Page 30 of The King's Man 4

I shake my head and cross the bridge into thicker woods. I keep to the river, where the moon paves my way, and at a fork, I pause. If I cross the weaker stream and continue down the broader arm, I’ll pass blue-snake nests and arrive at the violet oak.

Next full moon. The tree from when we were boys. The moon is full now.

I sigh.

But I’d known, shortly after I’d called that to him as Quin stole me away, that he wouldn’t be able to come here. He’d lost all his memories of the tree. Forgotten the moment we leaned on one another. Would never recall the first moment I looked at him andliked.

I can hear what Quin would say. How straightforwardly he’d say it.That might be the first moment; doesn’t mean it’ll be your last.

I shake off the ghost of his voice, and the sudden tickle at my ear where he’d last nipped it. With a tight swallow, I drag myself away from the past, and towards my grandfather’s cabin.

The stream narrows and takes the moon’s illumination with it. What’s left of the light casts eerie shadows into a web beforeme; stepping into it sends a crisp chill over my skin. My breath becomes foggy wisps, and branches take on strange shapes in my imagination: all the sick I couldn’t help, clawing angrily towards me. Their skeletal figures multiply and the fear of the dark I had as a child creeps back to me.

A sudden urge to turn back has me halting, but then I see the faces of refugees in the trees, an ominous foretelling of what might come if I don’t push on. I curl my damp palms and try not to worry at the sudden ceasing of the wind.

Each step is a crunch through silence; I hold my breath, shiver, and wish for someone to hide behind...

From a slit between craggy trees, I spy Grandfather’s cabin. I jog over uneven ground towards it, and halt abruptly before stepping onto the veranda. Was that a faint creaking? Footsteps? Why did it—I breathe in and my stomach turns—smell putrid?

A shadow passes the window, a flicker of light.

I grip the rail and haul all my courage. Something sticky meets my palm and I lift it up to the silvery light.

Blood.

My pulse hammers. There’s the instinct to run. This might mean danger.

There’s a stronger instinct.

Someone is hurt. Someone needs aid.

Heart pounding in my throat, I climb the steps and fumble for the cabin door.

Rusty hinges squeal as I push it open.

A gust of wind howls through the cracks in the walls, lifting the smell of rot and damp earth into the room. The wooden floor groans under my steps, and—movement.

I shoot my head up.

A single candle flickers in the corner of the room, casting shadows over a hunched figure... and a dead body.

I scream.

My scream is short and sharp, and then I’m storming across the room brandishing the only weapon I could find: an ostrich duster. It might be a shock of feathers at one end, but I wield it adamantly.

At my ruckus, the hunched male figure tenses, but does not turn until I’m a feather’s width away. When he does, when he unravels himself with the help of a cane, I’m the one who freezes, arm extended, weapon pointed at his face.

“Quin?”

Quin prods a finger into my feather duster and steers it down. “Arcane Sovereign. You’re a lost cause. Next time, run.”

My gaze drops and zips along his limbs. “There wasblood. I had to come in.”

“Ah, like any sensible person.”

I lift the duster and give him a good... dusting. He shakes his head in dismay.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

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