Larkin found a rock to kneel on, cupped her hands, and drank long and deep. The water tasted of minerals, and it was bitterly cold as it slid down her throat.
Venna knelt beside her and drank. She sat back and wiped her mouth. “Did Denan do that to your neck?”
Larkin stopped herself from touching her dressing. “No.” She bit into the hard, dry bread and filled her mouth with water to soften it.
“Does it hurt?”
Larkin was relieved she hadn’t pried. “Only if the skin pulls.”
Larkin and Venna were forced apart when Alorica dropped between them. “I’m going to make a run for it. You two are coming with me.”
Lowering her bread, Larkin glanced around to find Talox standing on the rocky outcropping, surveying the forest around them, one hand on his bow.
“Alorica,” she whispered. “There are dangerous things in these woods. We have to stay with the pipers.”
“They’re trying to make us afraid,” Alorica hissed.
“I was attacked the first time I came into the forest,” Larkin said. “By a lizard bigger than a man.”
“I’d rather face a lizard than the pipers.” Alorica pointed toward Talox. “He can’t chase all three of us, so at least two should escape. I’ve been paying attention. The river is always at our left. If we keep it to our right going back, we can make it.”
Larkin shook her head. She needed to tell them what waited for them if they went back—how the villagers would turn on them too—but she couldn’t get the words out.
Alorica clenched her jaw. “We won’t get a better chance.” She turned expectantly toward Venna, who stared at the water bleeding from the rocks.
“I think— I think Alorica’s right.” Larkin shot her an exasperated look. Venna licked her lips nervously. “I want to go home.”
If Larkin didn’t warn them, she’d never be able to live with the guilt. She touched her dressing, wincing at the ache. “The town blamed me for anything bad that happened after I escaped. They blamed me when you two disappeared, even though I tried to stop it.” Larkin sniffed, her eyes aching with the tears she refused to shed. “They’ll do the same to you if you go back.”
“Larkin,” Venna began, reaching for her as if to comfort her.
“I’m not you,” Alorica growled. “And my father isn’t the town drunk. We’ll tell everyone the truth, and Papa will protect me.” She lifted her chin. “And I’ll protect you two.”
Larkin winced. “Bane’s protection didn’t help me much, and he’s more powerful than your father.”
“Fine. Stay,” Alorica ground out. “But Venna and I are leaving.” She gripped Venna’s wet, shaking hands. “If we get separated, follow the river out.”
Venna nodded, her eyes too wide in her round face.
“Don’t do everything Alorica says just because she’s a bully,” Larkin said.
Ignoring her, Alorica pushed to her feet, nodded at Venna, and then took off running, Venna a beat behind.
Larkin took a step after them, her instincts demanding she follow, but her mind insisting she was safer here. For half a breath, she wasn’t sure which was louder, but then she heard a puff of breath and felt something whiz past her. Alorica jerked but kept running, a dart in her back.
“Venna, don’t make me dart you too!” Talox’s deep voice cut like a knife.
Venna staggered to a halt. Her body quivered with fear. She turned and started back. Alorica was still running, though one of her arms had gone limp and she dragged a leg.
Talox jumped down from his rock and rushed past them. “Both of you stay here.”
Cowering, Venna slunk back to the spring. “Is that what the other piper did to you—hit you with a dart?”
Larkin nodded.
A few minutes later, Talox returned with Alorica thrown over one shoulder, her limbs swaying bonelessly. “Come on,” he said gruffly as he hurried on ahead of them. “We’ll have called every gilgad for miles.”
He set a grueling pace, and Larkin found it harder and harder to keep up. She had no idea how he could press on with Alorica’s weight slowing him down.
“You can’t blame her for wanting to run,” Larkin finally said in exasperation, tired of being punished for Alorica’s impulsiveness.
At the sound of more rumbling, Talox stopped and stared off in the distance. “No talking.” He switched Alorica to his other shoulder and started jogging.
Breathing hard, Larkin stared in the direction the rumbling had come from. The sound had to be made by gilgads. With Tam and Denan gone, Talox was the only warrior they had left.
Talox paused beside a tree and set Alorica down. He interlaced his fingers and held them low. “Venna, I’ll boost you up.”
Perhaps because of the quiet intensity radiating from him, Venna didn’t question him. She stepped into his hands. He lifted her, her hands scrabbling for purchase. Talox turned for Larkin. “You next. I’ll hand up Alorica.”
Before Larkin could step in his hands, he suddenly whipped up his bow, an arrow drawn and aimed at something to his left. She listened hard. Something moved through the brush. She grabbed a branch and stood over Alorica. Ancestors, had Larkin survived the mob only to be devoured by beasts in this blasted forest?
Talox let out a whistle that sounded like a bird. An answering whistle called back. Talox lowered his bow, his shoulders rolling forward with relief. Moments later, Tam emerged from the forest.
Larkin let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “What did you think was after us?”
Infuriatingly, Talox glanced at her sideways and didn’t answer. When Tam reached them, he crouched beside Alorica, resting his fingers against her throat.
“She and Venna tried to run for it,” Talox said as he helped Venna down from the tree.
“Probably not the last time. I’ll carry her.” Tam swung Alorica over his shoulder.
“Any gilgad?” Talox asked.
“I cleared us a path all the way to the river.” Tam started out, his steps light despite his burden. Talox ranged ahead, his long stride eating up the distance. As the two men came even with each other, Larkin couldn’t help but compare the two. Talox was like a lumbering, sleepy bull—all muscle and measured thinking. With his boyish features, Tam reminded her of a fox, with a grin always itching to tug up his slim cheeks.
Larkin glanced back, wondering when Denan would catch up and why it mattered to her that he did.
By late afternoon, the vegetation grew thicker. Ferns shushed against Larkin’s thighs. Fuzzy moss blanketed the tree trunks. A sound grew louder in the distance—the roar of breaking water. The damp pressed against her skin, the weight of it settling in her lungs.
They came upon a clearing surrounded by trees. Talox gathered wood for a fire. Tam settled Alorica in the hollow space between tree roots. Breathing hard, Larkin rested a hand on a tree for support. Through the boughs high above, she could make out the top of a waterfall more than four times the size of the tallest trees. Leaving the trees’ shelter, she stepped around boulders toward a rocky outcropping. The waterfall came into full view.
Surrounded by green, a roar of white plummeted into a wide pool of turquoise water. Such beauty seemed out of place in the world Larkin lived in. Everything should be barren and full of thorns, not filled with shades of green so bright they hurt her eyes or water so blue it looked more like a liquid jewel than the dirty river that sloshed past her town. She longed to step into that cool water, to let some of that beauty wash away the darkness staining her soul.
“Larkin,” Tam said in his high tenor. “Come help me with Alorica.”
She backed away slowly, not wanting to leave. She stepped into the shadows of the trees. Talox was bent over kindling. Tam approached her and held out a water gourd. “She should be coming out of it enough to swallow. Keep her head up so she doesn’t choke.”
Settling behind her, Larkin propped up Alorica’s head while Venna gave her slow, measured doses of water. They?
??d just finished when Denan strode into the firelight, a small, eviscerated gilgad draped across his shoulders. He saw her and the tension around his eyes loosened.
“Talox, report.”
“We were waiting for you before we crossed,” Talox said. “Alorica and Venna tried to run for it. I had to dart Alorica.”
“Tam?” Denan asked.
“I cleared out the . . .” Tam’s voice trailed off, and he shrugged.
Denan seemed to know what he meant. “We do what must be done.” The same words Talox had said earlier. “I threw them off our trail. We’ll cross in the morning.” He dropped the gilgad.
“And no one was hurt?” Larkin asked, an edge to her voice.
“No one was hurt,” Denan said.
A rush of relief coursed through Larkin. Unable to resist, she settled Alorica’s head and hesitantly approached the gilgad. Its skin was mottled brown and green—like the pipers’ cloaks. Its pupils were slitted, scales diamond-shaped, teeth curving and serrated. Gathering her courage, she reached out and ran her fingers down the hard spikes along its back.
“Don’t touch the head.” Denan crouched beside her. His knife carefully slit the skin behind the nostrils and pulled the hide back, revealing pink bladder-like sacs. “Those are the venom sacs.”
Feeling queasy, Larkin went to sit beside Alorica. Denan tied up the creature out of the range of their fire and dressed it with quick, efficient movements.
“The gilgad”—Denan’s voice took on a lecturing tone—“while formidable, is only a beast. There are worse things in the forest—much worse. You need us to protect you. That’s harder to do if we have to lug you around.”
What could be worse than the gilgad?
Tam knelt beside them and unstopped a vial. “Prop her head back up,” he told Larkin.
Larkin held out a hand to block him. “What are you doing?”
“Poison,” Tam said. “After luring you from the town and forcing you to traipse through the forest for a full day, now we’re going to kill you the sneaky way.”
Larkin blinked at him.
“What— You can’t—” Venna began.
Tam tipped his head back and laughed. “It’s the antidote. Talox already gave her the first dose, or she’d be dead by now. This one will bring her out of it faster and with less pain.”
“You think this is funny?” Larkin asked, jaw clenched.
Tam looked around the group. “Ah, come on. It was a little bit funny.”
Remembering how she had slept for a full day and woken so painfully, Larkin shot a glare at Denan. He shrugged, a hint of amusement gleaming in his dark eyes. “I told you it would have been easier if you’d stayed with me.”
“Fine. And now you’ve won. You have me. You have all three of us. What do you intend to do with us?”
The pipers had the decency to look chastised. “We won’t hurt you,” Denan said.
“Forgive me if I don’t trust your definition of hurt.”
“We have a right to know,” Venna said softly.
“You will come with us to our home in the Alamant.” Talox directed his words to Venna. “Someday, we hope you will chose us as your husbands.”
Venna made a choking sound and shrank back.
Larkin had known this. Deep down, she’d always known. But to hear it said so plainly . . . She swiveled to Denan. “I will never willingly marry you.”
Denan pointedly turned away. “Talox, take first watch. I’ll bring you some food later.”
Taking his bow and ax, Talox lumbered off.
If Alorica’s head hadn’t been cradled in Larkin’s lap, she would have stormed over to Denan and slapped him. “What did you expect—that I would throw myself at your feet? You’re my enemy!”
“I’m your enemy?” Denan snapped as he hacked off a chunk of meat and tossed it onto the animal’s hide. “And what of your own people, the ones running you down earlier? Are they your friends?”
Larkin’s hand strayed to the bandages around her throat. She looked away, focusing on Tam, who strung the meat up on a stick. “And whose fault was that?” she said, voice shaking.
“Larkin.” Venna’s hand went to her own throat. “Who did this to you?”
Larkin glanced down at Alorica. Her eyes were closed, but Larkin would bet she was listening. “Hunter,” she finally managed. “The Black Druid.” Again, the vision of him being struck by the arrow, his shock and devastation. She pinched her eyes shut, but the images were leeches draining the life from her. “The townspeople, they were going to . . .” She shook her head, unwilling to say it out loud. “I got away. Hunter caught up to me. He had a knife.”
She held her hand protectively over her neck. Her head ached with the tears she couldn’t hold back, but she never let anyone see her cry. Settling Alorica down gently, Larkin hurried from the camp.
“Let her go,” Denan said softly. “She knows not to go far.” One of the pipers must have made to follow her.
She was tempted to prove Denan wrong, but the gilgad were out there, tracking them. She waded into the pool and perched on a boulder, her feet dangling in the cool water. She stared down at her reflection—her wild copper hair, the dance of freckles across her face, her large dark eyes. For a moment, everything she’d ever wanted had been within her grasp—safety for her family, no more fear of her father’s fists, and Bane . . . he had been hers. But even at its brightest, her future had been tainted, darkened at the edges by fear and hatred.
Then she couldn’t see anything for the tears blurring her vision. She wrapped her arms around her drawn legs and buried her face on her knees and sobbed the only way she knew how—silently. The last of her tears spent as the day lost its sharpness. She lifted her face to the steel-blue sky, reveling in the cool mist shifting against her hot cheeks, imagining she was a bird with the wind against her face as she soared to freedom.
The savory smell of sizzling meat had Larkin’s mouth watering in earnest. She ignored her hunger. She’d rather be hungry than anywhere near Denan, but he stepped out of the camp to wash the blood from his arms. Flicking his fingers, he stared up at her while she pretended not to know he was there. She wasn’t sure what to do when he removed his boots and sloshed into the pool behind her. She did her best to ignore him as he sat down on her rock at a respectable distance and settled a broad leaf covered in cooked meat between them. Even if she wanted to say something, she doubted she could talk through the saliva filling her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
She swallowed. “If not for you, the townspeople never would have turned on me in the first place.”
“I know.”
“I’ve lost everything because of you!”
“I know.”
“Then why?” she demanded.
He let out a long breath. “I do what I must.”
She glared at him, for once not caring if someone saw that she’d been crying. “Don’t force your platitudes on me. What you’ve done to me—you had a choice in it.”
He softened, which only made her angrier. He reached for her hand. She jerked back. “You said you wanted to know why.”
She wasn’t sure what that had to do with touching her. Eyes narrowed in warning, she thrust her hand out. He gently unwound the bandage, his fingertips brushed across the scabs left by the sliver and amulet. Cringing at the feel of his flesh on hers, she wrenched her hand back and briefly touched the amulet at her waist, out of habit.
His eyes tracked her movement. “Clever hiding place.” His irises were nearly black in the failing light. “What does the amulet do?” he asked.
“Shouldn’t you be telling me that?”
He looked away from her, his sharp features traced by shadows. “I want to—you have no idea how badly—but I’m afraid you’ll have to figure it out for yourself. I can’t tell you.”
She ground her teeth. “Can’t or won’t?”
He growled in frustration, rubbi
ng his hand over his bristled scalp. “I told you—it’s the only one of its kind.”
“Surely you’ve used it.” He watched her, as if waiting for something. Unless . . . “Unless you can’t?”
“I use these.” Denan pulled out a panpipe and a flute from around his neck. They appeared to be made of the same material as the amulet. She reached out, just to be sure. Their surface had the smoothness of polished stone, though they were lightweight, like wood. She’d seen the other men with similar pipes.
Denan lifted the pipes and blew ten notes. She could feel the magic tugging her back up straight, sharpening her attention. He repeated it, a little faster, then tugged the cord over his head and held the pipes out to her. “Try it.”
She hesitated, not wanting her mouth on something that had been so near his. But maybe, just maybe, she could use it the same way he had. There was power in that, power in the magic, and she’d always been so powerless.
Already, the spell he’d woven was fading. Steeling herself, she brought them to her lips and found it easy to copy what he had done, but the notes held no power, no magic. She thrust them back to him in disgust. “I don’t know how to play well enough.”
He took them, tucking them and the flute back in his shirt. “You played fine.”
The intense way he watched her—he wanted something. He was trying to tell her something, and suddenly it clicked. “I can’t use the magic pipes, and you can’t use the magic amulet.”
He smiled, looking relieved. “There is women’s magic and men’s magic. One cannot use the other.”
“Why?”
He sat looser now, his arms braced behind him. “That’s a question for a theologian. A better question would be how to use the amulet.”
“I thought you didn’t know.”
“We don’t, not really.”
We? Who is we? Larkin stared at the tiny scabs on her hand. The amulet had pierced her skin, giving her visions—and something else . . .