Forest of Firelight

by Shari L. Tapscott

Rhys then looks at Morgan. “Have you had the sickness?”

  Morgan shakes his head, unable to meet Rhys’s eyes.

  “Then you’ll need to stay away from Tryndon while we’re gone. I want you to keep an eye on the pawnbroker, make sure he doesn’t have anyone trail us.”

  Morgan nods.

  “If all goes well, we’ll be back in a little over a week.”

  Apparently, Rhys’s business is finished. He leads me through the tables, keeping me close. The din is like bees buzzing in my head, and I can’t think. Morgan’s words jumble about in my brain like puzzle pieces that don’t fit together.

  I know what he meant, but it’s impossible. No one can get across the Chasm. That was the point in its creation.

  Once we’re in the street, I pull Rhys to a stop. “We need to talk.”

  I expect him to deflect, maybe ignore me altogether, but he nods. “When we reach the manor.”

  The ride back seems to take ages, though the property is not all that far from the city gates. It’s nearing dusk by the time we return, and my newfound fear of tiraiths is edging into my concern over Morgan’s words.

  Ember greets us as soon as we’re in view, easing some of my worries. She follows us into the paddock as we walk the horses inside, and then she bounds out again, off to play in the lake.

  Once Rhys finishes with the horses, we walk into the empty manor. It’s nearly dark inside, but the strange chill I sensed yesterday is absent. Ember trots in ahead of us, unconcerned.

  We light lanterns and candles, and then Rhys starts a fire. The entire time, we don’t talk. It’s as though last night’s attack was enough to make us crave light before we begin. Either that or Rhys is stalling.

  Which I think is a good possibility.

  When he can put it off no longer, the knight leads me into the sitting room. I choose a place on a settee near the fire and turn to him, folding my hands in my lap, waiting.

  He sits in a chair across from me, looking like a man on his way to hang. He doesn’t seem eager to begin.

  Fine. I’ll start.

  I fix him with a royal stare, observing him carefully. “Rhys…have you been to Draegan?”

  38

  The entire ride home, I try in vain to think of an excuse, some way to explain Morgan’s careless words.

  Nothing comes to me.

  I’m not ready to tell Amalia the truth. It’s a secret I’d rather take to my grave. Our time was too brief.

  I choose the chair across from her, almost wishing a tiraith would show up. I’d rather fight a dozen of them than face Amalia.

  “Rhys,” she says carefully, her pretty eyes fixed on me. “Have you been to Draegan?”

  Like a coward, I stare at the floor. “I have.”

  She’s quiet for several seconds, almost like she doesn’t quite believe me even though she already knew how I was going to answer.

  “How is that possible?” she breathes.

  “There’s a narrow point in the Chasm, almost directly north of here. The Draegan people were able to construct a rudimentary bridge between the two kingdoms.”

  And by Draegan people, I mean my men and me, and by a bridge, I mean a long piece of timber.

  Since the Chasm’s creation, our people have been trying to find a way to escape—to flee our kingdom like rats leaping from a sinking ship. First, we attempted to abandon our land, sail away as the fae did, but we ended up right back where we began. The same happened when we tried to sail around the Chasm to Renove—we never made it far before the magic looped us right back to the shore from which we departed.

  After that, we had men patrol the Chasm’s borders, looking for a way across. None was found until five years ago. About fifty feet down the ledge, a narrow point between the canyon walls was discovered, impossible to see in the pitch-black darkness…but easy enough to hear when you throw a stone.

  My uncle was the first to cross to Renove. We had assumed their kingdom suffered as greatly as ours, but we were wrong.

  Renove thrived.

  “What’s it like?” Amalia asks, leaning forward, her eyes wide and eager.

  That’s not exactly how I expect her to respond.

  “It’s dying.” A lump forms in my throat as I think of my kingdom. “When the Chasm was created, magic was released from deep under the ground, just as it was here, but Draegan was not blessed as Renove. Everything dark, everything horrifying—that’s what roams that kingdom. Sickness. Poisonous creatures. Nightmares.”

  The princess stares at me, her mouth falling open.

  “The fields are barren and do not produce. Most of the livestock has died off, and there’s little for the people to eat. Only those who live in the cities, somewhat safe behind the protective walls, have survived.”

  Amalia is quiet for several moments, looking down at her hands. “It seems their punishment was steep.”

  “Punishment?” I snap, taking her by surprise. “They did nothing to deserve the curse that was placed upon them.”

  She narrows her eyes. “They started the war.”

  “Renove started the war.”

  It seems she wants to argue, just as we did on the ship, but she sits back in her seat, studying me. “So…we discovered that they found a way across, and you were sent across the Chasm to patrol the boundaries?”

  Slowly, I nod, grasping hold of the lifeline Amalia doesn’t know she’s offering.

  The lies are stacking up. Very soon, they will topple. But like a desperate man, I cling to the hope of a few more days.

  “How long were you over there?” the princess asks.

  “A very long time.”

  She lets out a long world-weary sigh. “I don’t envy the things you’ve seen.”

  We sit in silence for several minutes.

  “Now that darkness is spreading to Renove,” Amalia says quietly after what feels like a very long time, her tone laced with sadness and fear. “Is that why you’re here? To protect me from it?”

  I snort, hating myself. “To the best of my ability.”

  “So, my father knows you’re with me?”

  “He…does not.”

  “You took it upon yourself?” she whispers. “You sought me out after Braeton’s death, fearing for my safety?”

  Guilt thickens my throat, but I choke it back. “I did.”

  “I was right,” she whispers, her eyes too bright. “You came to me as a guardian, and you have been protecting me all this time.”

  “Yes.”

  I bow my head, breaking eye contact, afraid she’ll be able to see how deeply I loathe myself.

  I lie awake, unable to sleep, trapped in my head. It must be nearing the middle of the night. I long for morning, but I know there are several more hours before dawn.

  Amalia sleeps in the room next to mine. I keep my door open just in case she needs me. She has so many candles burning in there; I’m worried she’s going to burn down the house.

  I’m not afraid of the dark, nor the creatures that lurk in it. But I am afraid of the monster I’ve become.

  I close my eyes, telling myself to stop thinking about the princess. It’s a task that’s impossible to accomplish when my traveling companion quietly clears her throat from the door of my room.

  “Rhys?” she whispers. “Are you awake?”

  “No,” I say.

  Her soft footsteps make their way to the side of my bed. I turn to face her, wondering what she’s thinking visiting me in the middle of the night.

  Amalia wears a long, white chemise, and her hair falls past her shoulders. She wrings her hands at her waist, obviously upset.

  I sit up abruptly, letting the covers fall, already reaching for my copper-laced dagger and a shirt. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” The princess laughs softly, embarrassed, and her eyes flutter to my bare chest before they return to my face. “I just heard a noise, and I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

  “Where’s Ember?”

  “Sleeping,”
she says wryly, sounding as if she’s jealous of the dog.

  I lower myself back to the bed, rubbing a hand over my face, suddenly exhausted. “I’ll check the manor.”

  “No…I’m sure it’s fine.”

  I frown, unsure what she wants.

  My stomach clenches when it hits me, and it takes all my self-control not to pull her into the bed with me.

  Instead, I stand, stretching, and walk into her room. I pull the blankets from the bed, along with a pillow, and then walk back.

  Amalia follows like a lamb, looking confused.

  I toss the bedding on the floor, set my hands on her shoulders, and gently make her sit on the bed. “Go to sleep.”

  Then I lie on the hard floor, wrapping myself in Amalia’s blankets, groaning softly when I realize they smell like her. I’m never going to sleep tonight.

  Above me, the princess fusses with the covers, trying to get comfortable. Every move she makes is pure torture.

  When she’s settled, she looks over the side of the bed. “Are you warm enough?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Isn’t the floor hard?”

  “No.”

  “Are you—”

  “Goodnight, Amalia.”

  “Goodnight, Rhys,” she says, sounding like she’s holding back a laugh.

  I roll over, not bothering to hide my smile in the dark.

  I’m almost grateful for a reason to leave this secluded manor. I’m not sure I can bear this arrangement for one more night.

  My men join us in the morning, and we begin our journey north.

  We’re almost to Tevers, two days out of Saulette, when my shoulder begins to hurt.

  It’s nothing but a dull ache, easily ignored, but by the time we reach the village, it’s difficult to think of anything else.

  I’m reluctant to look at it when I close myself in my private room at the inn, but I don’t have much choice. I pull off my doublet and shove my shirt and bandage aside, revealing the skin where the arrow pierced my shoulder.

  It’s a shallow wound, easily ignored until now.

  Bracing myself, I look down, fully expecting to find signs of the sickness. I let out a held breath as I examine the area. It seems fine—the skin is pink and healing, though the wound hasn’t fully knit. I roll my shoulder, frowning.

  I must have tweaked it while riding.

  A knock at my door demands my attention. I pull my shirt back on and walk across the room, determined to ignore the pain.

  39

  Rhys is acting very strangely. He’s slipped into a thoughtful silence, speaking little. Unlike our ride from Shale to Saulette, it doesn’t seem like he’s necessarily trying to keep me at arm’s length. His thoughts are simply consumed with something.

  I try to give him breathing room, but I want him to talk to me—to tell me what’s troubling him.

  I’d probably have more success speaking with a boulder.

  The countryside changes as we near the Calmon Forest. The Casperon Mountains rise to the west. They’re taller than the mountains outside Saulette, grander too, standing tall in shades of purple and blue, their peaks snowy white.

  The grasslands give way to woods by the afternoon of the fourth day. The road takes us over hills that look out across the land, and there’s nothing but expanses of forest dotted with rolling meadows for as far as the eye can see. Towering evergreens, with their dusky blue needles, grow alongside graceful deciduous trees with white bark and spring-green leaves. Wildflowers bloom along the road, attracting bees and butterflies.

  I was worried about Ember traveling this far after injuring her paw, but it appears to be fully healed. With new sights and plants to smell, she’s enjoying herself immensely.

  We’re on the main road that connects Saulette to the large northern city of Yew. It’s a heavily patrolled area, and we meet several sets of royal guards on horseback.

  Earlier, we passed a man hauling timber in a long, donkey-pulled wagon and then a young milkmaid walking alongside her dog-pulled cart.

  The locals are friendly, and I wish our mission into their region was a pleasant one.

  Though the day is lovely, my nerves begin to grow. We must be nearing the place where Braeton met the bandits who stole his life. The reports that were returned to us said the skirmish took place between Glenford and Rock Creek, and we left the first this morning.

  I try to relax, knowing I’m safe with Rhys and his men at my side, but renewed sadness attempts to choke me.

  Also, a nervous feeling dances across my skin, giving me goosebumps. I’m sure it’s because of where we are, and not because of actual danger. My imagination is playing tricks on me.

  But just like in the meadow with Braeton, I can’t shake the feeling something is coming.

  Maybe that’s why when I hear the riders behind us, I’ve already prepared myself for trouble. I turn back just in time to see a mounted archer send an arrow at Braith. The massive man manages to duck, and the arrow smacks into a tree behind him.

  Rhys curses Morgan under his breath. “He was supposed to keep them from following us.”

  “This could be a different group,” Aeron says.

  There are a total of five riders, and they’re moving fast. Aeron’s wrong—several of them I recognize. They’re Rupert’s men.

  “Take Amalia,” Lewis urges Rhys, his horse shifting under him. “We’ll hold them off and meet you in Rock Creek after you’ve spoken with the witch.”

  Rhys’s men are already drawing weapons. Aeron nocks his bow and shoots, but I don’t wait to see if the arrow hits its intended target. Rhys and I race ahead, deeper into the forest.

  “Ember!” I call frantically. Relieved, I find her darting through the brush at our side. As if sensing danger, the dog stays close.

  We leave the main road, taking wagon trails and eventually losing a direct path altogether. I certainly hope Rhys can find a way through.

  We ride for hours, slowing only when we’re sure no one follows.

  By the time we stop, twilight has fallen over the forest. We enter a grove of deciduous trees that I have no name for. They’re shorter than the evergreens, and their trunks are stout. Their bark is silver, and the long, smooth twigs are swollen with buds.

  “Where are we?” I ask, looking around. There’s no sign of civilization anywhere near here.

  Now that the sun has set, gnats buzz around us. The days have just grown warm enough for the pests, and they’re out in swarms. I smack a few away and turn to pull my cloak from my pack.

  Tired from the run, Ember lies on the soft, young grass that covers the patches of open ground.

  When I realize Rhys hasn’t answered, I look his way. The knight is slumped forward on his horse, breathing hard, not even noticing the biting insects as they land on him.

  “Rhys!” I exclaim, forgetting about the cloak and dropping from my horse.

  “I’m fine,” he manages, holding out his hand as if that will stop me from getting any closer.

  “You’re not fine.” I set my hand on his leg. “What’s wrong?”

  “Get back,” he says, though it seems just those two words are taxing. “Not too close.”

  Suddenly, I go cold—the kind of cold that starts in your bones and works its way outward. It’s not the icy breath of a tiraith, which was almost paralyzing. This is the product of fear.

  It twists my stomach into knots.

  Slowly, I drop my hand. “The sickness?”

  “I didn’t think so, not until this afternoon.” Rhys draws in another deep breath. “Now I’m sure it is.”

  “Where are you infected?” I demand.

  “My shoulder.”

  I shake my head, refusing to admit it. Rhys isn’t sick; he’s fine. The sickness isn’t that contagious, surely.

  But there’s no denying how haggard he looks.

  “Can you ride any farther?” I ask. “How far are we from a village?”

  “We’ll keep going.”

&nb
sp; Slowly, I nod. I’m afraid if Rhys gets off his horse, he might never get back up. I certainly can’t lift him. He needs a doctor, and he needs one fast.

  We continue deeper into the forest, and soon, it’s almost too dark to see. Thick clouds block the stars and moon. We ride a trail of some sort, though whether it’s human or deer, I don’t know.

  I’m too worried about Rhys to think of the things that might be lurking nearby, but they’re at the back of my mind. I have my dagger at my side, but I wish it were copper. I feel unprepared and lacking, and if we make it out of this—no, when—I will learn to defend myself.

  I’m tired of being helpless, the constant damsel in distress. Who cares if I can paint or sing or arrange flowers? All my talents are useless.

  I can barely brush my own hair.

  As I sit atop my horse, sick with worry and brooding, the forest gradually grows cold with the night. The gnats thankfully disappear, but the chill is uncomfortable.

  “We should stop for a moment,” I say. “Let me pull your cloak from your pack. You must be freezing.”

  Rhys doesn’t answer.

  “Rhys?” I ask, turning toward him.

  “I think…I think I need….” His voice is weaker than before. As he says it, he lowers himself from his horse. “A break.”

  I hurry to his side, but he waves me away. “Too close.”

  Ignoring him, I loop my arm around his waist, taking as much of his weight as I’m able.

  “All that muscle makes you heavy,” I say, trying to keep things light even though I’m terrified. Panic flutters in my chest, but I take deep breaths, telling myself I can fall apart later.

  Rhys stumbles forward, falling to his knees, taking me with him because I’m not strong enough to keep him standing alone.

  “Rhys!” I scramble out from under him, frantically trying to roll him over to his back.

  “I’m fine,” he breathes.

  “You’re not fine,” I snap, but there’s no heat to it.

  The knight rolls his head away when I press my hand to his forehead. “Don’t touch me. Get back.”

  He’s burning up, but what am I going to do? The woods are already freezing, and he’s not wearing a cloak. He’s as cool as I can make him.