Hunted(20)

“But what about Albe?”

Yeva’s lips twitched—the first hint of a smile she’d felt since Pelei had returned. “Yes,” she agreed. “You will need to look after Albe too.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He was regaining his breath somewhat, but his face still burned with the flush of exertion, and his voice was still ragged.

“I know. But he is more brother than servant, and he doesn’t know these woods. He can’t provide for them. You can.” She stepped forward to clasp his hands in hers. She had never voluntarily reached out for him before, and he seemed almost as surprised by the gesture as she was herself. “This is what I’m asking you to do.”

Solmir was silent for a time, breathing hard through his nose. “When you return—”

Yeva nodded. “When I return I will marry you. And we will see my father settled, and go out hunting as often as you like, and sit at the baron’s table together. But for now I have to find my father. And I need your help—at home.”

Solmir freed one hand from Yeva’s grasp and lifted it to take hold of her chin in his fingers. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, the briefest of touches before he pulled away again. “For luck.”

She knew she ought to feel changed by his kiss, that her lips ought to tingle or her heart swell—but her lips felt only numb with cold, and her heart pounded only with urgency and exertion.

Yeva let go of him and staggered back so she could retrieve her pack and her bow. “Thank you,” she whispered, and then turned and stumbled off again.

She put as much distance as she could between her and Solmir, praying he didn’t change his mind. If he kept his word—and she had no reason to think he wouldn’t—then it would buy her some time. If she could not return in the next few days, then at least her sisters would be taken care of, and Solmir would not come blundering after her through the woods.

She had no time to think of Solmir. She knew, now, what she was searching for in these woods.

By the end of the day her vision was blurring with exhaustion. She knew she needed sleep, but after so long moving she found it hard for her limbs to settle. She put her head down on her pack, wrapping herself in the extra cloak by her meager fire. Her tired eyes sought patterns in the flames, saw wings of fire stretching skyward, and she fell asleep hearing her father’s voice telling her stories of the Firebird deep in the heart of the wood.

In her dreams a serpent glided toward her, red-gold eyes capturing and holding her as if she were a rabbit facing its death. Unable to run or cry out, she could only watch as it slithered across her chest. Its skin was ice cold and smooth as it reached her face, sliding over her lips and cheeks like a frigid kiss. It hissed as its head brushed her ear, jerking her out of her daze.

She sat bolt upright, gasping for air and clawing at her face, trying to throw the serpent away only to find her fingers closing around half-melted snow. The fire was nearly dead, its last embers hissing desperately under the onslaught of a new storm. Yeva blinked and looked up to find heavy snowfall drowning the camp, covering the whole lower half of her body.

“No,” she gasped, numb lips struggling to form the word. “No, no—Pelei—”

She scrabbled under the snow for her bow and her pack, then stumbled over onto her hands and knees. Dawn was breaking, pale light cast diffusely across the wood. Pelei’s trail was only visible as a faint series of hollows in the snow, almost indistinguishable from other features, obscured by the new snow—and filling fast.

Yeva scrambled to her feet and bolted down the trail, still shaking off the remnants of her nightmare, mind barely functioning. But Pelei’s trail was nearly gone, and without it she would only be one person in a vast, uncharted wood, with no way of ever finding her father. She could not afford to waste half a second collecting herself.

The snow fell more and more thickly, the wind picking up to toss it against her face and blind her at every turn. Pelei’s trail had also become more twisted, reflecting some confusion in the dog’s original path. Twice she had to stop and go back, retracing her steps to the point where she had mistaken a dip in the terrain for the trail.

She lost all track of time in the storm, the clouds and the falling snow too heavy for her to see any sign of the sun. The trees were growing together more thickly here, allowing little of the snow through. It meant there was less snow to cover Pelei’s trail, but that there had also been less snow to preserve it in the first place.

Eventually she stumbled over a hidden log, falling hard onto her stomach. Her breath stopped, leaving her groaning and trying to force her lungs to suck in new air. She rolled onto her back and lay there until she could fill her lungs normally, head spinning. She sat up, casting about for Pelei’s trail—and could see nothing. There was only the uneven expanse of snow in every direction, and her own scattered trail leading back the way she’d come.

Yeva dragged herself to her feet, shivering now that she’d stopped moving and the perspiration from exertion settled on her skin. Though the denseness of the trees prevented the snow from being too blindingly thick, she could no longer see any distinct path to follow. She stood there, eyes straining through the gloom, heart pounding and breath steaming the air.

As she turned in a slow circle, something stung at the insides of her nose, distinct from the icy burn of falling snow. Tracking by scent was usually impossible in such cold—everything was wiped clean by the frozen air. But Yeva could smell a faint, metallic tang that made the hairs rise on her arms.