by Bec McMaster
Little lines curled in the corners of his eyes. "You have almost as bad a sense of humor as Cas."
"Casimir has a sense of humor?"
Evaron rubbed his mouth again. "Only with those he trusts. It's a small list."
I'd seen the pair of them act throughout the day. If I didn't see the wolvren collar, then one would almost think them friends.
"Tell me about these woods," he finally said, and then seemed to recall my previous words. "Please."
"What would you like me to speak of? Gravenwold... it's not just a forest. It's not just trees. Do you wish to know the length and breadth of it? The ruins it chokes with its vines? The creatures within it? The Heart? The Old Ways—"
"Let us start with the Old Ways," he said firmly. "How do you know of them? What are they?"
I sat on my heels, and breathed out. "My father taught them to me. His father, and his father's father before him, and so on... My family has been in these parts for centuries, long before the Empire of Velides fell. They were here when Vashta finally succumbed and created the Well of Tears to fight the Darkness."
"My Darkness, or your Darkness?" he asked quickly.
I frowned. When one came down to it, there were similarities between his Way of Light, and my Old Ways. "Do you know the story of Vashta?"
Every child learned it at its parent's knee here in Densby.
"The patron saint of hunters."
"The Huntress," I murmured, holding my hands out to the fire. "It is said there was a great darkness lurking in these woods once—the Darkness—and when the empire kept expanding, building its keeps and strongholds in the borders of the forest, they awoke it. It killed men and women in the night, leaving entire villages slaughtered by morning, their throats torn open. It murdered every man in one of the empire's finest cities, and turned the hearts of another city to pure evil. The people there killed and stole and raped, until finally the empire was at war with itself, and the capital city was burning.
"And with every death the Darkness grew, both in itself and in the hearts of men. The emperor sent his finest warriors to battle it, but they could not see it. And they could not track it. Nor could they fight it. All they could do was bury the bodies of their fallen comrades as one by one they fell to its teeth and claws in the night.
"The emperor grew desperate; he promised half the treasury to any man, woman, wizard or beast who could destroy it. And so, three of the greatest hunters in this area rode to his call. Vashta the Huntress; Rior the Silent; and Ermady the Fox, who had the gift of shape shifting.
"They fought the Darkness for many days and many nights. Ermady fell, his blood soaking the earth, and from his body burst a mighty ash tree. Rior changed into a dragon and tried to burn the Darkness, but it surrounded him like a cloud of night and he plummeted from the skies,
"The only one left was Vashta. Carving a spear from the branch of the ash tree, she lit the head of it in the fires of Rior's ashes, and sank it into the heart of the Darkness. But their blood had bound them during the fighting; as long as Vashta lived, the Darkness could not be vanquished. Knowing this, she fell upon her sword, and when she fell, she took the Darkness with her. The creatures of the forest wept, and where her body lay the tears pooled, and swallowed her body whole. Thus the Well of Tears was formed. Or so they say."
Silence
"My Darkness is a little different," Evaron mused, turning to survey his men as they set up camp. Nearby, Cas blew smoke from his tinder, nursing a small flame. He looked at us, clearly not liking what he saw.
I scowled back.
"It is said that only those who turn from the Way of Light fall to the Darkness. A monstrous, demonic force that will blind your eyes—and your heart—to the Light forever."
I shrugged. "I like mine better."
He laughed.
"I wonder where the origin of your story came from?" Evaron mused. "It's not the sort of story to spring from nowhere. There had to be some origin—some foul beast—that made people spin grand stories about its appearance."
"They say the Darkness means ‘Death’ in the Old Tongue." I replied, feeling a little stung. He might as well have called us superstitious peasants. "It's dead now, thanks to Vashta and her companions. I suspect we shall never know. As long as we bear the mark of Vashta's protection, then the Darkness cannot touch us here."
Evaron frowned, looking over his men. "Not all of us have that protection."
"No." My eyes fell upon Hussar, and a few others who'd not deigned to let me mark them. "Not all of them. But you do, my prince. You should be safe." I glanced up at the overhanging boughs of the forest. "From the Darkness, and hopefully from whatever else lurks in these dark woods."
5
A hand curled around my shoulder. I woke swiftly, alarm sweeping through me but there was a finger to my lips, and a warm shadow leaning over me.
"There's something moving out there in the woods," Casimir barely breathed the words in my ear.
I could just make out his amber eyes in the dying glow of the coals in the middle of the clearing.
Heart punching behind my ribs, I nodded as if to tell him I wouldn't cry out. His finger vanished from my lips, and then he melted into the shadows. All I could see of him was a darker form among the shadows of the overhanging branches. Easing from my bedroll, I dragged my boots on and slipped after him.
I knew these woods like the back of my hand, but the way Casimir moved through them was inhuman. He ghosted through the trees, making me curse to myself every time leaves rustled beneath my boots. The guard who was supposed to be on duty snored as he leaned against a tree. Good thing nothing had murdered us in our sleep.
Determined to track Casimir, I slipped through the trees. He was a flicker of shadow ahead of me, barely distinct from the darkness. Maybe it was the way he'd woken me, or maybe it was the conversation I'd had with the prince about the Darkness, but my nerves were on edge. Every now and then I stopped and cocked my head to listen, certain there was something out there haunting my footsteps.
Nothing.
We circled the camp, then drifted further.
I didn't have Casimir's nose, but now my eyes had adjusted to the dark I could see his wrinkling. He looked up, his gaze locking on a small clearing ahead, and the line of his spine that of a hound that had caught the scent of something.
"What is it?" I mouthed silently.
"Blood."
Pale moonlight streamed through the trees. We edged closer, creeping through the branches. Something that looked like black ink sprayed the snow in the clearing. Far too much of it for a small animal.
Both of us knelt silently in the bushes, waiting. Nothing moved. No sound caught my ear. Finally, Cas shook his head. "Whatever it was, it's gone now," he murmured, and broke from the trees. It felt strange to hear his voice.
I knelt by the eerie spatter, and touched it with my fingertips. "It's frozen. Had to be half an hour ago, at least."
"Maybe that was what woke me," he said, circling the blood splash. "I almost thought I heard something squeal."
"Unusual for something to hunt so close to where we were camping," I murmured. "It had to have smelled us."
"Mmm." He paused in his circle of the clearing. "I think it wanted us to know it was here."
A meaty skull stared back at us with hollow eyes. Someone had slammed it on top of a sharpened stake.
"Is that—"
"Deer," he replied, his voice roughening.
Something had stripped the skin from its face, and the eyes from its sockets, but thin sinews and gobbets of flesh still clung to its scalp.
I turned and strode away, trying not to vomit. It was one thing to skin a creature, and butcher it for meat. There was a purpose to that. Quite another to see something like this.
Casimir let out a slow sigh, scrubbing at his nose as he crossed to my side. At least I couldn't smell it as richly as he could.
"Sorry to rouse you," he rumbled, in that almost-growl. "I thought
you might have known what was prowling around us."
I shrugged. "It's long gone, but it was here. And it's too dark to make out any prints. I'll check it out in the morning."
"Go and get some rest."
I hesitated. "Somehow I think I need to walk it off a little first."
Going back to my bedroll right now would be to take that bloodied skull back with me. He shot me a knowing look and nodded. "Care for some company?"
We'd been avoiding each other all day, ever since the argument last night at the bonfire. I rubbed my arms. It was different here in the forest. Neither of us truly belonged in the company, and... he moved through the forest the same way I did. Respected it. Breathed it.
"Are you certain you heard something out here?" I stage-whispered as he fell into step beside me, "or were you just trying to get me alone?"
Casimir looked at me sharply, then his shoulders relaxed. "Yes," he said dryly. "I thought I'd conjure up a monster, just so I could listen to the dulcet tones of your voice."
"Nice touch with the skull. You might have gone a little overboard, however. Makes a girl want to throw up, not throw herself into your arms."
"I'll remember that for next time."
The terrible humor took the edge off my nerves. "Hopefully there's not going to be a next time. I think I've managed my quota of skulls for the month."
"What do you think did it?"
I didn't answer.
"No animal did that," Cas added. As if I wasn't entirely aware of that fact.
I dragged myself up onto a fallen tree, and tucked my knees against my chest. "I told you. There's something in these woods that isn't human."
"Monsters," he said flatly.
"Don't tell me you don't believe in monsters?"
"Only human ones." His nostrils flared though, and I knew he could still smell whatever it was.
Human ones. I couldn't stop my gaze from dropping to his collar. "I don't know what it was. Could be anything. I've never seen a monster, but all the old tales speak of them." A pause. "I think there's a witch in these woods. At least... I met her two days ago. She was pretty scary. Definitely witchlike."
Destiny, Neva.... I could almost hear her voice whispering through the trees.
No, thank you.
But I'd promised I wouldn't return, and what happened? The very next day I was marching back in here, caught up in a king's perilous quest.
"A witch," he said gruffly. "Where's the iron and salt when you need it?"
"Does that actually work?"
"The priests in the city say it does."
Curious. "The ones who preach the Way of the Light, do you mean?"
He glanced around him, an unconscious movement that told a great deal. "I'd be careful what you say about the Way of the Light in front of the prince's men. The last few years... Caskill's an ant-heap just waiting to be kicked, and some of the men riding with us serve the Light."
Not Hussar, I was guessing. "The prince didn't seem like a convert."
"He's not." Casimir grimaced. "His younger brother, Rygil, is. And there's a growing faction at court that thinks I ought to be burned at the stake. Witches too, and monsters. Even this whole bloody forest ought to be purged, according to them."
I stared at him.
"It's a popular idea. The king likes burning people a little too much," he said grimly, "and if they butter him up enough, then he might send their Fire Priests north."
The bottom of my stomach dropped. I could almost imagine the fires burning my trees, my forest. "Wouldn't it be a shame if the prince didn't capture the firebird, and couldn't heal his father?"
The king would die. Prince Evaron would step onto the throne, and although I didn't trust anyone who wore gold as carelessly as he did, he wasn't unkind. Not like his father.
Maybe he'd stop this madness before it took hold?
"Why are we even hunting this thing?" I whispered. "We could lead the men around for a few weeks, claim we found nothing, and then Evaron gets to be king." The thought intrigued me. "You're his friend. Surely the thought appeals?"
Casimir's head tipped back, baring his throat as he leaned against the tree. He sighed. "It's not quite that simple."
"Oh?"
"Evaron's a good sort," he said firmly. "Spoiled, to be sure. Privileged. His concept of what life is like is nothing like ours. But he listens. And he tries. The only problem is, he's not as popular at court as you would think. Particularly...."
Particularly?
I waited for an answer that wasn't going to come. "I'm not going to rat you out. I'm the one talking treason here."
Casimir's eyes glowed as they met mine. He glanced around once more, and then slid a little closer, his shoulder brushing mine. "The king thinks his eldest son is weak. This is his last chance. Bring his father the firebird's heart, or expect to be disinherited. Rygil's always been a little more like the king than Ev has. Both the king and Rygil would prefer to sidestep the succession. The second Rygil steps foot on the throne, the Way of the Light will be firing up their bonfires. He's a fanatic."
"Weak?" The prince was charming, but I'd seen him with the men. He was firm enough they listened to him, and they liked him for it too. A true leader of men. "He's put Hussar in his place often enough today. I wouldn't call him weak."
Casimir stared up at the moon, the hard line of his cheekbones almost sharp. "I'm the problem," he barely breathed the words.
I rested my chin on my knees, not sure what to say. "What do you mean?"
"The king wants me dead. Evaron wants me alive. He'd have had the throne if he hadn't dared defy his father." His voice dropped. "For me."
The collar gleamed in the moonlight. "Why are you so loyal to him? He put a collar on you."
"It's complicated."
"I'm sure I can understand," I growled.
"Then maybe I don't want to talk about it?" he snapped.
Any sense of camaraderie fled. Guilt flickered through me. "Sorry. I didn't mean to push. You don't owe me your story."
I made to hop off the branch, but a hand suddenly caught mine. He was so much warmer than I was.
The silence stretched out, as our gazes locked.
"Nobody's ever wanted to hear it before," he said, his dark lashes obscuring those brilliant eyes. "I—I know I'm gruff. I'm not used to speaking about myself. About my past."
Averill always said I was too quick to leap to conclusions.
Slowly I turned my hand upward, linking our fingers. "I would hear it. I would listen. If you wanted to tell me about it. You don't have to..."
Casimir stared at our linked hands, and heat flushed through my cheeks. I didn't want him to get the wrong idea, but I'd been the one who'd blundered into this conversation.
"And afterward, we can pretend we don't like each other again, if that makes you feel any better?" I suggested quickly.
"Who's pretending?"
Ouch. I withdrew my hand, but he sighed and captured it again, looking down as if the sight of my hand in his was the strangest thing he'd ever seen. My skin was darker than his, but his was so much larger. Stronger. Scars gleamed white on his knuckles.
"I don't dislike you," he said stiffly.
"I bet you woo all the ladies at court with that tongue." I fluttered my eyelashes at him.
He glared.
It felt weird, because we were still holding hands. And suddenly I was far too aware of him, of the strength in his grip, and the sheer muscle beneath his skin. Casimir looked dangerous, from top to toe. His body was a study in hard angles, and the only thing soft about him was that mouth. I had this horrible urge to bring my hands up and cup his jaw, to see if the shadow of dark bristles along his jaw were as soft as they seemed.
What was happening to me?
I cleared my throat. "Tell me about Evaron. And the king. Please."
"King Euric wanted my clan dead," he said hoarsely, his gaze lowering. "All of us. Evaron was but a boy when he rode with the king to burn my peop
le out of the southern forests. It was mayhem." His voice roughened, and I knew he pictured a long-ago moment in time. "They cut my parents down. My aunt. The only one left alive was me, and I was all of ten. I remember trying to get to my hands and knees with broken ribs and a broken wrist, when the king shoved this boy through the circle of guards. The prince. A boy barely a year or two older than I. Euric wanted to blood him. Put a sword in his hand, and told him to kill me. I could smell Evaron's fear and see the horror on his face. And his father was jeering at him, shoving him toward me. Telling him to, 'Be a man.'
"Somehow I found my feet. I was going to kill this prince, to try and take something away from the king, but Evaron spoke before I had a chance. He convinced his father I was worth more alive. The king called him a coward, but Evaron said killing ones enemies was too easy. But put them on a leash and parade them around at court? Such was power."
Casimir closed his eyes, his head bowing. "I was so furious I tried to kill him anyway. The guards kicked me unconscious, and when I woke I had this around my neck" —he brushed his fingers against the collar— "and the prince was kneeling beside me on the cell floor trying to pour water down my throat." He gave a humorless laugh. "I didn't trust him at first, but the alternative was to be burned to death by his father. King Euric showed me the bonfire they'd piled in the courtyard the very next day. If I ever tried to harm Evaron again, he'd put me on it and light it up myself, and he smiled. He wanted me to try."
What a story. I stared at him, aghast. Inheritance laws or not, the idea of healing the king rebelled within me.
But I couldn't help thinking of my father.
If we found the firebird, perhaps I could heal him too.
My father's life for a tyrant king's? Father always said we had a duty to the forest, and to the people in our village.
"Evaron could have handed me over many times," Casimir said. "I don't fit in at court. And my temper... There are enough puny lordlings there with a grievance against me. But he hasn't. And he won't. And now he's paying for his loyalty by being forced to accede to this quest. If he dies here, then I don't think the king will grieve too much."
