“A minute ago,” Prince Rune said, “when you forgot something. It just happened, didn’t it? Just then.”
She pressed her mouth into a line, unwilling to say more, even to her Dawnbreaker. If anyone—even Prince Rune—knew too much of this, future generations might refuse to summon her, believing she’d been incapacitated.
They might be right.
The gaps in her memory were growing.
“Tell me what happened inside the Malice—what kind of trouble I faced.”
If Prince Rune knew she was dodging his question, he didn’t confront her. He just nudged his horse and they started west again. “The stories all say that you came back from the Malice and you were furious. But then”—he looked ahead, hard determination on his face—”then you returned to Winterfast Island and went back to sleep.”
“Without clearing the malsites.” It wasn’t a question. Obviously she hadn’t cleared them. No, it was a statement of disbelief.
The prince nodded, still avoiding looking at her, and she had the strongest feeling that he was…not lying, but omitting something of significance—something he now knew she couldn’t remember.
“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t like those answers.”
* * *
They ran the horses a few more times hoping to reach the malsite before sunset, but either they’d left too late or the prince was terrible at distances, because it was dark when they arrived on the stretch of road where the caravan had stopped for lunch the other day.
It was a stretch of road like any other, completely unremarkable except for the broken brush and trampled grass where the prince and his guards had gone into the forest.
“It’s too dark for the horses.” Prince Rune dropped to his feet. His guards followed suit. “We should leave them here.”
Nightrender brushed some of the sweat off her mount and guided him toward a stream that ran alongside the road. “I’ll return soon,” she promised, only to realize that Prince Rune was watching her with a faint smile.
He ducked his face and fished through one of his packs. “I like horses, too.” Then he produced a small metal tube and shook it until it emitted a buttery-gold light from one end.
“Tell me what that is.”
“It’s a lightrod. Ivasland alchemy.” He twisted one end and slid out a long, fully enclosed glass vial. Glowing liquid sloshed inside. “When the chemicals mix, they make light for about an hour. Then they separate and you have to shake it again. They come in all sorts of shapes, mostly globes, but these are good for keeping the glare out of your eyes.” When he slid the vial back into the tube and replaced the cap, the light formed a sharp beam ahead of him. “The metal tube has mirrors inside, to focus the light.”
He offered the lightrod to her, but she waved it away.
“I can see in the dark.”
“Oh.” He hefted his pack onto his shoulders. “Of course you can. Well, for those of us who aren’t part cat, the chemical lights are helpful. Safer than torches.” Indeed, his guards all pulled lightrods out of their packs as well.
“I don’t like this,” muttered one of the guards.
“You’re not supposed to,” snapped Lieutenant Swifthand. “Now quiet.”
They headed into the woods, Prince Rune leading the way as he offered a more detailed description of the events leading to the princess’s disappearance. The guards added quick comments occasionally, such as, “Lady Nadine was behaving strangely, even for an Embrian,” and “Lord Bearhaste had gone into the forest before the princess and her lady,” and “It was the most disgusting thing I’d ever seen.”
Nightrender scanned the dark woods ahead. Starlight limned the edges of tree trunks, leaves, and the black-winged birds that observed their passage.
“Show me where Lord Bearhaste died.”
The prince and his lieutenant led her and the rest of the company to a clearing thick with the stench of rot. A swath of blackness covered the ground, crawling up the bordering trees and suffocating brush. “Lord Bearhaste was there,” Lieutenant Swifthand said. “In the center. I can still see the mold growing from his mouth and nose when I close my eyes.”
The body had been removed, but Nightrender could hear faint squishing and slurping where some of the unfortunate lord had been too…soft to be recovered. “It’s just worms and maggots now.”
Prince Rune grimaced. “You don’t have to tell me those things.”
“I thought you’d be interested.”
He shook his head. “Do you want to see the malsite?”
Nightrender closed her eyes and stretched her senses. This close, she could feel the small pocket of malice, like a bubble of wrongness against the edges of her mind. And splitting off it, a trickle of death and decay. It was leaking. “I can sense it,” she said. “I will lead.”
Prince Rune and his guards fell into step behind her as she moved through the woods. The glow of the lightrods flickered over leaves and branches.
“I would like a map of the malsites.” Nightrender glanced over her shoulder, finding the prince’s face tight with concentration. His free hand rested on his sword.
“There are several such maps, although they don’t all agree. When we get back to Brink, I’ll show you the best one.”
She nodded her thanks. She’d be far more efficient in clearing malsites if she had a general idea of where to go. Then she stopped. Small metallic clanks drifted on the wind, ominous and otherworldly.
“Bells,” she murmured.
“The yellow line.” Prince Rune motioned her forward. “It’s how we mark the malsites.”
It was disturbing, the way he said that, like this was just another fact of the world. He might as well have showed her a loaf of bread and explained that they eat things like this to stay alive.
An uncomfortable feeling twisted inside her gut. Guilt, perhaps. She’d never left a task undone for so long. She could have prevented all this.
If only she’d cleared the malsites.
If only she’d done her duty.
The yellow line was nothing more than ribbons tied around trees, small bells fastened at the ends; it would not prevent someone from wandering through. “You should have strung a tough rope from tree to tree.” She said. “Or built an even stronger barrier.”
Prince Rune looked at her, his expression unreadable. “They did that centuries ago, but animals were caught on the ropes and ripped them down. Now, after hundreds of years, even forest creatures know not to go beyond these ribbons. As for a barrier—that would be admitting defeat. It would be admitting these places would always be dangerous to us.”