The Will and the Wilds(48)

The gobler frowns, speaks. Maekallus says, “He will not come by my bidding.”

“Convince him.”

“He will not be convinced.” Then Maekallus orders, “Kill him.”

The gobler shivers. Speaks. Maekallus’s expression darkens as if the corruption has consumed it.

“Tell me!” I beg.

“She says she will not succeed. She is too weak.”

Tears tickle my eyes, but I blink them back and take a step toward the mysting. “Then bring me something of his.”

“Enna?” Maekallus asks.

I turn to him. “The scrying spell. The one I copied in Caisgard. If this creature can bring us something of Grapf’s—a shred of clothing, a buckle, anything—then we’ll know the instant he comes here. We can find him, and with the Will Stone—”

“We’ll break the spell,” Maekallus murmurs, motionless. His lips press into a hard line. “Command her, Enna. Leave no room for error.”

I consider this for a moment before looking back at the gobler. I wonder if she understands mortal speech, or if the Will Stone makes her believe my will is hers. But that is not pertinent. “You will return to the monster realm, the Deep. You will report your failure in locating the stone. You do not believe it is here after all.”

Maekallus nods his approval.

“You will seek out Grapf’s living space. If it is not near, you will seek out his person. You will subtly collect something of his—slough from his body, clothing, anything that he owns. You will bring that item back to this glade, and leave it by that tree.” I point to the tree where Maekallus cornered me earlier, and hope the light of the lowering sun is red enough to mask my flush.

“She should eliminate herself.”

My belly tightens. The danger is real. If my will wears off in the monster realm, or if someone follows her, she could reveal us—and there’s no denying she’d as soon kill me as not. She has no soul, just like the gobler who marked me, who would have torn me apart had my father not been there. But to will another creature to kill itself? What if I had done something similar with Maekallus? With Attaby?

Yet they are different. Attaby is harmless, and Maekallus has human origins. A partial soul. This gobler . . . she is a monster, through and through.

It doesn’t matter. I can’t curse her with such a fate, and so I pretend not to hear. “Then you will go into the monster realm and never return. Under any circumstance. You will die before you step foot here again. You will die before you reveal what has transpired here. You will forget ever coming here after you have brought something of Grapf’s to this tree.”

The gobler’s eyes glaze over.

I glance to Maekallus. He nods. Thorough enough.

I squeeze the stone. “Go.”

She departs. I don’t move—don’t breathe—until her footsteps merge with the dying song of the forest. I don’t relax until the Will Stone returns to its cool state, whispering of Maekallus and nothing else.

Fatigue pricks me like angry hornets. I falter. Maekallus lunges forward and grabs my arm in a painful grasp to keep me upright. I force my legs to steady, to stay on my own feet. I will not lean on him. I can’t.

“My father is unwell.” My breath is too heavy, but I find my balance, and Maekallus releases me. “I need to go home.”

“Can you?”

I laugh. It soothes that soulless hole inside me ever so slightly. “I’ll manage.”

“I can hide myself from mortals.”

“And they’ll only see a woman floating through the wildwood.” I glance at him, but he is serious, and it dampens my mirth. I pick up my basket, trying not to stagger. Maekallus drops my dagger inside. “You are healed, and the gobler will return.” Please, please let her be successful. If the spell wears off, or she is killed, I do not know how I’ll ever free Maekallus and break the bond between us. We will perish together. “You can watch this place, and the stone will warn me when she returns.” I cross the small glade and carefully step over tree roots. “I will come back sooner if it’s more than a few days.”

I slip and fall hard on my backside. I wince, and in the split second I close my eyes, I feel I could sleep forever.

Maekallus walks over, hands on his hips.

I sigh. “If you would be so kind.”

He bestows upon me a wry grin that I want to slap off his face. He is the reason my body is a century old beneath the skin. Why I am only a piece of what I once was. But no, that isn’t fair. I am the one who summoned him. The gobler—Grapf—is the one who bound him here.

Maekallus picks me up. Yes—he is warmer than he once was. Warm enough to be human. I rest my cheek against his bare shoulder. So tired, yet sleep doesn’t come, even when he traipses across level ground.

“You’ll need to show me where you live,” he says after so long.

I open my eyes. “I suppose I must. But mark my words, Maekallus. One snide remark, one wrong move, and you’ll be flying back to your glade so fast the falcons will squirm with jealousy.”





Maekallus takes me nearly to the edge of the wildwood, setting me down when my home becomes visible, barely, through the trees. He watches me go—I feel his eyes—but when I turn back, he’s nowhere to be seen.