No.
Caraway shook his head, refusing to believe it. She wouldn’t leave without him, would she? He’d felt like they were finally connecting again. But she had left. Not only had she entered dangerous territory on her own, but she was still planning on going through with her quest for the ability to shift. No bargain made with the Ice-Witch would be safe. And then there was the mission part of his reason for following her. Caraway might not agree with the Prime’s way of leading sometimes, but he stood behind the Order’s mission to keep magic alive in Elphyne. They needed to know whether the Ice-Witch was responsible for supplying the human enemy with mana-warped monsters.
Mild panic swarmed his skin like prickling ant bites. He had to get Leaf. Without preamble, he headed back into the Order to find the Cadre of Twelve’s team leader, and resident expert at tracing portals.
Caraway stood behind Leaf and Aeron as they assessed the space in the air where Anise’s portal had been activated. Leaf glared at the space with glowing blue eyes. It seemed as if he saw through the air to another dimension. His compatriot, Aeron, also looked at something Caraway couldn’t see.
They were tracing the portal—tracking where it had sent Anise.
Both elves were adept at casting spells with their inherent mana. As far as Caraway knew, there was no one more skilled than Leaf. He shuddered to think how powerful Leaf would become if he gained a Well-blessed mate like his cadre members, Rush and Thorne.
Aeron’s braided brown hair swung down his spine every time he nodded to Leaf with another increment of portal remnant he assessed.
Caraway could see none of it.
This skill took decades, possibly centuries, to hone. It was why these two were part of the cadre, the Order’s most elite warriors, and not Caraway.
“I’ve almost got it,” Leaf murmured. Small droplets of perspiration dotted the skin over his smooth top lip.
“She’s far north-west,” Aeron added. “In the cold.”
Leaf made a swiping motion with his hand, and a tearing sound ripped through the air. He reopened the portal and turned to Caraway, “I hope she brought a woolen cape.”
Caraway gave a curt nod. He didn’t need one. Being a muskox-shifter, and one of the fire-fae, his temperature ran hot.
Aeron put something smooth into Caraway’s palm. When Caraway looked down, he found another portal stone. But he’d already taken one from the Mage Academy. He raised a brow at Aeron.
“It’s from Clarke. It’s keyed to Rush’s cabin.”
“Why?” Caraway asked. Clarke was psychic. Had she seen some reason that he’d be needing to take a detour home?
Aeron shrugged. “Who knows with Clarke? I’m guessing she’ll want to meet you there before you come here.”
Caraway nodded his gratitude, braced, and then headed through the portal.
Leaf reminded Caraway as he left, “Just reconnaissance.”
The Ice-Forest was aptly named for the trees of frozen water. Clear crystalline trunks four hand-spans wide stretched high into the blue sky. Icicle leaves swayed and tinkled with the arctic breeze as Caraway navigated the only path available. The portal had taken him to the brink of the forest. It was either head backward over a vast icy tundra, or deep into the forest. It made sense the Ice-Witch would live in a frozen forest—he hoped—and not the barren tundra.
But the further he trekked, the more doubt crept into his mind. Every few hundred feet, he picked up a new worrying sign that things weren’t going according to Anise’s plan.
Specks of blood were stark against the ice. At first, the drops looked like they’d come from a scratch, or a shallow wound, but then he came to a place in the path where ice had chipped away from trunks, the ground was littered with fallen icicle leaves, and the tiny red droplets arced in a line as though someone had been cut and blood had spurted. With each passing minute, he stared at the blood spatter, his chest constricted painfully until it felt like his ribcage squashed his heart.
Anise had to be okay.
He wouldn’t accept another outcome.
A screech shook the leaves and a shower of ice rained down on Caraway’s head. He released Justice and crouched into a battle stance, ears straining, and eyes searching the sky. A light shadow blocked the sun. Then another, and another. Screeching grew in timbre. More powdered ice dropped from the trees.
What’s up there?
Air trembled.
Crushed shards of leaves fell to the ground, hitting his shoulders.
Glamor was a common tool in the fae arsenal, and whatever hunted him could be using it to hide from sight. Then again, it could also be a camouflage system of the beasts. Caraway closed his eyes and focused on senses other than sight. He let the air enter his lungs, held, and then exhaled slowly. Through it all, his ears strained and he sent out a blanket of magic to surround him. Whether it was his pacifist roots or something the Well had gifted him during his initiation ceremony, Caraway had learned that as a Guardian, he excelled in protective spells, including casting forcefields around his body—or the baby he’d saved.
Any being entering his immediate surroundings would trigger his alarm system, and he’d know where to strike.
All he had to do was wait.
So he breathed, and he listened, and he sensed. Like trying to catch a fish, he waited for a thrumming ping down the line he’d cast.
Ping.
He spun and thrust Justice into a solid ice wall. An ear-piercing shriek rattled his bones, and a crashing sound like breaking glass followed. When he opened his eyes, he paused from the sheer shock of what he saw. A broken sculpture of a gargoyle made from ice, not stone. But he could’ve sworn it had been moving through the air, rattling the leaves of the trees enough to shatter them.
Caraway nudged the large broken chunks of solid ice with his sword. No blood, just a clear crystalline body through and through. If he’d needed any evidence the witch was creating mana-warped monsters, this could be it. Except... the ice would melt soon, and there would be nothing left. He needed more.
The ice also meant the blood he’d seen on the way had indeed belonged to Anise.
He was still lost in thought when he heard another screech, only then remembering that he’d heard more than one creature calling earlier. A thud behind him had him tensing. He gripped the hilt of his sword painfully. A bloom of white breath ghosted over his shoulder. He whirled, ready to strike, and came face to face with another angry ice-gargoyle. It opened its jaws, screeched again. Its white breath turned putrid and green.
Was it... poison?
Dark spots swam before his eyes. He tried to swing at the beast, knowing the magic-nulling properties of his sword would help, but staggered like a drunk to the floor where everything went dark.
Too late.
His last thought was of Anise’s sassy smile.
Chapter 7
Their prison was a domed room made of solid snow. Light came from the only exit, guarded by two winged beasts carved from ice. There was no water, no food, and no toilet.
Anise gently patted Caraway’s cheek but he didn’t stir.
Crimson, when those frozen beasts had dragged his lifeless body in, she’d felt sick. It still hadn’t returned to normal. He had to wake soon. He had to!