Page 82 of The Dead Queen

“You’re awake.” He calls out to Tristan. “She’s awake.”

I watch as Tristan pulls the reins to stop his horse.

“How are you feeling?” Hunter asks, propping me forward on Marigold’s saddle. He reaches for a waterskin. “Here, drink some water.”

I take it in trembling hands and drink deeply.

“We nearly thought you’d died, Sienna,” Hunter says, once I hand the empty skin back to him.

“Burnout.” My voice is hoarse, like I’ve been screaming in my sleep. Exhaustion aches in my bones.

I’ve only burned out once before, back at the soldier camps. When I started healing the most gruesome cases, I couldn’t bear to leave dying men in agony while I rested. I kept pushing myself, kept using my power until it was completely gone. I was unconscious for three entire days after that.

“How long was I out?” I ask.

Hunter looks at Tristan whose expression is grim.

“Almost a full day.”

I groan. At least I didn’t miss much, just more traveling and numbing cold.

Tristan watches me intently, his eyebrows pinched together.

“What?” I ask.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Hunter shoots him a sharp look. “Don’t upset her.”

“I’m not upset,” I snap, then cough at the strain in my vocal cords. “Are you telling me I shouldn’t have saved your life? Again?”

Tristan narrows his eyes and nods once.

I sigh and lean back into Hunter’s chest. “Let’s go. I’ve already wasted enough of our time.”

Hunter clicks his tongue, and Marigold starts forward. As we pass Tristan, he watches me with one of those looks I can’t quite decipher. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it looks a lot like guilt.

If I had more energy, I’d tell him this wasn’t his fault. But right now, all I want to do is lean back into Hunter’s chest and breathe in the heady scent of him as I drift back to sleep.

Gradually, the land shifts as we travel further north into the vast Korrigan Forest. The trees thicken and stretch taller, their gold and crimson leaves spilling like fire over the hills. It’s breathtaking to behold, but Korrigan isn’t just a pretty forest, it’s deadly too.

At least, that’s what all the stories say.

We stop for the night beneath a copse of twisted hawthorns, their thorn-laden branches reaching skyward like gnarled fingers clawing from a grave. The last rays of twilight catch on the golden-yellow leaves still clinging to their boughs. The trees crowd close, trunks hunched and knotted, their bark split like old scars. We set up camp with our backs to them, as if the thorns might serve as a fortress.

Hunter pokes at the campfire with a stick, his copper gauntlets glinting in the firelight.

“I’m not sure we should go this way,” he says. “The main road would be safer.” His voice is low and worried. He glances up at the dark canopy that blocks all starlight.

“Sure, it would be,” Tristan says. “If it weren’t crawling with soldiers and King’s Guards looking for three fugitives.”

For the first time, I realize Tristan has the bronze fox sword that he found in the abandoned village. It’s lying on the ground in front of him, glinting in the firelight. While I was unconscious, he must have polished and sharpened it. It’s an odd choice for a Wolf, a fox soldier’s sword. But it’s better than nothing.

“Are you sure you know the way?” Hunter keeps glancing toward me, like he’s afraid I’ll break again. But I can already feel my power returning, albeit slowly. I won’t try using that much all at once again. Next time, I might not be so lucky. Nobles with power have been known to die from burnout when they push themselves too far.

Tristan gives him a lazy look from where he sits cross-legged in the dirt. “How do you think I travelled all the way to Caerwen in the first place?”

Hunter doesn’t respond.