Page 110 of Sword & Sacrifice

And then you wouldn’t have a weapon to kill our enemies. The healer would never say anything so outright bloodthirsty, but Archer could think it.

Adelaide combined ingredients in a large bottle. A sweet, herby smell joined the piney scent of the forest. Once satisfied with her concoction, she carefully poured a few drops onto the spot where one branch seemed to grow straight through another. The potion melted a path through the wood, cutting the two limbs apart. The trees groaned and creaked as they slowly shifted away from each other, creating a small opening.

Norwin whispered a quiet, “Whoa.”

Adelaide slipped into the tangled mess of trees and magic. She dabbed another joint with the solution, carving a groaning, sizzling path for herself.

Archer watched the process closely, unease itching through his veins. “Adelaide,” he called.

She stood at the center of the knot now, hunched over to duck under a particularly tight snarl of five trees. Either she didn’t hear him, or she was too focused on her work to look his way.

Something flickered in the shadows near her head—a string drawn taut.

“Stop!” he bellowed and jumped off Scout, running to intercept the trap.

Norwin was closer, and despite his excitement, he understood his responsibility to protect the Witch. He grabbed both of Adelaide’s shoulders and shoved her out of the tangle of branches. But Adelaide had already poured the potion on several joints, and it ate through the wood in only a few seconds.

As the trees sprang free, they snapped the tripwire. A makeshift mace of sharpened sticks swung down, plunging into Norwin’s exposed side and knocking him to the ground.

Archer knelt beside the soldier, guilt and fury blazing through him as he followed the line of the tripwire. Someone had anticipated them cutting their way through the trees.

Norwin gazed up at Archer with pained eyes, blood spraying from his lips. “Is … is Adelaide safe?”

“I’m fine,” Adelaide said, landing on her knees next to Norwin. “Thank you for protecting me. Now, stay still while I work.”

Archer had seen the medics working on the battlefield and in the aftermath of the prison escape. The frantic atmosphere as they ran from patient to patient. Hands moving too rapidly to track. Tension thick in the air as they did everything in their power to extend the soldier’s life.

Watching Adelaide work was an entirely different experience. She was calm, her hands steady, as she removed the spikes, examined each wound large and small, packed them with herbs, and stitched Norwin back together.

Even the air around them seemed to heal, smelling like fresh rain falling on spring flowers.

“I would order you to rest, but …” Adelaide trailed off and looked up the mountain.

But we can’t rest until we make it home.

Norwin coughed slightly and looked down at his bandaged side. “You really are a witch.”

Adelaide chuckled lightly, though her expression was pinched in distress, and helped Norwin to his feet. “I’m sorry you ever needed me to heal you.”

“We all need to be more careful in the future,” Archer said, knowing this wouldn’t be the last trap they encountered.

Chapter Forty-Five

Archer’s mother barely let Penn through the front door before swooping down on him like a bird of prey, pecking at him for answers. “How did the campaign go? Is Archer all right? Did he return with you?”

Penn clasped her hands and leaned forward to kiss each of her cheeks in an exuberant greeting. With his mouth close to her ear, he whispered, “Speak carefully.” Then louder, as he pulled away, “Archer wrote a letter for you, but I ran into a bit of trouble along the way, and I’m ashamed to say I lost it. But he’s well, and the war is over. You should be hearing news of an official alliance soon.”

Relief washed away her worry and she smiled at Penn. As she turned her attention on her guests, the smile eased into something more reserved, though the wrinkles around her eyes remained defined. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she murmured. “I am Helena Kasen.”

Alistair stepped forward first and took the queen’s hand, pressing a gentle and charming kiss to her knuckles. “Valerian Sommers.”

“The mercenary?” she asked, one dark eyebrow arched in surprise.

He laughed, low and rich. “Everyone here already seems to know me.”

“Griselda has told a few tales.”

“None of them flattering, I’m sure.”