”

The veins flare, flooding the hall with red light. The ruins are waking, and if we’re still inside when the court rises, it will devour us whole.

19

THE HOLLOW STAG

AMALIA

The ground shivers beneath me, too steady and rhythmic to be excused by the settling of old stone.

We had returned to our camp outside the ruins of the Great Hall, a violet fire Kelaros coaxed from brittle crystals crackling between us, its glow offering a sense of false safety.

The shiver comes again, a deep exhale rippling through the ruins.

I twist to peer toward the broken hall, where veins of opal throb a faint red in the dark. The sight sends a shiver down my spine. “Is it breathing?”

Kelaros doesn’t answer. His head tilts toward the black beyond our fire, every muscle in his body taut.

I turn toward whatever has caught his attention.

At first, I think dawn might be breaking in this sunless sithe, some trick of light teasing hope. But the glow gathers instead of spreading, condensing into a single point.

And it’s getting closer.