Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

WREN

The kiss robbed Wren of her senses.

That was the problem. And it was due to the darkness, the power of the Nox and the depths of the darkwood, the wildness that raced through her veins. She knew that need, that hunger, but never had it overwhelmed her with such ease.

Because with him, touching him, it was so much stronger, so much more than anything she had ever encountered.

She'd tried to drive the darkwood back with a few words of the othertongue and somehow that had just made everything worse, like she had stirred it up and it was determined to teach her a lesson for her temerity.

But that hadn't been the worst of it. He'd kissed her and she was lost in his arms. Helpless. Like a lovesick fool in an instant.

Pol had kissed her, but that had been an awful fumbling thing, all tongue and teeth and hot breath, all about him and his needs. But this…

Too much. That's what it was. Far too much.

She shoved the stranger back as best she could and then, when he surged towards her again, blind with desire, she hit him as hard as she could.

The sound of the slap was like a branch breaking underfoot. It seemed to set her free.

‘You have got to wake up!'

The world around them went silent. Terribly, horribly silent and she felt the whole forest move.

Not the forest, but the darkness within this patch of darkwood. The thing that had always lurked there, waiting for her to give in.

Elodie had been right, all her warnings, all her dire predictions. Don't spend too long in the depths of the darkwood, little bird. Don't lose yourself in there, don't give in to your passions, don't let it lead you astray.

Always the warnings. Never an indication of what she should do if it all went wrong. Like this. No hints on how to get out of it.

The traveller from the village looked dazed, like he'd been struck on the head with a large rock, rather than slapped by a woman half his size.

The pupils of his eyes had gone wide, eating away the blue to a narrow rim and his mouth – that beautiful sensual mouth that had done such things so as to drive her to distraction – hung open. He tried to focus on her, frowning, and ran a shaking hand through his long chestnut hair. Then he reached out once more, as if drawn by an unseen force.

His fingers brushed against her face again, the sensation intoxicating. She felt herself bending towards him again, like a cat seeking his caress. He buried his hand in the depths of her hair…

Her hair! She could feel it against her neck. Not too long. Not yet. What had she done? How much magic had been flowing through the air around the two of them? She pushed him back again, hurriedly, and felt for her knife.

His eyes fixed on it as she drew it and survival instincts finally kicked in. She hadn't meant to threaten him with it but… well, if it worked, that was good, wasn't it?

So why did she feel bereft?

‘What—what have I done?' he murmured, blinking at her, dazed. He looked heartbroken, as if he had failed her somehow and that was the worst thing he could imagine. Wren got to her feet and he struggled to follow her.

There wasn't time for this. Wasn't time for anything. They were too deep in the darkwood and it was far too strong. It had already gathered strength from him. She could feel the fragments of the Nox drawing together, the sense of it like razors against her skin as it reinforced itself. The shadow kin would follow, and soon.

Grabbing the horse's reins in one hand and his arm in the other, she dragged them both to their feet and pitched forward, through the trees.

Briars snagged at their feet, brambles pulling at their clothes, but Wren didn't pause. She couldn't. They had to keep moving as quickly as possible. It was only when they fell into the clearing by the path back to Thirbridge that she let herself breathe again.

It was quiet here. They were clear of the darkwood. It was safe. Or as safe as it could be.

The remnants of the Nox that lingered in the darkwood pulled back. But they were still there, still watching, their hunger unabated.

She let go of the man as quickly as possible. Touching him, feeling his warmth and his strength, was a really bad idea. There was something about him, something like an addiction just waiting for her to fall prey to.

‘Where are we?' he asked, his voice a little surer now. A good sign.

That had been close. For both of them.

‘We're clear,' she said, bending forward to catch her breath. Her head was swimming.

‘You're the boy from the village.'

The boy? He thought she was a boy? The short hair, she realised, and her clothes… Yes, that was probably better.

If he didn't realise what had happened, if he thought it was all part of a magical snare, all a dream or a nightmare, he'd be more likely to go. She needed him to get out of the forest and then she could head home in safety. Elodie would never forgive her if she turned up trailing a lovelorn stranger behind her.

‘You saved me, I saved you. Fair exchange,' she replied, making her voice as gruff as possible. With her short hair and her practical clothes, she could pass for a boy. She had to.

If anything he turned even more pale. Some people, Elodie said, had a problem with two men. Perhaps he was one of them.

‘I'm sorry. I saw… There was a woman. I thought… Was it a dream?'

More like a nightmare from the look of it, she thought. But he didn't recognise her now. Perhaps he didn't remember the details. If they were lucky.

‘A hallucination,' she told him quickly. ‘The darkwood can do that to the unwary.'

‘Did I—' His hand touched his mouth, and then his cheek where she'd hit him and his face flushed. No, he remembered. In the way one remembered dreams perhaps, but he knew something had happened. A flicker of horror gave way to regret and contrition. ‘I have offended you. I apologise. I was… I was not myself.'

Wren almost laughed, despite the urgency of their situation. The understatement of the century. In any other circumstances she might have, but it didn't seem so funny right at the moment. He gave a curt bow. ‘I'm in your debt. My name is Finnian Ward… Finn. If you should ever need?—'

Finnian Ward… she almost smiled. It was a good name, she decided. Finn.

What was she thinking? She didn't need his name, good or not. She was never going to see him again anyway.

‘It doesn't matter. The forest is dangerous, filled with enchantments. You should go back to Thirbridge. It's that way.' She pointed down the road winding through the trees. ‘Stay on the path this time.'

‘You didn't use the path.'

No, she hadn't. But she at least was safe in this forest. He was not.

She'd been too intent on getting away from Pol and his loutish friends. She'd have to tell Elodie about that even if she kept her encounter with Finn to herself. And she didn't fancy that conversation either. Elodie had threatened to leave the area before this and there was every chance this would be the deciding factor. Pol and Lindie were meant to be leaving but the others had been involved and they wouldn't be so forgiving, would they? And there was every chance Pol would refuse to leave. Because he had always been an idiot.

Perhaps it was time for Elodie and Wren to move on. They had been here twenty years, but now it was feeling less safe by the hour. A hedge witch could find work anywhere, she'd say, so long as she stays out of the notice of the knights and witchhunters. Which wasn't entirely true. Some places, sure, the more remote the better. In the cities, they tended to lock witches up, or coerce them into service.

Or enslave them.

Or murder them.

The forest was safe. The forest was home.

‘I know this place. I live here.'

‘Alone?'

Wren frowned. Suddenly he was asking a lot of questions. Perhaps it was better when he was all addle-minded. At least then he seemed docile.

‘With my… my mother.' Best not to get into the details of all that. The less he knew the better. ‘Finn, listen to me, you really should be getting back to the village, or heading on your way south if that's what you'd prefer.' The village might not be too happy to see him right now either, and if he was in his right mind he'd realise that too. ‘Knightsford lies the other way, but it's a couple of days' travelling. It's the nearest town, and there's a garrison there. The royal road runs south from there.'

‘Knightsford,' he nodded, as if only just remembering something. ‘That's where I was going before—those men in the village?—'

Why wouldn't he just leave? ‘They're just bullies with too much booze in them.'

‘Yes of course, but they mentioned a name.' He paused, examining her more closely now. Could he see her hair edging towards her collar? Had he realised she wasn't actually a boy? ‘Your name?'

She hadn't given him her name. How could she? He thought she was a boy but, if she confirmed her name, he'd know differently.

She was about to reply – although what she was going to say, she didn't know – when he held up his hand for silence. Before she knew what he was doing he dropped to the ground, his hand pressing to the earth, as if feeling for something. When he looked up again, his bewilderment had melted away. Instead, his eyes were cold steel and his mouth a hard line.

‘We have to hide. Now. Someone's coming.'