Page 159 of The Witch Queen

“You’re about a day’s journey from the White City,” the Dwarf I take to be Tilda replies. “As to how you got here, well…”

“Your pet deer brought you,” the other Dwarf says over his shoulder, stirring whatever is simmering in a kettle slung over the fire.

“Deer?”

“It was a stag,” Tilda corrects with an exasperated sigh.

Barnabas.Another memory surges up. The stag smashing down the stall door. Kneeling so that I could climb onto its back.

“Call him whatever you want, I suppose,” the Dwarvian man replies with a shrug. “He’s your pet. Damn thing brought you right to my door. How’d you train it to do that?”

“I didn’t,” I say, still confused.

Because how on earth had I managed to climb back onto Barnabas after I fell from the tree, much less remain there all the way through the forest? And what happened to the shadow creature? Snatches of the night resurface—branches clawing at me. Eyes watching me from between the trees. Even the memory causes my blood to chill.

“I’m just relieved that you survived,” Tilda goes on, tucking the bedclothes around me. “You gave us quite a fright, didn’t she?”

The man just grunts.

“How long was I asleep?”

“About a day,” Tilda replies. “I tended to you the best that I could. I’m Tilda, of course. And the grumpy one over there is Roland. Don’t mind him. He’s all bark.”

I swallow, searching for a name. “I’m—”

“Oh, we know who you are,Your Highness,” Roland says dryly.

I freeze. “I’m not—”

“No use lying about it.” Roland waves me off. “And I take it the queen will be wondering where you’ve disappeared to?”

Fear lances down my spine. “Have you sent word to the palace?”

“Not yet,” Tilda says, patting my hand. “I thought it would be best if we spoke to you first. Determined the right course.”

I exhale a breath at that stroke of luck. But what can I tell them? That I ran away because my aunt was attempting to poison me? That Iwas staging a coup with Gavin, who was actually plotting to kidnap me? I think of him, lying lifeless on the stable floor and my anger rekindles. I hope he broke every bone in his body. How could I have been such a fool as to trust him?

Cursed,that voice slinks through my mind.You are cursed.

A wave of dizziness overwhelms me. I lean back against the pillows, the room spinning.

“Easy now,” Tilda says. “Let’s discuss it later. You must be starving. Come and have some food. That will help you feel better.”

I don’t think I’ll ever feel better again, but I don’t resist as Tilda helps me out of bed and over to the table. I wince as I lower myself into the chair. Roland plops a bowl of stew in front of me. I can’t remember my last meal and it smellsdelicious.I dig in immediately, shoveling bites into my mouth as fast as my sore limbs will allow.

“Don’t choke on it,” Roland chides. “Can’t have you dying on our watch.”

I shoot him a look but do slow down, taking in the details of the cottage as I eat. It’s small but well-made and comfortable. There’s a second room to my right, where Tilda and Roland probably sleep. My own narrow bed is on the other side of the main chamber. Now that I can see the piece properly, it’s beautiful work, with the posts designed as dragons, jaws open in a roar. The table we’re sitting at is of similar craftmanship, with the legs resembling tree trunks, feet rooted to the floor. Intricate scenes of a forest are carved into the rim of the tabletop. And my wooden chair is far more comfortable than I anticipated, especially given my injuries.

“Did you make all this?” I ask, gesturing at the furnishings.

“No,” he says. “Little fairies came and did it for me.”

Tilda just sighs. “Yes, we did. Most of our pieces are from the Mines.”

“It’s exquisite work,” I comment, more to Tilda than to Roland.

Despite the fact that he doesn’t seem to possess a polite bone in his body, Roland sits up taller. I think he might be preening.