CHAPTER 14

QUEEN MALINA

They're hungry.

I know it, they know it. The wind may even know it with the way it groans, echoing the sounds of our own empty stomachs.

Enough is enough.

I walk down the crude spiral steps carved around the inside of the hollowed tree, in search of Dommik. A long time ago, huts were built into these Pitching Pines deep in the forest. It was during a time when they were still being actively harvested for their thick, sweet sap.

The pine huts are now filled with fifty-two refugees instead of workers. All of Highbell's survivors are split up amongst the half dozen hollowed-out trunks. Accommodations are not exactly luxurious, but there's enough cramped space to lay our heads down at night, thanks to the stairs that coil up the insides of the trunks, and the flooring built across.

My people are cold, even with shelter. Yet they're used to living in frigid temperatures, so they can withstand the frost. What they can't withstand is starvation.

We've been holed up here for weeks, but our supplies pilfered from the city have run out. Despite our rationing, and despite the men's efforts to hunt, there is no food left.

I press a hand to my own stomach, feeling as hollowed out as these trees.

When I reach the bottom of the giant trunk, I pass by a trio of people lying down on the bottom floorspace, their bodies huddled together in search of shared warmth. Guilt gnaws up my throat, teeth biting in to choke.

Looking away, I turn to the makeshift door, shoving up the beam that lies across it, and then pull it open just enough to slip out. As soon as I'm outside, I shut it behind me, eyes blinking as I adjust to the daylight.

The rest of the carved-out trees share the same doors cut into their sides, with dilapidated boards shoved overhead like eaves, where icicles drip down. Our steps have created paths in the snow leading from each door, but I head for the path that takes me to the small bonfire where I spot the figure wearing a cloak with the hood pulled low over his head.

Several others are gathered around him, clutching tin cups in their hands with sprigs of pine poking out. Aside from those pine needles, there's probably nothing more than boiled snow and a cube of sugar in those cups, since that's all we have left.

Dommik looks up as I approach, though someone else might not be able to notice the small shift in attention. Yet I sense when his eyes latch onto me. I always feel the weight of them as if he were gripping me.

I see him pass over a handful of snowberries to the child sitting with her mother, and the girl hungrily shoves them into her mouth. Neira is her name. Brown hair in knots, face pale, lips peeling. She's the only child that survived the attack. The same one who clutched at my skirts with an arrow stabbed through her leg. It's a miracle she survived, and now, she's starving.

My stomach squeezes.

"We need to speak," I tell Dommik as soon as I approach.

Without saying anything, he tips his head, and I follow him down the path until we're several feet away from the group.

"We need to go into the city."

He pauses at my harried tone. "Last time I checked, it was still crawling with fae."

"Well, we have to try again. We don't have any food left, Dommik," I say, wringing my hands together.

"We're still trying to hunt…"

"And mostly failing," I say with a firm shake of my head. "It's not enough to sustain everyone. We need more supplies."

"We don't even know if there's anything left. The army has been burning the whole fucking city continuously."

"Well, we can't just stay here and do nothing. They're starving to death!" My voice pitches up far higher than I intended. I steal a look over my shoulder, noting the others by the fire now looking our way.

Guilt bites down again, and when I turn back around, I shake my head, voice lowering. "I can't save them if I can't even feed them."

I hear him let out a hard breath, full of the same tension I feel. "Alright. I'll go tonight. Alone."

"But—"

" Alone ," he growls. "If the streets are still filled with fae, then I can more easily sneak into some places that aren't burnt to a crisp and get what I can without having to worry about shadowing someone else."

I want to argue, to at least insist he bring one person with him to help him, but I relent. He's lost weight just like everyone else, his cheeks gone gaunt. Having to shadow-leap another person may be too draining for him.

Even though he may not be able to carry as many supplies by himself, he probably has a better chance at getting something to bring back if he goes alone without risking himself too much.

"Alright."

He gives a nod, then shoves his hood back just enough for me to see his shadowed eyes, and I watch them rake over me. "Did you eat any of the berries and sugar tea today?"

I arch a brow.

He grits his teeth. "Dammit, Malina."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. And you have to stop skipping what pathetic portions we have."

"There isn't enough."

"Of course there isn't, but that's not an excuse. You need to survive too."

"Well, we won't have to worry about that, will we? Because you're going to come back with some food."

I hear a growl at the back of his throat. "I want to fucking throttle you."

"But you're too weak from hunger, so best save your strength," I say breezily before I turn around to head back to the pine huts.

I hear him come stomping up beside me, but at that same moment, I inhale, frowning at what I smell. "Dommik, we're supposed to keep our bonfire small," I quickly say, turning back. "We can't give off too much smoke, or the fae might discover us."

He lifts his nose in the air, and our gazes cut across to the bonfire. It's tiny. Yellow and low, barely giving off any warmth, let alone smoke. "That's not our bonfire you're smelling."

Confusion wafts through me for a moment. "Then what…"

Dommik slips his arm around my waist, pulling me close. My breath catches, face swinging toward his, but in the next blink, he leaps us away. The ground disappears from beneath our feet every few seconds as he transports us. Tight shadows surround us, so I don't notice how thick the smoke is until he pulls them all away once we come to a stop.

Smoke swarms, flying into my mouth, threatening to choke its way down my throat. Dommik presses his cloak against my mouth and nose, but I cough regardless, eyes burning as I stare at the inferno surrounding us.

The Pitching Pines are ablaze.

The sudden presence of its heat is in such opposition to the cold that I recoil from it. From left to right, flames are licking up the lengths of the gargantuan trees, and black clouds bubble out of them like froth, foaming up the air.

"How far away are we from the huts?" I ask with alarm, turning toward Dommik's neck.

"That's the problem—we're not far."

Another cough lunges up my throat just as he whisks us away. When the shadows pull back again, I glance around at the huts, then up to the sky. It's already being blocked from the insidious smoke.

Dommik was right. The fire isn't far away at all.

I could use my ice magic, but not against this much fire. Not with it so close. What if my magic ran out? I don't have very much energy as it is. Even if I could keep the flames away with my ice, the smoke in the air is just as dangerous. It would leak in as my magic melted and would suffocate us all.

I swallow thickly, fear dripping down my spine. "We have to evacuate." The realization punches through my stomach, leaving dents and divots, but I hear the snapping of the fire's teeth as it gnaws ever closer, and I know I'm right. "We need everyone out now!"

Dommik nods in agreement and I spin around and rush forward, shoving open the first hut door. "Fire! Grab only what you can carry!"

Voices of alarm echo back to me, but I hurry toward the next hut. I can hear Dommik doing the same, hands cupped around his mouth as he shouts out the warning.

My people start pouring out of the trees, harried and bedraggled, their faces filled with fear. I hear Dommik counting. "We're missing two!"

The group looks around, and then one of the women answers, "It's Tash and Sam. They went out to try and hunt!"

My gouged stomach crumples up in further dread, accentuated by the crying of Neira. Her wounded leg is still wrapped up, her arms clutching her mother. Another person begins to cough as the first waft of smoke drifts in.

Dommik and I share a look. Without speaking, we know what we have to do.

"I'll go search for them," he murmurs.

"I'll lead the others away from the fire."

He gives a terse nod. I can see it bothers him to separate, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he steps closer, back facing the group. "When you've found a place to stop, use your magic to mark the spot. I'll keep a lookout for the sign, and then we'll meet up with you."

"Okay."

He moves to walk away, but a terrible sense of dread overcomes me.

"Dommik—"

Body stilling, he turns back toward me.

Words fall flat in my chest, weighing down my broken organ until it feels pressed down. I don't want to separate either, but I know we have to.

"Just…be careful," I say, though that barely scratches the surface.

He watches me as if it's not only shadows he can pull in, but all my unsaid words too. My fear and worry stick to the silence, heart pounding with apprehension and unease. Yet my tongue stays still, my lips pressed together, unable to say more.

Dommik abruptly eats up the distance, grabbing my chin before pressing his mouth to mine. My heart flips as I meet his hurried kiss, tasting the emotions between us. "I know," he murmurs against my smoke-tinged lips, as if he's heard everything I didn't say. "You be careful too." I nod and then he gives me one more long look before he turns and strides away.

I let out a breath at his departure before I turn, straightening my spine with fortitude. Now, I'm left with everyone else in the group, and they're all looking to me for guidance. For protection. I can't let them down, and I can't let my fear bleed through my demeanor either, so I stand tall and keep my expression calm.

"We'll evacuate now. Make sure that none of you are carrying more than you can handle," I tell them before glancing in the direction of the smoke.

"Where will we go?"

"We'll find another safe spot in the forest," I assure them, though I think I'm also assuring myself .

Turning around, I start to lead them.

Hoping it's not to slaughter.

I'm meticulous about watching the progress of the flames behind us. Meticulous in ensuring we are going straight, that we aren't accidentally traveling in a circle. Yet no matter how quickly we travel, the flames seem to encroach. To close in like a curling wave coming to bat us down.

Sweat drips down my back and sticks to my clothes. The only reason the smoke hasn't overwhelmed us is because we're traveling against the wind that's started to blast through the forest, blowing with a fervor.

Yet the wind is only spreading the fire.

Someone cries out, and I jerk around to look as one of the men helps up his elderly father—Kasin. The man worked as a street sweeper his entire life, always hunched over a broom, which accounts for the curve of his back. His son followed in his footsteps. They both were born and raised in the shanties. Both lost wives during childbirth.

I've learned more about this group just from the last several days than I ever knew about the rest of my people after being their queen for decades.

Kasin wears a grimace of pain as he gets back to his feet and steps over the snow-covered rock he hadn't noticed before. He's thin, his dirty clothes hanging off of him, and his face streaked with ash. Everyone looks in much the same state, including me. We're exhausted. Dirty. And without enough food, we won't have the energy to keep up this pace for much longer.

The child's mother, Dari, leans against a tree, bony hands clutching at the girl. "We aren't getting away from it, Queen Malina. The fire is spreading closer!" she says with desperation.

Dread envelops me. I know we can't keep going like this, deeper into the forest. We're not finding the haven I'd hoped for. I thought we could move away from the flames, but it seems the entire forest is being choked out.

Going deeper in no longer seems like a viable plan. Even if we did find another place to stop amongst the pines, there will be no huts, and there's no telling if we'd be truly safe from the fire or if it would simply spread there too. The flames don't seem like they want to slow or stop. What if they burn the entire forest?

I look around as if a perfect solution will appear, but of course it doesn't.

I have to make the solution.

Turning in the other direction, I pin my sights toward Highbell instead of away from it. That's where the flames started, but I don't think it's spread the entire width quite yet. Perhaps we can veer toward the edge of the forest and get back to Highbell instead of fleeing further away.

"We need to change course," I say, holding my shoulders straight despite how sore they are.

"Toward the city?" one of the men asks incredulously. "Are you mad? That's where them fae are!"

"The forest isn't safe. We aren't staying ahead of the flames as I'd hoped. For all we know, this fire could be fueled magically and every single Pitching Pine could be ash come morning, and us with it," I say levelly.

The man quiets, and murmurs stretch between the group.

"So what are we going to do? Where will we go?"

I pause. "We will have to hide in the city."

"But the fae!" another woman calls out.

"They've been passing through for over two weeks," I point out. "They won't be expecting anyone to have survived. I will search the outskirts myself. All we need is one single building still intact. I'll find a place we can hide where the fae won't find us."

My promise trickles down each expression. Fifty people. It seems like a lot to try to hide, to be responsible for. And yet it's far, far too few. So many have died, and I can't let anyone else succumb, either by the hand of the fae or the flames.

"Once we're in the city, we will also search for more supplies—gather more food," I tell them, and I see a couple of them lick their lips, as if their starved bodies salivate at the very mention of eating.

"And if there isn't any food?" Dari asks. Her face stays stoic, but I see the fearful tear that drips from the corner of her eye as she clutches her daughter. "Or any safety to be found?"

She must ask. She must, because it's not her life she's thinking of—it's the life of her child.

Which is why I look her in the eye and make another promise. "If there is none to be found, then I will find another way."

I am responsible for them, just like she is responsible for her daughter. When a woman faces an impossible problem, whether she be mother or queen, she must find a solution. She must find a way.

So I will.