Chapter Twenty-Eight

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

T he shadows of the trees were growing long in the golden light of late afternoon by the time we finished the last spell on our list. I had hoped to be done sooner, leaving plenty of time to put distance between ourselves and the camp before dark, but figuring out how to write a mending spell took even longer than I'd thought it would, and by the end of the process, I'd decided it was nearly criminal that the Fount didn't teach practical household spells. I likely wouldn't have paid attention even if they did, but Grimm would have, and then he could have given me tips.

At least Mathias hadn't returned yet. Our luck had held in that regard.

The spells were stacked and laid out for Jayne's approval. It was an impressive array, including heating charms, barrier spells, alarm cantrips, a nifty charm to purify water, various wards to protect the camp, and so many first aid spells that I lost count. There was even something they hadn't thought to ask for—a spell meant to amend the rocky soil of Dodge's garden. Grimm had recited it to me without comment, but I knew very well that it hadn't been on the list.

The coat and mending spell had been given back to Dodge for him to cast and gift to Jayne whenever he felt the time was right.

"Well done," Jayne said approvingly, once she had finished inspecting each pile. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone copy so many spells in a single afternoon." She raised an eyebrow at me. "Not such a terrible scriver after all."

"The contract is finished too," I said, handing that over as well. "We'll be happy to sign as soon as we have the feather."

"Of course." Jayne reached into her pocket and drew out the same delicately beautiful feather she'd shown us before. It gleamed gold in the light. She looked down at it for a moment, apparently hesitating, and my heart sank. Then Jayne reached into her pocket again and withdrew a second feather.

She pressed both of them into my hand.

"Matt would curse me for a fool, but at least I'm a fair fool. You've written us a fortune in magic. It's worth more than the cost of a single feather, and these things are hard to move anyway. No one in the smaller towns we trade with can afford them, and we dare not risk going into the city just yet. So here you go. Consider it both payment and apology."

The second feather had a bronze sheen but was just as lovely as its mate. They sat in my palm, surprisingly heavy for their size.

"Thank you," I said, oddly touched by the gesture, even knowing it came partially from guilt.

Grimm and I signed the contract with little fanfare and offered up our thumbs for Jayne to prick with her silver casting knife. Then, with both our blood smeared on the contract, she began casting.

Smoke crawled down my throat, and a tingling sensation tightened my vocal cords as the magic took effect. The feeling faded almost as soon as Jayne was finished casting, but I knew it wasn't gone entirely. Agnes and I had cast a contract on each other once—a silly thing meant to keep some secret, the importance of which had long since faded from memory. I did, however, remember how quickly my throat closed upon the words when we tested the effectiveness of our work. The same would happen to me and Grimm if we ever tried to speak a word of our time in this camp or the forest to anyone but each other or the outlaws themselves. Their secrets were safe with us.

"It will be dark soon," Jayne noted. "You're more than welcome to stay another night."

"The offer is appreciated," I said, "but we need to get back to the Fount before the harvest break is over, and we're already cutting things a little close." This was a convenient excuse to leave quickly. It was also true. The promise I had made to Grimm was stretched to its very limit.

"Ah yes, it's time for the trials. I remember." Jayne looked wistful. She shook her head a little and said, "It feels like a different life now. You both must be very anxious to get back to it. Well, if you're certain, I'll see you off."

We gathered our scant possessions and bid Dodge farewell before walking with Jayne into the woods. She moved assuredly, glancing back every now and again to make sure Grimm and I were following close in her footsteps. It was very much like the day we'd first ventured into the trees, only this time we'd only walked for ten or fifteen minutes before Jayne stopped and gestured to a faint path, winding through the ferns on our left.

"This is where I leave you. You said time is of the essence, and this path will take you back to the border much quicker than any other. Speed is sometimes a trade-off in this place, but you've been here long enough to get a feel for the dangers. Stick to the path and remember what I taught you." She looked each of us over and smiled. "Your trials will likely feel easy after your sojourn here. I have no doubt you will both find a place in exemplary troops."

The automatic refusal was on the tip of my tongue, but somehow it stuck there. Grimm was the one who responded instead.

"Thank you, Captain," he said simply.

Jayne went very still, then bowed her head in acknowledgment. "Good luck to you both," she murmured, before turning away and disappearing into the trees, with barely a whisper of sound to mark her leaving.

Once I was quite certain she was gone, I reached for the feathers in my pocket again—an instinctive reaction. Sorcerers' coats were spelled against thievery, and I was certain the one Sybilla gave me was no exception, but I couldn't resist the urge to make sure they were still there. They were, of course. Even in the dull light the metal feathers were brilliant, resting against my palm.

"Two chances," I said softly.

"We can't cast a spellsong out here," Grimm reminded.

"I know." Tempting as it was to rid myself of the curse immediately, it wouldn't do to draw the attention of whatever monsters were nearby with a song. "Here. For safekeeping."

I handed one feather to Grimm and slipped the other one back in my pocket.

Grimm looked at the bronzed feather in his palm, then back at me. "As soon as we're past the barrier," he promised, before stowing it away.

As we began to walk down the path Jayne had shown us, Grimm said, "Perhaps waiting is for the best. We'll still have to travel back to Luxe together after it's cast, but this leg of the journey will be more pleasant for you, at least."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that things will be different. With the curse gone."

I looked at Grimm, nonplussed. "So, what, you think that as soon as the curse is gone, I'm going to go from not wanting to be parted to not being able to stand the sight of you in the blink of an eye?"

"Isn't that how it was before?"

"Well, yes," I spluttered, even though that wasn't exactly right. The only thing I'd never been able to stand was Grimm's indifference. "Look, it's not as though I won't remember what happened. I've been here the entire time, Grimm. Me, not just the curse."

"There's really no telling how much the curse has altered your perceptions and actions recently," Grimm said. "We won't know until it's gone."

It bothered me. To think that he was crediting everything I had done over the past few weeks, good and bad, to a spell. As though he didn't know me, nor I him. It made me angry, in fact, that no speck of goodwill was allowed to be my own.

I stopped walking. Grimm did not realize for several more steps, and by the time he'd turned round, I'd already dropped my bag and begun pulling paper and quill from my pockets.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm proving a point," I said, shrugging my violin case off my shoulder so I could use it as a desk.

Grimm's brow furrowed. "Can't this wait? It will be dark soon."

"No, it can't wait because apparently you think I'm just some sort of—of mindless curse puppet! Which is, quite frankly, insulting considering the amount of time I've spent resisting getting my strings jerked by this thing. No, don't argue, just be quiet and let me work."

Aside from one short exasperated sigh, Grimm did just that.

This spell didn't take long. I'd spent quite a bit of time writing one that worked on a similar principle very recently, after all, and this version was more personal and therefore easier for me to scrive. I was intimately familiar with the item I wanted to mend, how it had once looked and felt, and how I wanted it to look now.

When it was finished, I blew the ink dry and handed the spell to Grimm. "Cast this."

"Loveage—"

"Just cast it. It will mend your sash."

Grimm's expression, which had been inching closer and closer toward irritation while he waited, slowly melted into confusion. His hand automatically flew to rest on his sash, which was tied in such a way that only a glimpse of the rough stitching that held it together showed.

"Hurry up," I said. "It will be dark soon."

Grimm stared at me a moment longer, a measuring sort of look. Then he untied his sash and laid it on the ground.

The indigo fabric was badly wrinkled, and with it laid out flat, it was clear that Grimm's repairs had suffered during our time in the forest. The stitches holding the pieces together were strained, and the fraying edges underneath showed—little tufts of silk coming undone.

I watched as Grimm read the spell over a few times silently. The telltale smoke began to pour through his fingertips.

On the ground before us, the sash quivered. Threads began to reach for one another, drawing closer and closer. The repair stitches that were no longer needed unpicked themselves and drifted away, while any loose threads of embroidery drew themselves just a little tighter, a little stronger than they had been.

It was fascinating to watch—something making itself right before your very eyes.

When the smoke cleared, Grimm leaned down and picked the sash up. He ran a finger over the faint scar in the fabric, a darker strain of blue that ran through it like a vein.

"Our sashes are meant to tell a story, right?" I said. "So, I hope you look at that mark and remember that I'm the one who fixed this for you, not the curse. And that will be just as true a few days from now when it's gone."

Grimm stared and stared at me. I'd surprised him. I could tell because, for an instant, his eyes flashed with the same astonishment I'd glimpsed after kissing him. Then he looked away and began to tie the sash back around his waist.

"I'll remember," he said.

The path back to Miendor was barely more than a line in the dirt for us to follow. It wove through the trees and undergrowth, growing neither wider nor fainter, simply continuing. Grimm set his eyes on the ground, making sure we didn't lose the trail and that our feet didn't come down on anything unexpected, while I set my sights on the trees around and above us.

We'd slept in this place, woken among its inhabitants, been surrounded by it for days now. A sense of familiarity had smuggled itself into my senses at some point, mixed in with the wariness.

I've heard it said that familiarity breeds complacency.

Grimm raised his hand for us to halt when the light began to fade. "An extra hour or two in the morning will be safer than pressing on now."

I nodded my agreement. All the scriving I'd done had caught up with me, and my limbs were heavy with the need to sleep. Even the thought of monsters lurking on the other side of our protective bubble wasn't enough to make the idea of lying down unappealing.

We began looking for a spot clear enough of bracken for us to comfortably spend the night as the light took on an even deeper greenish-gray cast—the Unquiet Wood's version of dusk.

"What about there?" Grimm said, pointing ahead to where a giant tree bordered our path. Its roots formed a nest of sorts, cozy to look at but probably a nightmare to rest your back against. I opened my mouth to say just this and then went utterly still.

It was as though Grimm had bidden me not to move, but no command had passed his lips. I was simply frozen midstride, mouth parted upon the words I'd been about to speak. My eyes were the only thing that could move.

"Loveage?" Grimm said, looking at me questioningly.

The fact that my lungs and heart were still working suggested that whatever had overcome me was only effective against my outsides. With great effort, I was able to relax my frozen vocal cords enough to emit a strangled sound of distress.

Grimm's eyes narrowed, and his hand went to his sword—and then paused there. And paused, and paused.

We stood looking at each other in the gathering gloom. I smelled smoke on the air. Not the comforting warmth of a campfire but the telltale metallic tang of magic.

"That's the second time this spell has been wasted on you," a voice said.

I immediately tried to look over my shoulder, but my neck remained locked in place. No matter. I recognized Mathias's voice perfectly well without being able to see him.

Footsteps sounded behind me. I had no choice but to stare straight ahead and listen to him come nearer, finally stopping right at my back. The closeness made my blood run cold. I would have shivered if my muscles allowed it, but this was the same magic that had rendered the wood kraken motionless—there was no question of its hold over me.

Grimm's eyes widened minutely in a warning I could not heed, right before cold steel pricked the back of my neck and everything went numb. Before, my limbs had been frozen, but I'd at least been able to feel them. Count each toe and each useless finger, locked in place. Now I couldn't feel anything.

Briefly, I wondered if Mathias had severed something vital in my neck and this lack of sensation was my body shutting down piece by piece. Then I remembered the mushrooms Jayne had stopped to gather.

We make them into an elixir to coat our weapons with , she'd said.

It was right about then that everything went dark.