Savage Beauty(5)

“No, sire. ‘Tis the wood’s magic. Evil, it is.”

I fought a chuckle. Rolfe’s superstitious nature was ridiculous. My father was to blame. He had taken great measures to ward our land against the fae. Tall fences made from ash wood surrounded our palace. The palace windows were braced with iron guards, and every door was forged from ash and iron. Fae couldn’t touch iron. It was poisonous to them, and ash wood would burn their flesh from their bones. If you believed in faeries, that was.

I didn’t. I believed what I saw, and I’d certainly never seen a fae before.

Neither had Rolfe, despite his rambling about us being in danger.

Besides, there was something familiar about this place. I looked up at the trees, the thick vines that hung from tall branches. The people of Grithim hung wards in the trees to guard against the fae crossing into our forests. Willow bark crosses, hundreds of them, were strung from the trees above us. “It’s an ill omen,” Rolfe said, following my stare.

“Our people put them there. Are you saying they mean to curse us?”

He huffed as his horse turned a circle. “I’m saying that if we go beyond the wards, it’ll lead to our deaths.”

“I don’t believe in superstition,” I said, my eyes following the trails of ferns carpeting the forest floor. It was like I’d been here before. Another time, perhaps. Maybe as a child?

“Well, I certainly do. We need to head back,” he insisted.

Wind whistled through the trees in low and high tones that mingled together in an eerie harmony. My fingers tightened on the reins. Our horses grew anxious. Their ears were flattened back and their large eyes kept searching around them as they stepped, turning nervously in a circle. Was it just the noise or the strangeness of this place? Could they sense Rolfe’s unease? Or was there something dangerous hidden just inside the murky haze?

“There’s something in there, sire. Something in the fog. Something’s coming for us now. The horses even know it,” Rolfe said, his voice quivering.

I narrowed my eyes, staring into the mist. If there was danger, I wanted to see it before it saw us—unless Rolfe was right and I was already too late.

The wind kicked up, blowing toward the mist but never dispersing it.

“Sire, please.” Rolfe motioned for me to follow him away from the fog and began trotting in the direction we’d come. That was when I saw it – a stag, larger than any I’d seen before. It raked its antlers along the rough bark of a tree, a rough, scraping sound almost muffled by the fog.

We weren’t in danger, after all. We were lucky to have found such fortune. The heavens were smiling on us and our people; the same people who could feed on such a large animal for weeks. It was tantalizingly close. I could take it down if I managed to stay hidden in the murk as well.

“Rolfe,” I said as quietly as I could. He turned his horse. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I motioned toward the stag and his eyes widened, worry wrinkling his face. Whispering, I vowed, “Let me bring him down, and then we will leave this place immediately.”

Rolfe’s lips thinned, but he nodded once.

As I guided Blackheart into the woods, his ears were pinned back. He tossed his head, snorting. I gritted my teeth, praying he wouldn’t spook the stag. We needed the meat he would provide. “Steady, boy,” I whispered gently.

Readying my bow, I drew an arrow from the quiver upon my back.

I took aim.

Pulled the string back taut.

Took a deep breath.

I needed a kill shot.

As I let go of the arrow, Blackheart reared. The arrow missed its mark, hitting the trunk above the stag. The animal bolted. I threw my bow over my shoulder and held tight to the reins. Blackheart turned in a circle, whinnying, looking up and all around us. It was as if something was closing in on him, something he feared but couldn’t see.

“Easy,” I sternly warned.

But he was frightened. And when Blackheart was frightened, he ran.

I struggled to stay in the saddle as he bolted, and tried to pull the reins and calm him, but nothing worked. Branches slapped my face and body, thorns tore at my clothes, and spider webs coated the pair of us with every gallop.

“Sire!” Rolfe yelled, trying to guide his own horse to help me regain control. But his horse was stubborn and afraid, refusing to enter the trees. Blackheart ran deeper into the fogged wood, away from Rolfe and into fog so thick, I could scarcely see Blackheart’s mane in front of my face.

The moist air wet my clothes and hair, slickening the leather reins in my hands as he tore through it. I tried to hold on for fear of falling or being thrown, but still Blackheart wouldn’t stop; no matter how much I pulled back, no matter how I shouted, demanding that he stop.

I could hear Rolfe’s frightened yells from behind as he tried to chase us down, but the mist swallowed us whole. It thickened as we cut through, and soon I couldn’t hear Rolfe at all. The damp air seeped into my clothing and hair as Blackheart slowed, ran and slowed again. I was just about to throw myself from the saddle when he slowed and began pacing sideways, right before the earth crumbled beneath his feet.



Although everything hurt in varying degrees, red-hot pain seared through my left side, arm, and leg. I tried to raise up, but the pain was blinding. Particles of dirt rained down from the newly-formed cliff above, sprinkling onto my face. We’d fallen at least twenty feet. Maybe more.