A groan made Larkin tense—was it man or beast? The beast’s great body shifted and rose, then flopped to the side as the man pushed himself out from under it. Relief flickered in his eyes when he saw her. He pushed to stand, planted his foot on the beast’s side, and yanked his ax out, scanning the clearing.
“Did its teeth so much as scratch you or the child?” He had an oddly formal accent.
Larkin shook her head, but he wasn’t looking at her. “No,” she managed. His head was shaved, except for a long braid behind one ear. He was beautiful, his body muscled and his skin dark, though as he came closer, she noticed pock scars on his cheeks. His clothes, though finely made, were worn thin and bloody.
She didn’t recognize him, and she knew everyone in town by sight. Perhaps he was from one of the other towns or cities that made up the United Cities of Idelmarch?
“Who are you?” Larkin asked.
“My name is Denan.” He rinsed his blood-soaked ax in the stream, dried it, and reattached it and the shield to his back.
“I’m Larkin. This is my sister, Sela. Thank you for helping us.”
He strode over to where he’d dropped his bow and picked it up. “What are you doing inside the forest? Don’t you know how dangerous it is?”
She stiffened. “Sela wandered in. I came looking for her.”
He approached her, brows drawn down disapprovingly. She forced herself not to back away from him as he paused in front of her. “You should have watched her better.”
She ground her teeth and reminded herself that this man saved their lives. “Yes. I should have.”
He gave her a long, appraising look, noting the sharp bones of her wrists and the threadbare state of her skirt and her father’s too-large, tattered shirt. She was suddenly aware of how fine Denan’s clothing and boots were. And how strangely cut. He wore a pair of close-fitting leather trou-sers, a tunic that came to points in front of his thighs, and a cloak—all a mottled green that mimicked the dappled shadows. She shifted her dirty bare feet, embarrassed by her ragged hem.
He stepped past her, toward the tree where she’d first seen him. “You’ve made too much noise. It will attract more of them.”
“More beasts?” Sela whimpered. Larkin heartily agreed with her. She shifted her sister’s weight and hurried after him. Even if he was brusque, he had the weapons.
Denan rummaged through his pack and pulled out something bundled in cloth. “They’re called gilgads. They’re venomous, and their hide is like armor. You have to go for the eyes or their soft underbelly with arrows. Axes can pierce them if you put enough momentum behind it, but you have to keep clear of their teeth, which is where the shield comes in.”
Sela whimpered.
“You’re scaring her,” Larkin chided.
Denan’s expression softened. He held out a bit of hard bread to Sela. “They can’t hurt you if you know how to kill them, Sela.”
Her sister took it—Sela never turned down food—and began nibbling a corner.
“We’re lost,” Larkin said. “Can you show us the way back to Hamel?”
Denan held out another piece of the bread for Larkin. His cuff pulled back to reveal raised scars on the inside of his right wrist. Realizing she was staring, she took the bread, but hesitated to eat it, pride warring with the hollow ache of her stomach. She settled for stuffing the bread in the pouch at her waist, the one she used to hold anything edible she gathered during planting. She hoped it wouldn’t get too much dirt on it from the roots she’d dug earlier.
Ignoring the protest of her watering mouth, Larkin asked again, “Can you take us home?”
He started into the forest. “This way.”
Larkin looked back and noted the storm coming from the other side of the meadow. It had been raining when she entered the forest. “No, it has to be back that way.”
“It isn’t.” He pulled out something from inside his cloak—a set of panpipes.
“You don’t understand. It was storming when we left. And the storm is that way.” She tipped her head in the direction she thought they should go.
“My people are known as the pipers. Would you like to hear me play?” Without waiting for her to answer, he rested his pipes on his bottom lip. A melody, haunting and full of longing, poured forth. A melody that reminded Larkin of a lullaby her mother had hummed long ago, back when she used to smile.
An old remembrance roused within Larkin—a memory deeper than memory. A place her soul knew, even if her body didn’t. Her injured hand buzzed, and she drifted into another time and place.
She was in an elegant boat, her hair long and wavy down her back. She wore white, a golden headdress crowning her head. Before her, an enormous tree glowed silver. A crowd dressed in finery stood by rank, waiting for her.
Denan continued to play, and she followed, stepping where he stepped, moving when he moved. He glanced back and smiled. She smiled too, eager for him to keep playing. She would follow that song wherever it willed her.
“The Song of the White Tree,” Denan said, bringing her back from wherever she’d gone.
Larkin shook herself and glanced back. She couldn’t even see the meadow anymore. Sela slept in her aching arms. How far had they come while she’d been lost to the sound? “Where is this tree?” she sighed.
“In the Alamant.” He gestured to the south.
She staggered to a stop. “But the only thing south is more of the Forbidden Forest.”
Denan reached for Sela. “Why don’t you let me carry your sister? You look tired.”
Unsure, Larkin stepped back. The haunting melody echoed through her, but as she peered into the towering trees, a sliver of fear writhed inside her. “Shouldn’t we be there by now? How long have we been walking?”
Denan stared at her like a cat watching a sparrow, waiting to see where they might land. She took another step back. “Wh-who are you? Why are your clothes and hair so strange? And that music . . .” She couldn’t remember anything from when he started playing to when he stopped. She took another step back. “What did you do to me?”
“I’m taking you somewhere safe.” He lifted the pipes to his mouth and started playing. The song reawakened a river of longing inside her, the current threatening to pull her under again. She hefted her sister higher, the edge of the wound on her palm catching on her sister’s tunic. Pain flashed up her arm. That pain brought with it a moment of clarity even as the first raindrop hit the back of her head and skidded down her neck.
For a moment, it was Larkin’s will battling against the song’s pull, and she was being swept under again. She focused on the pain in her hand. On her sisters and her mother. And Bane . . . She was supposed to meet him at the river later.
This man was as dangerous as the beast he’d slain. Only, instead of tooth and claw, Denan was using magic. She needed a weapon, a shield, or— A buzzing tingle spread from her hand, shot up her arm, and rooted through her body. The song’s hold over her shattered. She gasped and staggered back.
He stopped playing. His face shifted from shocked to grim. “Don’t run.”
Clutching her sister to her chest, Larkin whirled and sprinted for the meadow, her injured hand pounding in rhythm with her frantic heart.