“Ember!” I call for what seems like the hundredth time, my growing nerves making me angry.
Where is she?
I walk for what feels like a very long time, stopping only when I realize I’m not in the orchard anymore, but a copse of trees beyond.
With no other choice, I turn back, ready to retrace my steps, hoping Ember went back to the gates.
As I wander, I become aware of the nighttime noises—the caw of a distant nocturnal bird, the scurrying of rodents in the underbrush. A shiver runs the length of my spine, making the cold night even cooler, and I quicken my pace.
Suddenly, a dark figure leaps from the trees. I shriek and take several steps back, breathing hard.
The startled doe disappears into the brush.
“I must have spooked her as badly as she scared me,” I say to myself, trying to catch my breath. Then I laugh, shaking my head at my foolish reaction.
I force myself forward, determined Ember must have gone back to the gates.
It’s after I’ve been walking for quite some time, growing increasingly uneasy, that I realize I should have reached the meadow by now. I pause, looking around. Everything appears the same. Slowly, I turn in a circle.
There is nothing but apple trees everywhere.
My family will have realized I’m missing by now. They’ll be frantic, possibly worrying I was kidnapped or that I’m lying dead in a ditch somewhere just like—
No.
I won’t let my mind go there.
I keep moving, turning back every time I reach the forest. Somehow, I keep looping around. No matter which way I walk, I return.
My throat tightens, and I can feel my mind growing blurry. My pulse thrums in my neck, and my palms sweat.
“This is ridiculous,” I say aloud. “You’re not afraid of the dark; there’s nothing out here that isn’t here in the light.”
In theory, this is true.
And yet…
“Help,” I murmur, wondering if I dare shout the word. Maybe someone will hear me and rescue me from my aimless wandering.
Maybe something sinister will find me instead.
I clamp my mouth shut and keep moving. When my legs begin to shake too violently to continue, I lower myself onto the uneven ground and bury my face in my hands.
I’ll sit here just for a moment, one solitary moment—only long enough to get my wits about me and catch my breath.
I focus on my breathing, willfully stilling each ragged breath. The breeze moves fallen leaves, kicking them up, fooling my skittish heart into thinking there are footsteps in the night. But I am alone, and I know it.
When I’ve finally calmed myself enough to try to find my way out of the orchard once more, I lower my hands…
And find someone crouched in front of me.
4
I’ve only seen the Renovian princess in person one time, more than a month ago, through the mist of a stormy morning.
But I recognize her immediately.
Amalia looks exactly like the sketch I carry with me—the artist did a fine job with the likeness. The princess wears a hood, but it doesn’t conceal her face unless she’s looking at the ground…which she’s not doing at the moment.
She blanches when I meet her gaze, her lips parting with surprise. Her wolfdog is at her side, bright-eyed and oblivious.
The dog doesn’t look my way. She’s a fully grown puppy, young and easily distracted.
How the princess ended up with a Draeganish wolfdog, I neither know nor care. Nothing matters but the girl herself.
For the last several weeks, Amalia has locked herself away, refusing to see anyone but her family. The people in the city gossip about their fragile princess. They whisper about her grief, romanticizing her weakness. No one seems to share my opinion—that the princess has seen the opportunity to capitalize on her brother’s misfortune and bring the attention back to herself.
So what is she doing out now, and alone?
After several long moments, she rips her gaze from mine and continues on her way, toward the gates.
Where is she going this late in the day? What business could she have?
Does she have a secret lover outside the city? Someone she visits under the cover of night? I’ve never heard of such a rumor, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.
I watch her for several seconds, frowning as she lowers her head so the guards won’t recognize her. Curiosity eats at me.
Where is she going?
Surely, she’s not leaving for the Requeamare—not alone. They’ll send her with a guard, probably double what Braeton left with. Perhaps even triple considering the prince’s fate.
No, she’s not on the Requeamare yet. Something tells me the king and queen have no idea where their daughter is right now.
Making a hasty decision, I grasp the shoulder of a nearby boy. “There are three pheasants in the bag,” I tell him, handing it over. “Do something with them.”
He blinks up at me. “Something, huntsman?”
“Take them home to your mother, sell them, give them a proper funeral.” I slip into the shadow of a building when the princess glances back. “I don’t care.”
He says something else, but I’m already walking away.
Riddled with disbelief, I lean against the city wall, safely hidden in shadows as I watch the oblivious princess. Amalia is out here, alone, and she has no idea that she was followed.
I also very much doubt she has a weapon hidden under her cloak, and her dog is entirely too friendly to be any sort of guardian.
She’s left herself completely vulnerable.
My scowl deepens when the dog takes off at a dead run, chasing something, and heads right into the orchard.
The princess doesn’t move. It’s almost as though she doesn’t even notice.
Where is her head? The longer I stand here, the more irritated I become. This is to be Renove’s future queen? Who would dare let this absentminded girl sit upon their throne?
A bitter laugh rises in my chest at the irony of that thought.
Suddenly, Amalia stirs as if waking from a dream. She steps forward and calls, “Ember?”
But it’s too late for the dog. She’ll be trapped in the orchard until morning.
“Ember!” Amalia hollers again, and this time, a trace of fear tints her tone.
Letting out a longsuffering sigh, I push away from the wall and follow the princess into the meadow. She doesn’t even realize I’m behind her.
Amalia hesitates at the edge of the orchard. I almost yell to stop her, but even she can’t be that much of a fool. Surely she won’t go—
She does.
Letting my head fall back, I groan out loud. The trees will play with her until morning if I don’t go in after her.
I should leave, let her pay for her mistake. These spirits won’t actually harm her—just shake her up a bit.
“Ember!” I hear again. This time the call is faint, but there’s no mistaking the panic.
Biting out a curse, I follow her. But I’m too far behind, and Amalia has already been swept away. I could try to find her on my own, but the spirits will send us in circles around each other until dawn. It would be a waste of time, and I’m not in the mood for their games.
“Do you know what this is?” I say out loud, pulling out a flint.
The trees shiver, though there is no wind.
“If I don’t find the girl in an hour’s time, one of you will burn tonight. Do you understand?”
The trees shift and move, their trunks creaking like doors. I’ve made them angry, tampered with their tricks.
Thankfully, apple trees, though mischievous, are usually benign. I don’t sense danger from them. They’re simply pouting like children whose game was spoiled.
I wander aimlessly, knowing I’ll find Amalia when the hour is up. As expected, the trees wait until the last moment to reveal her to me. The princess is on the ground, face hidden in her arms, curled up into herself as though she believes that�
�s some sort of protection.
Even now, she doesn’t sense me. I pause, shaking my head with disbelief. At least she was smart enough to realize there’s no use in wandering. It’s not much, but it’s something.
I crouch in front of her, about to clear my throat to alert her to my presence, when she looks up. Her eyes widen with fear, and she gasps.
“You know,” I say calmly, taking in her stricken face, “creatures that assume the fetal position when in danger are usually eaten.”
The girl lets out a scream that makes my ears ring, and then she scrambles back, not getting far because she steps on her own cloak.
I watch her sad attempt at escape, unamused. I stand, waiting for her to do the same.
When she finally makes it to her feet, I catch her arm before she can run. “Stop,” I command.
She jerks back, trying to remove herself from my grasp. When that fails, she attempts to hit me. Easily, I catch her palm. She fights me like a mad thing, kicking and flailing, fear feeding her reaction.
It’s ridiculous of her to think she can best me, but at least she’s trying to protect herself. A smile plays at my lips, unbidden, unwelcome, and I suddenly want to laugh at the absurd situation in which I’ve found myself.
“Stop,” I repeat, this time more forcefully, irritated with my reaction.
Amalia goes so still; I can feel her trembling against my fingers. She stares at me, her eyes unfocused. After a few deep breaths, her face softens with surprise.
“I saw you,” she whispers, her body still tensed. “Before I left the gates.”
In answer, I give her a single nod.
“Why did you follow me?” she demands, her tone regal. She’s a girl who’s used to being listened to—a girl used to being obeyed.
I could lie, tell her it was nothing more than a coincidence I found her here. But there are enough lies in my life, and it’s less burdensome to tell the truth when you are able.
“I was curious what kind of trouble a girl and her dog could get into outside the city gates after dark.”
She narrows her eyes, looking unsure how to answer. “You admit it—you followed me.”
“I did.”
Truth.
Still wary, she asks, “Do you mean me harm?”
“No.”
Truth.
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.”
Lie.
The princess studies me, thinking far too hard. After several moments, her face softens, and she nods. Apparently, she believes me.
Then she pointedly looks down at my hands.
Slowly, I release her. She steps back, keeping one eye on me as she brushes bits of weeds and dirt from her cloak.
“There’s something strange about this orchard,” she says after a silent minute. “No matter which way I walk, I end up at the forest’s edge.”
I cross my arms, wondering if she could possibly be this naïve. “Don’t you know better than to go into an orchard after dusk?”
She turns back to me, giving me her full attention. “Why?”
She is this naïve.
“The trees are nocturnal,” I answer.
Her face is completely blank, dumbfounded even. I might laugh if I were the laughing sort, and I don’t like that she’s drawn that reaction out of me twice in such little time.
“The trees…are nocturnal,” she finally parrots.
“They’ll toy with you until morning if you let them. Only when they fall asleep with the dawn’s light will you be able to leave.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“You can’t be this ignorant.”
Not only does she look taken aback, she actually takes a step back. I’ve never seen a woman look so indignant in my life.
“So apparently you’re an expert on anthropomorphic trees?” she scoffs.
“Something like that.”
“Fine,” Amalia says with a huff. “Then help me find the way out.”
I pull the flint from my pocket and turn to the trees. “Will you cooperate?”
Mocking me, the spirits stay silent, engrossed in a new game—making me look like a fool in front of the princess.
“Answer me,” I nearly snarl.
“Who are you talking to?” Amalia asks slowly, edging away from me as if she thinks I’m a madman.
“The trees.”
“Oh…”
Rolling my eyes, I kneel on the ground and begin gathering kindling. When my dagger hits the flint, causing sparks to fly, the trees shiver. They begin to sway around us, begging me to reconsider.
“What’s going on?” Amalia demands, shifting a little closer.
“It’s too late for that,” I call to the trees. “You had your chance.”
Their pleas become more frantic, and the ground vibrates with their movement.
Amalia grasps my shoulder. “Stop taunting them.”
I look up at the princess, exasperated. “Do you want to stay here all night?”
“No.”
The word is a whimper, and I almost feel bad for scaring her—but I wasn’t the one who first ventured into the orchard.
“Then let me handle this.”
Sparks continue to fly, and finally, a flame catches. I blow on it, encouraging it to grow.
“Find me a short, fat stick—something dry,” I instruct. “But stay close.”
I expect Amalia to remain frozen like a rabbit, but she instantly obeys, searching the ground for what I asked for.
“Will this work?” she asks, handing me a thick twig.
Nodding, I take it from her and hold the end over the flame. The trees are terrified now—swaying, shaking, and waving their limbs.
When the stick catches, I smother the tiny fire on the ground and rise. I hold the makeshift torch up, letting them get a good look at the flame. “Allow us to pass through, and I will leave you unharmed.”
The chattering stops, and the trees go silent.
“Better,” I mutter under my breath.
I then grasp the princess’s wrist and walk east, back toward Kenrow.
5
Any moment now, I expect to wake in my bed. Even as the cold spring air seeps through my cloak—even though the feel of the man’s hand on my wrist is warm and solid—I know the night’s events are impossible.
“This can’t be real,” I murmur to myself as we walk.
The man glances over his shoulder, giving me a look that’s usually reserved for irksome younger sisters. “What?”
“This. All this.” I wave my free hand around the orchard. “Ember disappearing. Trees playing wicked games. A handsome stranger coming to my rescue. I’m going to wake up remembering it to be the most fantastic dream.”
My rescuer falters, and his hand tightens slightly. “Your dog is fine. They’ll release her in the morning.”
“Why can’t you bargain with the trees to let her out now?”
“Because she isn’t a priority.”
“And I am?”
He grunts and begins walking once more.
“You never told me your name,” I say.
I hope he’s right about Ember, but how will I find her? Should I stay out all night, sleep in the meadow? It’s not even an option.
“I’m Amalia,” I offer when the man doesn’t answer, but I wince the moment it leaves my mouth. I should have used a fake name, something that wouldn’t give me away.
He stays silent, and I’ve resigned myself to the fact that he’s simply not going to answer when he finally says, “Rhys.”
“R-ee-ce,” I say, testing the foreign name. “Like…wreath?”
He glances at me again, his expression unamused, and gives me a curt nod.
My eyes fall to my wrist, where he’s still holding me. “I have no intention of running—you can let me go.”
Looking ahead once more, Rhys says, “The trees will separate us if they get a chance.”
As if to answer, branches shake—almost like
the trees are laughing.
“I had no idea apple trees are so incorrigible,” I say, mostly to fill up the silence.
“You probably wouldn’t be inclined to like humans if they stole your children every autumn.”
My mouth falls open, and I come to an abrupt stop.
Rhys turns back to see what the holdup is. His face is solemn, but somehow, I sense he’s teasing me.
“What a morbid thing to say,” I finally answer. “Are you serious?”
“No.” He continues forward. “The trees aren’t actually sentient—only the spirits who inhabit them.”
Still, I’m afraid I’ll think twice before I eat another apple.
The orchard opens ahead, giving way to the meadow. I breathe out a sigh of relief the moment we leave the orchard’s boundary.
Feet safely in the meadow, Rhys drops my wrist as if he cannot bear to touch me a moment longer. I step up to a tree and press my hand against its trunk. “Thank you for allowing us to leave. Please, take care of Ember. She means the world to me.”
The bark vibrates under my palm, though I have no idea what it’s trying to say.
When I turn back to Rhys, I find him frowning.
“What?” I ask.
“You thanked the orchard.”
It’s all he says, but I sense there is more. Something like, “You thanked the orchard, but you didn’t thank me.”
For some reason, the thought is terribly funny. Full of giddy relief, a weak laugh passes my lips. It’s the first time I’ve laughed in weeks. Another joins it, and then another. I bend over, fighting for breath.
Rhys simply stands there, arms crossed, looking at me as though he believes I’ve lost my mind. And who knows? Maybe I have.
Suddenly, the laughter turns into something else. I gasp as a sudden sob racks my body. For the first time since we learned of Braeton’s passing, tears stream down my cheeks.
I collapse on the ground and hide my face against my cloak as I cry, hating myself for showing weakness, all while missing Braeton so much I want to die.
I’m not sure how long I stay like this, finally mourning the loss of my brother. When I catch my breath, I feel empty. My face is wet and cold. Weeds stab my legs through my gown, and the ground is rocky.
Forest of Firelight Page 3
