Page 23 of The Princes of Stone and Steel

Just as Millicent was about to reply, Mármaro shot a finger to his lips to hush her. They stood frozen, listening. In the distance, crunching and grinding could be heard, as if some unearthly being, a giant and menacing beast, devoured the land before them.

“Forfex.” Mármaro turned to run, but his path was cut off by hundreds of white, hairy crab-like gremlins scurrying across the basin. “Up!” he demanded, shoving Millicent up against the nearest tree for her to begin climbing.

In a very un-Margaret move, she used her bare feet to begin the long push up the tree, using the bark as traction. If she had been anyone else, including Margaret, she’d have never made it to the highest bough, or any bough for that matter. Mármaro followed closely behind her, scaling the trunk with ease.

“I know I heard something,” A voice sliced through the air, deep yet tinny around the fringes, as if two swords clanked together at the close of each word.

“Do you see anything?” The most beautiful man Millicent had ever seen stepped into the clearing. Even under the canopy of leaves, his hair shone bright like rose gold and his eyes a silver-gray reminiscent of the everyday dinnerware Mrs. Merchant set the table with each night.

“No, Your Highness. But I know the sound came from this way.”

Millicent looked to Mármaro, who once again raised a finger to his lips. She nodded, watching the beautiful man intently.

“Are you sure it wasn’t just the Yeti crab?” The beautiful man asked.

“Again, no, Your Highness,” said the other man. “I smelled rock salt.”

“Rock salt? What would the Vráchos be up to this far north?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Your Highness.”

“Well, I see nothing. Let’s get back to it. Just keep your ears open and an eye out.”

The Forfex men turned, heading back the way they came from, which thankfully was away from Millicent.

“We’ll need to sit tight a bit longer, Millie,” Mármaro whispered. “Give them time to move.”

Millicent focused on the crunching, grinding beast while watching the tops of the trees shift before her eyes. It just didn’t seem possible she could have stumbled on someplace so magical. And this land was magical, if not also slightly terrifying.

After some time, Millie felt a tap on her shoulder and looked to Mármaro, who nodded his head, which she realized meant they were safe to descend from the tree onto more stable ground.

They’d sat for so long, her legs prickled from nonuse. Mármaro took her hand once again. No sign of the Yeti crab or the Forfex.

“There is no way to navigate these woods once darkness falls, which should be soon. We cannot stay here.” Mármaro turned his body in a slow, complete circle, his hands to his hips, the look on his chiseled face appeared to be that of contemplation, as if attempting to assess their location.

“Forfex land?” Millicent guessed.

He smiled. “Yes. It would be safer for us to head east toward the outliers.”

“What are outliers?”

“Lands beyond the three kingdoms. I do not mean to imply we will be safe, but safer than trying to sleep among the Forfex.”

“I understand.”

“Good. If the trees slow down their shifting, I believe I can lead us somewhere to rest.”

While he stared ahead, Millicent looked to an area to the east of where they stood, watching mesmerized as fast-moving fingers of gray-white mist wove between the trees. Before she had the chance to alert her companion, the mist was upon them, grabbing at their feet, nipping at the hems of their garb—her dress, his tunic. The cold mist brought with it the feeling of blades ripping against her skin, although no slices appeared anywhere on her body.

She turned to Mármaro, whose eyes showed the same pain, but Millie stayed mindful not to cry out, for without a doubt, to cry out would bring about their ruin. With each step, she felt a hundred years drain from her body. The fingers of mist never let up, grabbing as if trying to pull her down. And just as he warned, the sky continued to grow darker until it felt as if someone had snuffed out the candle lighting their way.

The pain grew too strong and Millicent began to shake violently. Several times she felt the weight of the very air she breathed pushing down on her shoulders, as if trying to offer her up to the mist.

“Millicent! Millie?” Mármaro called to her but from the sound, from a great distance away. “We’ve got to get you out of here.” In one swift move he swooped her from the ground, bending Millicent over his shoulder as he picked up speed.

Each bump and jostle against Millicent as he moved seamlessly through the gnarly mangle of roots and branches and trunks had her biting her lip to keep quiet. Finally, she felt him slow. A thicket of bushes scraped, tugged, pulled, and pricked every spot the thorny brambles reached on the pair of them, shredding their clothing in places. But once the bushes had let up, they were plunged into complete darkness, with Millicent not even able to see her hand in front of her face.

“You’re still shaking,” he whispered. The shaking wouldn’t stop, but at least the mist hadn’t followed them inside. Gently, her friend lowered her to the ground, where she huddled, hugging her legs and arms close to her body in hopes of calming the violent tremors that seemed to get worse, not better, when she made contact with the cold surface. She heard branches rustling and a scrape along the cavern wall, she presumed.

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