The Will and the Wilds(58)

Only Maekallus can mend my soul, if such a feat is possible.

Could Tennith mend my heart?

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” I say, though I speak to the fire, not to him. “Some . . . family issues recently arose that . . . complicated a few things. And I thought that night might be my last chance.”

A truth embedded in a lie. But vague lies are less harmful than specific ones, aren’t they?

Tennith is quiet for a long moment. He sighs. “You’re a difficult woman to court, Enna Rydar.”

I look at him and raise an eyebrow. “Are you trying to court me, Tennith Lovess?” My breathing echoes in my hollow chest. Is it the slenderness of my soul that dampens my excitement? Yet it didn’t stop my heart from tearing in the glade, or extinguish the fire of betrayal and the unyielding chill of sorrow that carried me home.

I want to cry all over again. Am I so broken I cannot find joy in the potential of a more-than-suitable match? A husband, a family?

What is a soul if not an extension of the heart?

Had I unknowingly given even my heart to him?

The edge of Tennith’s mouth quirks. “If I am, I’m very poor at it.”

A flame burns within me, something hot with rage and confusion and hurt. I want nothing more than to cast all of this behind me, to forget, to stop being a shell of who I once was. Couldn’t I still have that dreamy life, even if I’ll never be whole again? Am I not human enough to deserve happiness?

I stand on renewed legs and cross the small front room until I’m standing before Tennith. His eyes glitter with wonder, but he doesn’t shy away from me.

“Then court me,” I say, defiant.

His gaze lowers to my mouth, lingers. For a moment I think I’ll have to do this myself, but just before I lean into him, he lowers his mouth to mine.

It’s just as before, warm, his lips pleasantly rough. I push harder, and his hand comes up to cradle my cheek. I hold my breath from habit, but nothing breaks inside me. I’m filled with the scents of earth and fresh wood. The kiss is warm and sweet, and it makes me feel emptier than the hollow where my broken soul slumbers. I shrink away, parting from him, and I want nothing more than to be alone, to curl around the fire until my dress smokes, and weep. To escape into slumber, even if it’s laced with nightmares. I clutch the Will Stone in my hand—then drop it just as quickly.

Averting my eyes, I manage, “This may be easier when health has returned to this home.”

Tennith doesn’t respond at first. When I gather enough courage to meet his eyes, he nods. “Can I . . . get you a blanket? Some water?”

I force a wan smile. “I will do well enough.”

He hesitates. “Take care, Enna. I’ll . . . be back.”

He fastens his cloak around his shoulders and opens the door to the rain, casting me one last unsure look before stepping into it.

Alone, I let my wasted body collapse to the rug before the hearth. I lie against the hard floor, shivering, until my mind relents and takes my consciousness into the horrors of the monster realm.





In my dreams, the teeth of a great beast clamp down on my hand.

I startle awake, blinking red light from my eyes. The Will Stone sits in my open palm, burning cold.

The fire is down to embers. I drop the stone, not wanting to be any colder than I am. My coat is dry, so I slip it on before hurrying into the hall. It’s dark. In my father’s room, I see through the window that the sky has cleared enough for some stars to peek through.

“Papa?”

He slumbers, his book propped open on his chest.

Horrible images stir in my vision, sounds and smells foreign to me. I try to push them away. In the kitchen, I make a small plate of cheese and mushrooms and bread, and I set it on my father’s bedside with a tankard of water. In the kitchen, I swallow a few morsels for myself and drown them in several gulps of mead. It warms my belly and drives some of the cold away.

Taking a deep breath, I clasp the stone.

Gobler. And I instantly know which one. The female, from the smaller glade. The one I willed to bring me something of her companion, Grapf.

My body sings with cool strength, like a dam has burst inside me. Like a portion of my soul has returned. I clutch the stone, trying to see her through its sorcery. I feel her moving through the wildwood to the north. If the gobler has returned as instructed, she’s been successful.

I fasten a cloak over my winter coat, partially for warmth, partially for the dark color. I no longer fear the gobler or any of the mystings in the wildwood. If anything, they should fear me.

I slip out through the kitchen door with nothing but the scrap of paper I saved from the Duke of Sands’s library and a lantern. I avoid the wildwood at first, for the ground beyond it is more even and easier to cover in the dark. Soon, however, the forest is inevitable, and I pierce its shadows, shivering under the touch of the Will Stone the entire way.

The stone’s iciness recedes before I reach the rendezvous. The gobler has retreated, perhaps back to her realm, as instructed. By the time I arrive at the glade, the stone is merely cool again.

I clutch the stone as I enter the dark place, lifting my light. The shadows of this place, the smell of wetness and mud, the stirring of life in foliage and branches, should frighten me away. But I have the Will Stone. I’ve seen the monster realm. I am not afraid.

There, perched on the thick root of an aspen, is a tiny vessel, no larger than my pinky finger. It’s made of a strange black glass, almost like obsidian, with a rough cork stopper. I pick it up and hold it to my light. There’s some sort of liquid inside, thick and opaque. Something of Grapf’s.