Page 48 of The Girl in the Forest

I looked around, wondering what smuggler wouldn’t like a forest so ancient and disturbing that it vibrated with abandonment and despair. Beneath my feet, branches cracked with the sound of breaking bones. Overhead, the dense canopy muted the watery sunlight, while the damp made the air unpleasant to breathe—like being lost in a bog. Even the birds were silent.

“Was it like this when you came before?”

“Yes.”

And three young, rebellious wolves would find the challenge irresistible.

I rubbed at my arms, shrugging against the pinch of the backpack against my shoulders. I thought about the boy Grayson had been. Orphaned, making his own family, never having a house of his own until he was old enough to build it. He’d come here with his friends, to this dire forest, searching for courage. A way to prove his bravery.

Such a needless quest… when he’d had both courage and bravery since he was six years old, guarding his dead parents with nothing but anger and a stick in his hand.

Regret knotted in my chest for that boy. Doubting himself, unable to see the honor he possessed, the greatness that others saw in him. What I saw in him.

It would be easy to offer an apology and ask to start over. But I wouldn’t. Not after his warning.

He wanted me to follow his lead, be angry, believe he doubted my abilities. Grayson understood the threat in ways I’d never fathom. He’d covered his sigil when he said nothing would protect me—the lie—because I had the dread lord’s protection.

A sigil that had gone quiet.

I turned to look at him, standing there, dressed in his usual black, and the concern, anger… the sadness darkening his eyes had me breathing in, pushing the air out before I turned away.

The limp from my ankle slowly faded. Only a twinge remained, and I refused to stop even when we walked on uneven ground. The air was cool and misty. Ahead, two standing stones bracketed the path, heavily etched with runes that oozed an arctic chill I was afraid to brush against.

Beyond, two additional stones stood, dull, weathered, and still weeping from a recent rain. The stones towered over Grayson, dwarfed me, and as we drew closer, they formed a gateway with more stone pillars I could not see beyond.

“This is as far as I go,” he said. “Leave the backpack. Take your weapon.” He pulled a gold coin from his pocket. “Leave this in the collection box.”

I looked toward the ugly wooden box, banded with iron. Monsters and twining plants were carved into the sides and ran across the top, where a black slot marred the design. I palmed the coin. Measured the heavy weight.

You pay the witches, he’d once told me. Because witches had to make a living.

“If you pass without paying, do they curse you?” I meant it as a tease to lighten the dread, but Grayson’s expression never changed, and unease rippled through the moonstone runes on my arm.

“Okay, then.” I dropped the backpack with a thud, rearranged the quiver. Gripped the bow in my hand, at the ready, although I had other resources. And once again, the tapping at the back of my mind warned me against revealing all that I had.

I hesitated only an instant, no more than a heartbeat… then a second beat before I dropped the coin. Listened to the hollow clunk of gold against wood.

“Not many customers today.”

Either his control was fiercer than mine, or his sympathies were no longer with me, because his voice held no emotion when he said, “Follow the path. Keep going. The fumes affect you like white liquor, so take shallow breaths. Focus on what you want to ask. Turn around and walk out. I’ll be waiting.”

I held his blue-green gaze, unsure if the man or the wolf looked back. “Then you’ll go in?”

“I’ll go in, ask, come out.”

“Grayson…” My pulse beat like a wild thing needing to flee.

“Go, Noa.” His voice was steady. Hard. “Don’t look back.”

Somehow, I knew that once I started… if I looked back, there’d be nothing behind me. No standing stones. No path. No dread lord waiting. And then, if I turned forward again, I’d find no path in front of me, either.

Gripping the bow, I walked between the two monoliths, shuddered at the rasp of magic—iron-cold—reminding me of the jagged trap that once lacerated a young wolf’s leg.

I could almost feel the shredding, and I thought, Okay, magic, if this is how you play it. Don’t expect me to look back.

CHAPTER 13

Noa

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