The Demon in the Wood (The Grisha 0.1)(7)

“Yes I will,” he said, then added, “if we stay.”

“You said you would.”

Eryk fiddled with his spoon. He should talk to his mother about what Annika had learned. He knew that.

Annika said, “Do you want to come swimming with me and Sylvi tonight?”

“It’s too cold to swim.”

“There’s a pond fed by hot springs just up from the creek.”

He glanced over to where his mother was speaking to the Ulle, her black eyes flashing. “I don’t think I should.”

Annika gave a stiff shrug. “All right,” she said.

But he could see that it wasn’t. He remembered the feeling of her hand in his. For the next few months, he could be Eryk. He could belong to this place. He could have a home, maybe even friends. And friends went on adventures. They broke rules together.

He gave Annika a nudge under the table. “What time?”

*

Even after the lamps were long extinguished and Eryk was certain his mother was asleep, he hesitated. His mother distrusted the vulnerability of sleep; she never really seemed to dream deeply and was always ready to leap from her bed at any sound.

But they’d spent three weeks learning to track with the hunters of the southern range. He’d studied how to walk in silence, rolling his heels, bare feet moving soundlessly over the pelt-covered floor.

It was brighter outside than inside the hut, the camp washed pale blue by the silvery light of a full moon. He waited until he was nearly to the woods to put on his boots, then headed into the trees to find his way back to the stream. He followed it for a half mile, hoping he wasn’t too late, and had even started to wonder if he’d somehow gone the wrong direction when he climbed a low knoll and the pond came into view, bigger than he’d expected, moonlight rippling over its surface.

Annika was there, floating on her back in the water, her white-blond hair spread around her head like a halo. As he watched, she turned and began gliding across the pond, silent as a ghost.

He walked down to the shore, and when her head broke the water again, he whispered, “Hello!”

She whirled, sending out little waves that lapped at the sand. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I had to wait for my mother to fall asleep,” he said as he kicked off his boots and stripped down to his linen. He didn’t know how he was going to explain soaked underthings to his mother, but he felt too shy to remove everything. As he plunged into the water, a giddy kind of elation rose in his chest. He dunked his head, letting the water fill his ears so that the world went quiet, then he popped back up, feeling the night air cool his damp skin. He could hear the soft rush of the stream and Annika splashing in the water just a few feet away. Until the thaw. He could do this every night if he wanted. Maybe when the pond froze, they could skate.

“Where’s Sylvi?” he asked.

“She fell asleep before my father did. I didn’t want to wake her.”

“Too bad.”

Annika squirted water from her mouth. “Quieter without her. She’s decided your mother is a princess, by the way.”

Eryk dunked his head again. “Princess of what?”

“Just a princess. She’s really beautiful.”

Eryk shrugged. He was aware of the way men looked at his mother. It was one more weapon in her arsenal.

“What was your mother like?” he asked. The question felt strange on his lips, and he wasn’t sure it was the right one to ask.

She stirred the surface of the water with her fingertips and said, “Gentle. She used to sing us to sleep. I told her I was too old for lullabies. I regret that every night now.”

Eryk stayed quiet. This was the time to say something about his father, fallen in battle. But living or dead, he had no memories of the man to share.

“The witchhunters had these horses,” Annika said, her face tilted up to the night sky. “I know I was scared, but I swear they were big as houses.”

“They do have special breeds of horses for the drüskelle.”

“They do?”

He had to be cautious about revealing where he’d been or what he’d learned, but this felt safe enough. “They’re bred for size and demeanor. They don’t spook at fire or storms. Perfect for battle against Grisha.”

“It wasn’t a battle. It wasn’t even a fight. My father couldn’t protect us.”

“He got you and Sylvi away safely.”

“I guess.” She kicked off toward shore. “I’m going to dive!”

“Are you sure it’s deep enough?”

“I do it all the time.” She clambered out of the pond, wringing water from her shift, and scaled one of the boulders bordering the shore.

“Careful!” he called. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe his mother’s overprotectiveness was rubbing off on him.

She raised her hands, preparing to launch herself into the water, then paused.

Eryk shivered; maybe the water wasn’t as warm as he thought. “What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing,” she said, hands still held out.

A chill passed through him. It was then that he realized he could barely move his arms. He tried to lift his hands, but it was too late. The water felt thick around him. It was hardening to ice.

“What are you doing?” he asked, hoping this was some kind of game, a joke. Eryk started to tremble, his heart pounding a panicked beat as his body went cold. He could still move his legs, just barely scrape the muddy bottom of the pond with his frantically kicking toes, but his chest and his arms were held motionless, the ice pressing in around him. “Annika?”