Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(96)
Only then did Sylas sigh with the realization that this wasn’t a fight he’d win. “Of course I am. Step aside.” He took a bridle and finished readying Mitra, everything about him exasperated. She tried not to let herself smile.
They left soon after, Gundry on their heels. Sylas led the charge through snow-covered moors, toward the woods that stretched ahead with branches waiting to snare them.
“It’s likely he’s gone to the garden,” Signa said as she peered down at hoof tracks in the snow that made a straight line toward the trees. “Has he ever said anything to you while waiting for a horse?”
“Your cousin isn’t one to speak with the help,” Sylas mused. “Too gentlemanly, that one.”
Signa followed the tracks through the clawing trees into the belly of the woods, where they converged with something that gave her pause—a new pair of boot tracks in the snow, too small to belong to Percy.
Sylas slid off his mount and stooped to inspect them. “Whoever these belong to may still be here.” His voice was barely a whisper. “The print is clearly defined, which means it’s fresh.”
Signa scanned Percy’s tracks again. He wasn’t in his right mind since being targeted with the poison, and for his own safety, these new tracks couldn’t be ignored. “Follow Percy,” she said. “See if you can find out what he’s up to, and make sure he doesn’t try anything reckless. I’ll follow these footprints. Perhaps they’ll lead to Marjorie.”
It was clear in the tension of his shoulders just how displeased Sylas was with this decision. Dragging a hand down his jaw, he sighed and pulled himself back onto his mount. “We meet back at the stables in an hour,” he said firmly. “If you’re not there, I’m coming to find you.”
“One hour,” she promised, giving him a hard look as she gripped the reins. “I’ll see you then.” And with a gentle kick to Mitra’s side Signa left him, following the tracks as they led her along a path she’d yet to explore.
Deeper and deeper into the forest she went, until the footprints disappeared beneath dirt and bramble and all that coated the forest floor. The woods were denser here. An area less traveled, where vegetation would be flourishing if not for the snow. Signa eased herself from Mitra, crunching twigs beneath her boots as she held the reins tight.
There was something peaceful about winter; a stillness that Signa often felt herself falling into. But this deep into the woods, with her head still pulsing, it was unnerving. Goose bumps rose along her skin as she pressed against the warmth of Mitra’s side, uncertain how much farther they could safely venture. She was bending to see if she could push some of the bramble aside to clear a path when a voice called from behind her, soft and familiar, “Careful. The bark is poisonous.”
Signa whirled to find Charlotte, breath pluming the sky. She was dressed in a thick emerald cloak and carried a wicker basket in her hands.
“It’s called a poison sumac,” Charlotte told her, beckoning Signa away. “It’ll give you a nasty rash if you or your horse so much as graze it.” With a smile, she added, “I learned that the hard way a few years ago, when I was first discovering these woods.”
Of course the prints belonged to Charlotte. Signa remembered Blythe telling her that Charlotte lived on the opposite edge of the woods, though she couldn’t imagine why the girl might be out in this weather. Signa’s eyes wandered to the basket in her hands. When she squinted, her head pulsed and her vision created little shapes of light in the snow beneath her feet. Signa must have swayed, for Charlotte reached out to steady her.
“Are you ill? The last thing you need to be doing right now is riding alone,” Charlotte admonished her. “Go on and take a seat here on this rock.”
Signa shut her eyes for a moment against the spinning world, then allowed Charlotte to help her sit. “It’s only a headache. It’ll pass soon enough.”
When she opened her eyes, Charlotte was frowning. She flipped the lid of her basket open to reveal an assortment of foraged goods. Chestnuts, pinecones, tiny little mushrooms of strange colors, and a piece of bark she handed to Signa. “Willow bark,” she said by way of explanation. “Better as a tea, but if you chew on it, that should help ease your headache.”
Signa stuck the bark in her mouth without question and began to chew. She’d do anything to get rid of the pulsing aura that swam in her sight. “What are you doing out here?” Signa asked between chews, scrunching up her nose at the bark’s bitterness.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Charlotte said. “After the Christmas ball, I didn’t expect I’d see you or any of the Hawthornes around for some time. And certainly not here of all places.”
“You hardly see me anyway.” Signa surprised even herself with how bluntly she spoke. “I would have enjoyed seeing you that night. Or anytime, really. It feels as though a wall has been built between us.”
“It does feel that way,” Charlotte admitted. “Though it’s by no fault of yours. You’ve seen the vultures that surround us, Signa. If any of them ever knew my past—if they knew what happened between my mother and your uncle—I would never hear the end of it. We came this far to rid ourselves of the scandal, so imagine my surprise when you showed up, only months before my season.” She sat down on the rock, warm hazel eyes meeting Signa’s. “It’s been a long time, and I didn’t know what kind of person you had become. I just want to make a good match, and to take care of my father.”