Page 83 of The Dead Queen

The dark forest envelops us like a void. There’s no birdsong. No footfalls or snapping branches, only the slow creak of wood and the hush of twilight as it folds around us. This place feels old. Sacred.

I shiver and pull my red cloak tighter around me. The fire does little to chase away the cold sinking into my bones.

Hunter’s eyes are fixed on the flames. He’s been quiet all evening, more so than usual. There’s a tension in his shoulders, a nervous energy that he’s trying to hide. But I can see it. And it worries me.

“Hunter,” I say softly, drawing his attention. “What’s on your mind?”

He looks up, meets my gaze for a moment, then glances away. “Nothing.” His tone is unconvincing. His fingers tighten into a fist inside his gauntlets, and for a moment, I think he won’t say anything. Then he sighs, heavy and resigned.

“It’s this forest. There are stories about it. People say it’s cursed.” He shakes his head, looking back at the fire. “People disappearing, strange creatures lurking in the shadows, voices that drive men mad. I know it sounds like superstitious nonsense, but I can’t shake this feeling …”

The fire pops loudly, sending a shower of sparks into the night. Tristan digs into the saddlebags, removing rations of dried meat and the last of the cheese wheel.

I put my hand on Hunter’s arm. “We’ll be careful. We have each other’s backs.”

Tristan shakes his head and tosses Hunter the cheese. “He’s right to be afraid.”

I give him a look. “You’re not helping.”

Tristan’s jaw tightens. “It’s not helpful to be foolhardy.”

“Then what do we need to prepare for? How do we make it through safely?”

Tristan shrugs. “Luck.”

I scowl. “Lovely.” Still, I draw my knife from its new hiding spot inside the ankle of my boot, then set it next to me.

Tristan takes a bite of stale bread and turns to look up at the dark trees. “The stories say the Heir to the North will return Korrigan Forest to Annwyn.” He pauses as we listen to the sounds of the wilderness and the popping fire. “I wonder if that will make the forest happy again. To break the so-called curse. These trees were revered by the Annwyn people for thousands of years. They were our protectors. Until …” He lets his sentence hang unfinished.

Until my family invaded and pushed his people farther into the frozen north.

Maybe that’s why it’s cursed. My heart grows heavy, as if I’ve aged a century in a single moment. It feels as though I understand the plight of this wood. I, too, am haunted by a past that was violently taken from me. A past I can never get back.

“They miss what once was,” I say.

Hunter shoots me a curious glance.

Tristan nods. “Maybe so, Red.” He tears another hunk of bread with his teeth.

A twig snaps behind us, pulling us out of our thoughts. All three of us jump to our feet, weapons raised.

A woman stands just inside the ring of firelight, trembling and pale. Her filthy hands are raised in front of her in a peaceful gesture. “Please.” Her voice shakes with fear. “We mean you no harm.”

“We?” Tristan asks with a snarl.

“My children and I. May we approach?”

When we don’t respond right away, she continues. “We saw your fire. There’s safety in numbers out here. We just wanted to share your warmth for a while.” Her eyes travel to the dried meat that Tristan laid out on a rock. “It’s been a long time since we dared to light a fire.”

I look sideways at Hunter, but I can tell he’s wavering. He’d never let a woman or children suffer if he can help it.

“Where are your children?” I ask, my knife raised.

The woman waves at the darkness behind her. Slowly, three filthy children peek out from behind the trees. The oldest boy might be twelve, but the other two children can’t be more than six. They look as afraid as their mother does.

“Alright,” Hunter says. “We can share our fire.”

Behind us, Tristan growls his displeasure, but he doesn’t argue. He drops his sword and stomps back to his seat on the ground.