Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

We debate staying in the village that night, but I decide it's best for us to start back. I still need to find at least one spirit along the way or I risk Conri's suspicion about our venture into the woods. Then there's the matter of making outposts for Aurora and myself. Given that it took Evander and me almost three days to cross the woods, I expect it to take Aurora and me at least four.

For that reason, I ask Evander to slow his pace. Riding on wolf-back is still faster than walking and it is worth saving the time because I am stopping frequently.

The trees are no longer a blur. I can track every ancient line of gnarled bark. The changing scents of the forest—wet earth as we near streams, rot of fallen trees, fresh leaves that fall like snow when the breezes catch the upper branches—are no longer muddled across my senses.

My lips arch into a smile as I sink my hands deeper into Evander's fur, feeling it stretch between my fingers. I pat his shoulder and he takes the signal to stop. Dismounting, I cross to one of the larger trees. Despite its size, there's nothing particularly impressive about it. I reach into my satchel and retrieve my sewing kit, select a strand of deep yellow thread, and tie a length around a jagged remnant of a long, broken branch. The strand of gold is barely visible when I walk away, but I feel it like a beacon, even within these enchanted woods.

I hold in my heart a spool of magic that unravels as Evander and I speed away from the tree. I imagine it whirring like Grandma's yarn, twisting and tightening as she twirls it between her fingers, the wheel squeaking with its age, the movement instinct. My magic connects to the next yellow thread I tie around another tree branch a little farther down. That one connects to the next…and then the next, as the process repeats.

Despite my being adamant that Evander will come with us, I am not naive. I know all too well that it is possible something might happen that will prevent him from doing so. Though the mere thought makes my hands grip him tighter. Or he might be sincere in his wish to stay. If so, I would not dream of actually forcing him, even if I know in my heart it'd be for the best.

I am left to my thoughts for most of the day and find myself feeling all the more relaxed for it. I'm accustomed to having the limited company of Grandmother and spirits. Musings and magic. What more could a woman need?

It is late in the afternoon when a whisper of power tangles with my own. The sensation is like brushing up against the bendy boughs of a sapling and nearly breaks my focus. I sit straighter and stare off in the direction from whence it came. Evander feels the shift in my stance, slowing. He glances back over his shoulder, a silvery eye meeting mine. Then he stares where my head is turned.

"Please, if you don't mind," I say.

Evander bounds off in that direction. I tug on his fur gently, guiding him left and right, as the sensation ebbs and flows. At once, it stops, and I pull back, Evander skidding with a huff.

Whipping my head around, turning at the waist, I try to pick back up on the feeling. But I cannot seem to grasp it again. I dismount, stepping away from Evander, hoping that without his presence I might be able to have clearer senses.

"What is it?"

I didn't even notice him changing back into his human form. "I thought I felt something."

"‘Something?'" he repeats with an audible note of worry to his voice.

"A spirit, I thought," I say quickly to put his fears to rest.

" Ah . A spirit of what?"

"I'm not sure. Something flighty. Bird? Bug? Wind? Perhaps… It was faintly there and disappeared without warning. Then reappeared…then gone again." I dig out my grandmother's threads, crossing to a nearby tree. The chase went on longer than I thought and my last marker is dangerously distant. As I tie a short length of gold around a lower branch, I let out a heavy sigh.

"We'll find it again, I'm sure," Evander offers optimistically.

The threads in my little folio continue to stare up at me. There's still a good amount left…but they'll run out eventually. I'll have to make more, without Grandma.

"What is it?" Fallen twigs and leaves crunch under Evander's foot as he takes a step closer.

I still don't turn. A slightly sick feeling has lodged itself into my throat, making it difficult to speak. Evander approaches, but it's not him I imagine drawing near. Instead, it's a shapeless shadow of faceless gray. A mass that's been haunting me for weeks now, sneaking up whenever I least expect it. Wrapping its tendrils around my throat and heart. Trying to pin my feet to the ground with roots that skewer through the meat between my toes. It's heavy, and yet so ethereal that I can almost, almost forget it's there. Especially when I insist all is well and keep my focus anywhere else.

"Faelyn?" He's right behind me now. His hands rest on my shoulders, jarring me from the thoughts.

I shake my head, jostling myself back to the present. "Sorry, we should carry on."

"No." He doesn't move, replacing his hands on my shoulders when I turn.

"No?" A frown tugs on my lips. I swallow. Somehow, his concerned expression has only made the knot in my throat worse.

"No," he repeats again, gentler. "Tell me what has you so shaken?"

I sigh heavily, looking back at the folio that still rests in my hands. Open. Staring up at me. The thing that summoned that lurking shadow to the fore.

"I'll have to make more threads—sooner rather than later—and it'll be the first time I'm making them without Grandma," I admit, surprised at how level I manage to keep my voice.

His brows lift briefly with surprise, and as they settle back into place, a slight smile rests on his lips. "You'll do excellently, I'm sure."

I run my fingertips over the threads. "There's so much she never taught me. I had a lifetime with her, and it wasn't enough time."

"We could live two lifetimes with our elders and still feel there wasn't time to gather their wisdom. By the time we have enough wisdom of our own to appreciate theirs, twilight has already settled upon them," he says with a heavy tone. There's a knowing sadness in those words.

He lost everyone he cared about, too. He knows this pain. If anyone could understand, it would be Evander, wouldn't it? Yet, I can't muster the strength to continue speaking.

He continues in my silence, "But I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

"It's not that I'm worried about doing it right…" I murmur.

"What is it, then?"

I close the sewing folio and slip it back into my bag. But I still can't bring myself to look at him. Maybe a slow and steadying breath will help?

No. I still feel as jittery as before.

"Faelyn—"

"I'll be doing it alone." I jerk my face in his direction, feeling vulnerable the instant our eyes meet. I have given this man my body, and—dare I admit it?—pieces of my heart. But this is a part of me that isn't lovely. That's difficult and tender to touch. I'm afraid to offer this part of me to him for judgment. "She was always there; since the moment I took my first breath, she was there. She carried me into this world as I left my mother's body. She held me when I mourned her loss. These are the first few weeks—months—that I have ever been without her."

His arms tighten around my shoulders and he pulls me to him. Evander says nothing. The silence begs to be filled.

"I am no stranger to grief; my mother died when I was young. She went into the woods and never returned," I say hastily, my breath catching on almost every other word. "I know she died—she wouldn't have left us. Word was brought back of her passing. We mourned her together."

"Together," he echoes, emphasizing it for me more than him.

Together . The word continues to resonate in me. Louder and louder, rather than softer. "Yes…she was always there for me. And I knew she would leave. I knew the end was coming as it comes for us all… She would not want me to mourn—she told me as much—and I am trying so hard to be strong but…"

"You are strong," he whispers in my ear. "Grief is not a simple or fast process. Every loss hits us differently."

"But I have mourned her, I have said my goodbyes." I press my eyes closed as my arms wrap tightly around his waist, locking by gripping my elbows. "Why does that shroud of death continue to haunt me?"

"The pain manifests in ways we least expect, at times we least expect." He kisses my temple gently.

It's a tender gesture, one that whispers to me, Evander cares for you . A few tears escape despite my best efforts. I draw a shuddering breath, trying to collect myself. But, for some reason, it only seems to make things worse. More tears fall.

I've begun to care for him, too. I hold him all the tighter, as though I can keep the realization safe and pressed close to my heart, not allowing it to escape. It is not safe to care. Not safe for my fragile heart. Nor is it safe for us when we return to the wolves' den.

"It's all right, Faelyn," he soothes, stroking my hair. "It's all right."

"When…when Aurora is freed, she will be gone too. Everyone I've ever loved has left well before I was ready." The words stumble over the tears I'm fighting. Evander flinches. My wits return at the sight. What am I thinking? He's endured far worse than I. "Evander, I?—"

His grip slackens, hands returning to my shoulders as he leans away. I expect to see an expression of disgust. Of anger that I could be so inconsiderate to him and his hurt.

But that isn't the expression he wears. Instead, Evander's brows pinch with what almost looks like pain. As though he is somehow the cause of my pain. Anger would be easier than guilt.

"I will be there," he says before I can get a word of apology in for my careless disregard of his suffering.

"What?" I whisper.

"I will be there," Evander says again, with emphasis. "I will be there when you bid Aurora goodbye. I will be there when you need to spin more threads, and dye them in your vats of turmeric and pine. When your fingertips are stained yellow and you reek of onion peels for two weeks." He chuckles softly, almost sadly. "I will be there when you loop them after they've dried and I will be there when you need to start the process anew with spring's fresh wool."

"Evander…" I can't formulate a response. What he's saying is barely comprehensible to me. I understand the words…but the meaning. What is he really implying?

"As long as you wish for it, I will be there with you."

"Why are you saying all this?" I breathe, searching his silvery eyes, shadowed by his dark hair and the fading light. He looks dangerous in the twilight. Yet I am not afraid. This danger is on my side, protecting me.

"Because I do not want you to think for another second that you will be alone ever again." He's deathly serious.

"Please don't make promises like this unless you intend on keeping them." My words are no stronger than the last. It's as though all the strength I've been relying on to prop me up is fading. As if I can finally rely on his support at long last.

"I have every intention of keeping it." Evander locks his gaze with mine and doesn't let go. He holds me as much with a stare as his arms and as my own grasp.

Somehow, despite all odds, I believe him.