Still, she had to do something. Sitting and waiting for rescue was not in her nature.
She studied the space again, committing every tree and every bush to memory. If she was forced to stay here overnight, she needed to know her way around.
But surely the others would come for her before dark. She was the crown princess of Embria. She was arguably one of the most important people in all of Salvation—and she was imperative to this alliance. There couldn’t be a wedding without her. Someone would come. Nadine would come. Nadine would insist.
But as full night descended, a new fear tightened around her heart. What if Nadine hadn’t been able reach the caravan? What if the rancor had gone after her, once it had Hanne trapped?
Hanne went cold with the thought, images of her broken cousin flashing through her mind.
No. No, she couldn’t think like that. Instead, she bit her cheeks, letting pain distract her. Her cousin was fine. She had to be. (But what if she was trapped in another malsite—)
Hanne sat with a grunt, pressing her back against a tree with a gentle curve in its trunk. Here, she could see most of the malsite, and she was sheltered from a rear attack.
She still hadn’t seen the rancor. She hadn’t seen anything but the fish bones.
It was too dark to search for insects or worms, but surely they lived in here. Such things were not her specialty, but didn’t soil need them to support plants? What about birds or rodents? She hadn’t noticed any earlier, but she hadn’t exactly been listening for squeaks or rustles. Where was the other life in this malsite?
She listened. And all at once, she became aware of the silence.
Oh, there were noises in the malsite: wind breathing through the trees, the faint trickle of water, her own thundering heartbeat. But the silence was real, like a layer of death under everything else. It was like a ringing in her ears, if the ringing were the absence of sound. An opposite. It was negative noise, ceaseless and maddening.
Hanne ground her knuckles against her ears, trying to drive it away. But the silence had already lodged itself inside her; there was no way to be rid of it.
Sleep would not come. With thirst and hunger gnawing at her—and the terrible sense of absolute separation from the real world—all she could do was remember Solspire and wish she’d never left.
Tonight, there would be a banquet. There were always banquets. If she’d been at home, Hanne would have sat at her mother’s side, both of them undeniably beautiful and regal, clothed in the finest silks and crystal beads, both wearing obsidian-dotted crowns. Together, under the light of a hundred diamond chandeliers, they would study the lesser nobles and decide who to elevate and who to destroy. They would feast on braised veal, roasted vegetables, and dainty cakes with frosting piled up like snowdrifts. They would be powerful, alluring, and when the night was over, they would retire to the royal apartments.
Hanne’s personal suite had a dozen large rooms, filled with all the things a princess needed to be happy. Right now, more than anything, she wished for her bedroom, where she had a giant mattress stuffed with the fattest of down feathers and blankets softer than clouds. Stretched out in her own bed, Hanne always felt like she was floating in a warm bubble of wealth.
Her stomach growled, waking her. Lunch had been hours ago, and this tree was nowhere near as comfortable as her bed. She could endure without the bed, though. She’d slept alone outdoors before—it was part of the rigorous training her parents had put her through—but never in a malsite. Never even near one. Except…
She clutched the obsidian pendant that rested against her breastbone. Why hadn’t it protected her?
Or—there was a chilling thought—what if it had? What if the only reason she wasn’t a pile of rot like Lord Bearhaste was because she’d been better protected?
She pressed herself deeper into the curve of the tree and said a prayer to Sardin, the Numen of Luck, that she would survive this ordeal, and then—because one could never be too careful—Sylo, the Numen of Trees. Since a tree was currently her only protection, it seemed prudent.
Just as she was readying a prayer to the Numen of this particular tree—likely one of the Unknown Numina, their name forgotten to time—a shimmer caught her eye.
Daylight. She could see daylight past the screen of trees.
It was nighttime around her. How could it be daytime beyond the malsite’s barrier?
Cautiously, she climbed to her feet. The air felt cool, like night. Everything seemed real enough. But as she crept to the edge of the pellicle, careful not to trip over anything in this strange darkness, she studied—for the first time—the movement of things outside.
She’d seen the ribbons earlier, of course, once she’d calmed down and regained her sense of self. But she hadn’t noticed how they’d moved. They’d been up, caught in a breeze, but they hadn’t drifted or danced. They hadn’t lowered or lifted. They just hung there. Suspended. Absolutely still.
No, not absolutely still.
When she waited, watching the yellow ribbons long enough, she saw the movement she expected—just so much slower than it should have been.
Then she started seeing other things, too: birds barely fluttering their wings, a leaf falling in slow-motion, and a deer mid-leap as it fled the path she’d taken to get here.
Heart pounding wildly in her throat, Hanne searched the area for the rancor. It was impossible to decide which she preferred: seeing it out there, watching as it slowly lurched toward her, or not seeing it at all. Because if it wasn’t out there, then where was it?
“Help me, Tuluna,” Hanne prayed, but the patron Numen of Embria remained silent. “How can I follow your path if I’m trapped here? Am I not your chosen one?”
Still, nothing.
Tuluna had not always been with Hanne, but nine years ago, the Numen had selected her to become their voice, their cure for all of humanity’s darkest impulses.
Hanne closed her eyes and thought of that first conversation, seeking comfort in memory.
I can help. Those were the first words, sweet and cool, a soothing balm after the pain Hanne endured when her parents had taken her…away.
“Who are you?” Hanne whispered, young enough to be intrigued by a voice in her head, but old enough to be cautious, too.
Who do you think I am?
Hanne considered that question for a while. Lying in bed, her whole body hurting, she didn’t have much else to do. Finally, she said, “I don’t know. You haven’t given me enough information.”
The presence laughed a little. Not at her, like grown-ups might have, but in simple acknowledgment that she was correct. I will tell you about myself. Then, you can make an educated guess.
“Very well,” Hanne agreed.