I traced the range with my eyes, again and again, memorizing it. “How do you know that will work?”
His fingers loosened, and then fell away. Even though I wore a thick coat, it felt as if I’d lost something, and a shiver went through me. “I don’t,” Oliver answered. “But I do know that your mind responds to chants, or repetition.”
My thoughts filled with Gil and Daratrine. “Intention,” I murmured, turning around.
Oliver must’ve heard something in my voice, because the corners of his mouth deepened. It wasn’t a frown, not quite, but he knew there was something I wasn’t saying. He was worried about me and trying to hide it, just like I was hiding my fears from him.
So this is the price, I thought, a hard knot forming in my throat. This was the cost to the pain I had caused. Oliver and I would probably never find our way back to the friends we had been. Back to the easy, uncomplicated companionship that I had treasured so much. Now every moment had meaning, and every word exchanged had the potential to hurt or destroy us.
When I didn’t say anything else, Oliver turned away and kept going. I scanned the mountain range one more time, then followed.
More hills loomed ahead. I kept my focus fixed downward, though, worried that I’d trip over something in the dark. The ground itself had started to change, becoming less golden grass, and more patches of bare dirt. It wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the place we’d left behind. I kept expecting Oliver’s voice to float back to me, asking about the Seelie Court and what was happening there. He remained silent.
Hours crawled by. Our silent march was disrupted only when Oliver’s footsteps faltered. He recovered quickly—his pause was two seconds, if that—but his posture was too casual. I’d been timing his footsteps with my heartbeat, too, and I knew the misstep hadn’t been my imagination. My instincts perked. Heeding their little voices, I looked to the right.
A werewolf hurtled out of the darkness.
It was Astrid. I gasped, recoiling. Oliver caught me, and just as I opened my mouth to scream, the dead alpha vanished into thin air. I stared into the darkness, still breathing raggedly. What the hell? Understanding struck a second later, and my expression cleared.
It was a nightmare. My nightmare. One of many, no doubt. I fought to breathe normally again.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver muttered, his jaw tightening. He set me upright, and his fingers lingered on my waist. “I’m trying. I can’t—”
“It isn’t your fault, Ollie.” I spoke without raising my gaze. I didn’t want to see what else crouched in that deep darkness. “How much farther is this place?”
“It’s just over the next hill,” he said. His boots crunched in the dirt as he retreated. Worried Astrid would reappear, I adjusted my backpack and hurried to catch up. Then, between one breath and the next, the world seemed to get darker. I lifted my head, realizing that we’d reached the end of another hill. A new, gigantic one loomed a few yards ahead, and it blocked out what little moonlight there had been.
The sight made me wilt. I’d discovered yet another change in the rules of this world—I got tired now. I got sore. Ten miles wasn’t much, especially since I was a runner, but I’d been Belanor’s captive for a few days. Some of those days I’d gone without food or water. I was weak, so weak that I’d carried it into my sleep. Scraping at the bottom of my soul for some resolution, I moved to catch up again.
Oliver must’ve heard signs of my struggle, because the pace he set was slower now. He tried to be subtle about it, and I just shot his back a halfhearted glare, knowing he’d feel it. We pushed on. Up and up, higher and higher. My breathing was shallow and I ached with every movement. At the halfway point, only stubbornness kept me going.
At long last, we reached the top. I’d just stopped to catch my breath when the clouds shifted again. Holding my heaving sides, I looked around with weary curiosity. At first, I didn’t spot anything different—this view matched what we’d seen at all the other hilltops. The ocean was out of sight now, so there was only forest, more hills, and that mountain range Oliver had pointed out earlier. We were close enough now that I could see more details, and the slight glow of everything made me think there must’ve been snow somewhere ahead. There was a narrow gap between the rocks. A mountain pass.
Was that what Oliver had wanted me to see? I lowered my gaze, frowning, and that was when I spotted it.
The tree.
It looked like a sea monster. Like a wooden kraken. And the instant I made the comparison, I knew I’d seen this tree before. I started down the hill, moving so quickly that my heel slid on a patch of loose dirt, and I almost fell. Oliver caught hold of my arm, his grip fierce. Using more caution this time, I kept making my way down. We were in a sort of valley, a level stretch of ground at the base of several hills. They rose up on every side like canyon walls. I only had eyes for the tree.
I went right up to it, arching my head back to peer through its branches. This monstrosity was much bigger than the oak tree waiting for us ten miles away. I could hear Oliver’s footsteps approaching from behind. I glanced over my shoulder. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”
“The tree was part of it, yes.” He was frowning, probably because of the expression on my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just…” I realized I was reaching out, about to touch the bark. I jerked away, unnerved that I’d been reenacting the image in my head. I cleared my throat and finished, “I had a dream about this exact tree.”
Oliver stopped just beyond the tree’s shadow, remaining in the moonlight. “What happened in the dream?”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I kept staring up at it as I said distractedly, “Nothing, really. I heard a—”
A shriek echoed through the air and cut me off. I spun around, my heart in my throat. Movement immediately drew my gaze. I shook my head, once, in a gesture of disbelief.
Seven-year-old Fortuna Sworn was running up the hill. She was followed closely by her brother, five-year-old Damon Sworn. “Run, Fortuna, run!” he shouted.
There was no time to wonder what was happening; I didn’t want to miss a second. The younger versions of me and my brother came right up to us, and their eyes slid past without faltering. They couldn’t see us, then. I backed away, unnerved that I was looking at my own face. It felt as if it belonged to someone else.
Why didn’t I remember this?
The children must’ve just come from church, because young Fortuna was wearing a checkered black and white dress. Tights covered her twiggy legs, and new shoes gleamed on her feet. There was also a black ribbon in her hair.
Oliver moved to stand beside me, and I knew this was what he must’ve stumbled upon after he left. I had so many questions, but those would have to wait. The children climbed the tree frantically, scrabbling at the bark like squirrels fleeing from a dog. My nostrils flared, responding to the fear on Damon’s face, but there was no trace of it beyond that. It was almost like he was just… pretending to be afraid. Why would he do that? I couldn’t detect Fortuna’s agitation, of course, but hers seemed more genuine. I could see it as she kept looking over her shoulder with wide, unblinking eyes.
High up in the tree, younger Fortuna’s body gave a violent jerk. It was as if something I couldn’t see had yanked her leg. She twisted around wildly, latching onto any branch she could even as her gaze shot downward. Whatever she saw made her mouth fall open in a horrified, mindless shriek. The sound of it sent a shiver down my spine.