Page 97 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
“What’s…” Her eyelids continued to droop until she wasn’t sure she could keep them open any longer. “Name?”
“You can call me Davorin.”
She repeated his name in her mind, but it came out all wrong, slurred together and unintelligible. “Dav…vrrrin”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” he grumbled. He wrapped one arm around her waist, then scooped her off her feet. “Hold on to me and don’t let go.”
Everinne clutched at the satin of his shirt, slumping against his chest. She squeezed her eyes shut as the world swirled around her in a haze of colors. Frigid air and the rush of power surrounded her, cryptic and dark, and then there was nothing at all.
Thirty
“Where the fuck is she?” Atlas demanded, stalking about his study like a caged beast, ready to rip through the bars enclosing him. He slammed both of his hands on his desk, sending notes and pieces of parchment scattering to the floor. “Everinne should be back by now.”
He was furious with himself. With everyone. He’d been unkind to her two nights before, when he’d thrown a towel at her and sent her from his chambers. But damn it, she’d pissed him off. Left him infuriated. He knew she’d been lying about the bond, he knew she could feel it, yet she’d seen fit to deny it, anyway. If he’d been more rational at the time, if he’d managed to control his temper, he would’ve seen right through the impenetrable wall she’d constructed around herself. He would have realized she was trying to push him away on purpose, but he still didn’t understand why.
His gaze flicked to the timepiece ticking steady against the far wall, its bronze hands creeping closer to the early morning hour.
“The guards are searching all of Prava for her, Your Highness.” Caedian straightened, tucking his hands behind herback. “They tracked her into the Deszvila Forest and then back to the city. But she went into the Mystic Obscura and never came back out.”
Atlas ground his teeth together, clenching his jaw so tightly, a painful ache throbbed at his temples, beating in time to his chaotic heart. “Something is wrong. This isn’t like her.”
“This is exactly like her,” Veros stated from where he sat in a high-back brown leather chair. His elbow was propped on the rounded arm, and he had one ankle kicked up, resting upon his knee. He gestured vaguely, his hand swiveling through the space between them. “She hates this palace. She hates me. She hates you. Why would she want to come back?”
Veros’s chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “This is all my fault.”
“It’s not your burden to bear, Veros. If anything, this is my doing. I told her to get out, perhaps she took me at my word.” Atlas raked his hands through his hair, turning to the window behind him where hues of pink and orange streaked across the eastern sky, pushing back the fading night. Beyond the city walls, the tops of ancient evergreens were set against a backdrop of cold, snow-capped mountains. “Why would she go to the woods first?”
“My guess is she wished to see Zoryana,” Veros muttered, his voice tainted with remorse. “Many of the witches have fled Starysa to escape the possibility of being hunted.”
Hunted.
Atlas always hated that word.
“If Everinne is still in the Mystic Obscura, then I have to find a way to get her out.” Atlas spun back to face Veros and Caedian and gripped the edge of the desk, his nails biting into the glossy hardwood. “And if what Valaina said is true, then I have to free Everinne from Reine’s hold. There’s no more time to waste.”
“We need a plan, Atlas.” Veros was attempting to reason with him, but it was futile. They both already knew what must be done. “You can’t just walk into the Mystic Obscura and?—”
Two heavy thuds sounded against the door of the study, like someone was trying to kick it open.
Atlas lifted one hand. “Caed, answer the door. Be mindful of who is on the other side.”
Caedian nodded sharply and strode to the door. He opened it a crack before yanking it the rest of the way, and when he stepped back, Atlas’s heart dropped.
One of his guards stood framed in the doorway, and in his arms was Everinne.
She was limp and pale, likely unconscious given the way her head lolled back, and her lips were a terrifying shade of purple. Her skin was mottled with what could be mistaken for bruises. The discolored splotches were everywhere, slowly spreading like ink through her veins, creating webs that crawled over her neck, legs, and breasts.
Atlas rushed toward the guard and collected her into his arms. Her body sagged against him, her breathing was labored, and the beating of her heart was much too slow. He glanced over at the guard. “What happened to her?”
“I think she’s drunk, Your Imperial Highness.” But the guard’s voice quivered, as though he didn’t quite believe it.
Atlas inhaled deeply, breathing in the faint scent of alcohol. But there was something else. It lingered beneath the layers of sweat and damp air. Suffocating ash. Acrid brimstone. The stench of a demon summoner.
Jarek.
Rage flooded Atlas’s veins, boiling his blood. If that bastard had harmed her, if he had so much as touched a single hair on her head, Atlas would end his life. His gaze raked over her, and it was then he saw it, the tender flesh of her shoulder was raw andpink, as though she’d been burned. The impression resembled the shape of a skull, and the slightest whiff of metal still carried on her skin. That fucking prick had marked her with cold iron. He’dbrandedher.
“Where did you find her?” Atlas asked, his tone laced with venom.
