Page 72 of Lore of the Wilds

Lore gripped the wooden cup. She didn’tneedto be babysat, and she wished they would stop fussing over her so. The truth was, she was stir-crazy and guilty and the two emotions were eating her alive.

At least Gryph had a large collection of novels she could use to try to pass the time. She had to wonder why Finndryl had chosen to make up those stories while she was sick. He could have easily read from the extensive collection of adventure novels in the apartment.

She wished she could ask him, but when she’d brought it up to him a few days before, trying to tentatively thank him, Finndryl had shut down, refusing to acknowledge that he’d done anything of the sort.

She couldn’t wait to dive into her current read about a dark fae prince who moonlit as an assassin, despite his secret heart of gold. Lore couldn’t wait to see which princess he ended up with. Which she would find out when the kitchen closed in—she glanced at the clock on the wall—two bells.

In fact, she thought she might actually sleep tonight after spending all day in charge of the Exile’s kitchen. She’d had to toss most of the breakfast she made; she had overestimated how many people would show up to a tavern that early. But by the afternoon, word had gotten out that the Exile was serving food again, and the roast tenderloin she’d cooked went fast, along with the crusty bread and gravy she’d made.

Lore wiped sweat from her brow. Although it was snowingfor the third day in a row outside, the kitchen was steaming hot from the cookfires going all day. Gryph and Finndryl had had to move the spirits they’d stored in the kitchen down to the cellar, lest they spoil in the heat.

At one point, she peeked her head out the door and noticed Finndryl sopping up all the gravy on his plate with his bread and licking each of his fingers when he was done. He could dislike her all he wanted—after all, she did take his room from him and put his family in danger—but he couldn’t pretend to not like her food.

She counted it as a win.

Lore finished drying the large pot, sweating just from the effort it had taken to clean the thing. She slid the hook back into place on the large pot, ready for another day of cooking tomorrow, then started mopping the floors.

By the time she was standing in the middle of a sparkling kitchen, she heard the last of the patrons saying goodbye to a grumpy Finn. Good. While he cleaned up in the main room, she would be able to escape and do something for herself.

She had a choice. She could go upstairs to the small room and read that book about the assassin... or she could sneak out the back door of the Exile’s kitchen.

Previously blocked with barrels of whiskey, the door had been uncovered when Gryph and Finndryl had moved the barrels. The kitchen was mostly underground, with skinny windows near the ceiling that sat at ground level. Stairs led up to the excavated door.

Clearly, it hadn’t been used in forever; the hinges were rusted shut. But she’d oiled them up and now, when she used all her strength, she could force the door open enough to squeeze through.

It opened right up to the forest in their backyard, the one that Isla had called the Wilds. If Lore was here and Asher and Isla were out there risking their lives for her, she needed to do something.

If there was no way to translate the knowledge contained in her grimoire, then she would have to be creative. Flipping through the pages inside hadn’t given her any answers. Yet, when she was outside at the campsite with Asher, she’d been able to understand the book so clearly.

Maybe, if she took the grimoire into the woods, she might be able to replicate the ease with which she comprehended the protection spell.

She’d been wrestling with this decision all day. Leaving the tavern was a huge risk, and an insult to everyone who had gone out of their way to protect her. Asher and Isla werestillrisking everything for her right now. Not only that, but it would put Gryph and Finndryl at an even greater peril if she were discovered.

But the only way to actually make a difference, toincitechange and make their risk worth it, was for her to learn how to use the grimoire.

She would be careful. She would only go directly into the Wilds and only at night. She wouldn’t go far.

She didn’t bother asking anyone, knowing that everyone would tell her no.

***

Lore walked carefully toward the tree line, accompanied by the grimoire—tucked into her belt—and a small candle stub to light her way. The trees in this area of the forest were pillars, so tall they seemed to hold up the night sky itself.

The moment she passed the first tree, the world around her fell silent and her heart beat softly in her ears. A song of hope came to her, whispering abouthome, home, home.

Is this what it feels like to be in a home of one’s own?

Lore couldn’t remember what it felt like in her own home withher parents, unless she was dreaming. But when that happened, she would wake with salt tracks on her cheeks and a sore jaw from clenching her teeth. Her sense of home had always been tainted with longing.

She shook off those feelings and focused on the hushed reverence of the Wilds. It was different from the forest surrounding Wyndlin Castle, and also different from the trees surrounding Duskmere.

That forest was dark and ominous, spelled with such hateful, dark magic.

Instead, this wildwood seemed older and welcoming. Every step she took into the slumbering wood sent a thrill through her. Lore had never been alone in the woods at night before, but she felt safe here. Safer than she had felt since those last days before the autumn equinox, when she’d been in the apothecary amongst her many treasures.

But still, she wanted to remember this moment—a first. One of those fewimportantfirsts, like when she lost her first tooth and knew, even as a child, that somehow one chapter in her life had ended. Or when she’d started her monthly bleeds.

She still felt every bit like that lost girl, angry that her body had seemed to betray her for the first time. But in the next moment, she felt ancient for all she’d been through, weighed down by responsibility and the burden of living after losing so many loved ones.

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