Page 94 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

He studies the knotted kerchief and sniffs. He tilts his head to one side—curious.

“It smells good, right?” I fumble with the knot until I get it open, revealing the present. It is a picked over chicken carcass. Charity served several for dinner last night, saying she would make chicken stock today with the leftovers. I swiped one of them when she wasn’t looking. “It is all for Ymer.”

Ymer’s hand, the one with the cudgel, slackens as he leans forward, his nostrils flaring with interest. I toss the carcass toward him and grab my pack, skittering back a step.

He picks up the chicken’s ribcage and inspects it. I’m not sure if he enjoys herbal seasonings, but surely he cannot hate them, right? He snaps a rib and brings it to his jagged teeth, taking a tentative bite that crunches down my spine.

“Enjoy!” I call, a little shrill, as I turn on my heel and race toward my cart as fast as I can while he is distracted. To my vast relief, he seems content with the chicken and does not chase me. I reach the cart with no incident.

I duck behind it and change as swiftly as I can, tossing myolleacoated shoes into the cart inside a bag with the rest of my Ivy Mask garb. Now my clothes are all fresh, never worn before, and carry their own scent.

I tuck the bottle ofolleainto my pocket. Then I allow myself one moment to feel the splitting in my heart for Bartholomew’s loss. “I’m going to get you back,” I vow into the night. “And I will give you so many carrots you’ll be sick of them.”

After that, I have no room for anything but the task before me. I glance back at Ymer’s great, hulking shadow as he digs into his meal. Maybe he will be satisfied enough that he won’t chase me when I return. I’ve got other things to worry about now.

I don’t know how Rahk tracked me before, but this time, I’ve got to outsmart him. The saints know I haven’t a hope for success otherwise!

I don’t take the Path to Nothril.

I search along the edges of the forest, watching for those faint sparkles. It takes about a half a mile of walking before I find the right Path. The end of the Path shimmers in the ether—barren trees and green mud slung between their dead branches.

“If you let this kill you,” I mutter under my breath, “Mary will skin your hide.”

Pulling the hood of my new cloak low and affixing my mask, I slip onto the Path and let the forest swallow me whole.

This Path is darker than many of the others. I’ve never walked it before, but Tailor always warned me not to step foot on it. My awareness is tight and tense, listening for any sign that something is already following me.

The trees begin shrinking slightly. Lush greenery gives way to broken, sad stalks of wood. The ground shifts from well packed earth and pine needles to something wetter and slicker.

A pungent rot makes me press my sleeve against my nose. I dare not cough and draw attention to myself, but my eyes water from the stench.

My foot slips.

I catch myself with both hands in the muck. It is sludgy, green, and already deep enough to bury my wrists in. I restrain the sound of disgust in my throat and push myself upright again. This time, I move slower, more carefully, dodging around the muddier parts as I enter the swamp.

A low hum reaches my ears just as the Path ends.

I stand on the edge of a swampy pit. The remnants of blackened trees stand like blades as far as I can see. The horrible green mud is everywhere, sliding down the sides of large, sunken boulders, covering the rest of the way into the pit.

I reach one of those boulders, gripping it tightly with the pads of my fingers and leaning to get a better look inside the pit.

My heart stops beating.

A great . . .thingrests in the center of the pit, mostly buried in the mud. It has a smooth, bulbous body that protrudes from the mud like a dome. And that is all I can see of it—though I know there is much beneath the surface. The hum comes from the creature, the mud around it shivering from that noise.

I refuse to breathe, scooting behind the large rock, putting it between me and the Path—exposing myself to the monster and its reach.

As silently as I can, I change clothes. It’s so vulnerable to be half naked in Caphryl Wood, at the mercy of this monster that can wake at any moment, knowing Rahk can be here at any second. But I do it anyway. When I’m finished changing, I pull the bottle ofolleaout of my pocket, unstopper it, and smear it on the bottoms of my usual boots. I glance at the vial. Less than a third is left. I chew my lip and determine to worry about that problem later.

I sneak out of my spot and hide my first change of clothes as close to the monster as I dare.

Now it’s time to make my escape.

But just then, a long shadow falls over the pit.

I slip back into my hiding place, barely willing to breathe, my heartbeat thrashing in my ears, and squeeze my eyes shut. I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but it looks like I have no choice.

Kneeling silently, I search along the ground until I find a mud-coated stone. I wait as Rahk’s silhouette, with the shadows of the hilts of his two great swords rising above his shoulders, comes down the Path I just trod. He silently approaches the monster—following the scent of the new clothes I wore.

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