22

The Shadowood

Wait.

I turn to Reven. “Are we near the hot springs?”

After a pause that tells me he didn’t expect that, he dips his head.

It makes more sense now. After all, we should be on Little Tyndra, which borders Wildernyss. Tyndra has a portion of land to the north that is separated from the larger land mass by a much thinner channel of seawater. The parts are connected by the twin towers that make up their temple, one on each side and joined together by a sky bridge no Devourer can reach. Though after our run-in with the Hollow, I have my doubts about that.

Little Tyndra is supposed to be uninhabited. Somehow, Reven’s been able to hide their presence. And the ladder, too?

“Can I see the springs? Or the Sacred Tree?” The questions pop out before I can stop myself.

The springs are said to represent the dual nature of the goddess Tyndra—a warm heart surrounded by ice—and that’s where her twin sister, the goddess Savanah, planted her tree. Its leaves are the deep red of autumn, and it is said to weep the sweetest nectar. In the Savanahan grasslands, the goddess Tyndra’s Sacred Tree is made of ice.

I’ve always wanted to see both the springs and the tree. With Cain, a small voice reminds me. I let my eagerness get ahead of me, which is why the question popped out before I could rethink it. We have bigger issues to deal with than a tree.

I take it back before he can respond. “Never mind.”

Shadows and hot springs—of course this forest is temperate. Not that it makes it any safer for me, but at least I can cross freezing to death off my list of worries. For now.

“This is where you’ll sleep,” he says after a small hesitation. “You asked for a shower?”

Demanded was closer to how I’d put that, but whatever. I nod, and he leads me out the door. The second I step onto an open balcony situated up in the trees, I jerk to a stop. We’re high, but not horribly so—about thirty or forty feet up.

Is he kidding me with this?

Logically, I already knew we’re high up from the view outside my window, but my illogical fear doesn’t have a problem with windows. Balconies and cliffs, on the other hand…ugh. Plus, I’m still recovering from the staircase and ladder traumas. But Reven has already seen that weakness once—he doesn’t need to see it again.

“Hells,” he mutters.

Then, before I know what’s happening, I find my view taken up with only his broad shoulders as he steps into me. Not touching, though. Has he figured out that’s a big deal for me? The scent of him winds around me, and my stomach goes squishy.

“I wasn’t thinking.” He’s holding himself apart from me, despite being so close.

I guess I didn’t hide my reaction as well as I thought. My hands curl into fists, and all I can do is stare back and try to recover my breathing. “Usually it wouldn’t be this big of a deal,” I allow. “But I just… We just…”

He nods, an understanding in his expression that I’m not expecting. Who is this man who changes from kidnapper to concerned protector in a blink?

“There are no places to sleep on the ground,” he tells me. “It’s for safety. Just in case.”

In case what?

For half a second, I almost wish he would touch me. Like he did when he convinced me to go down the ladder. His hands in my hair were soothing. The way he’s looking at me, I wonder if he senses it, too. That things have…changed between us. Even if I don’t want them to. I’m not ready for it.

My life is plotted out to the end and doesn’t include relationships. There are too many secrets between us. But even if he knew everything, I’d still have to walk away. They’re the same reasons I couldn’t accept Cain. My sister needs me. My people need me, even though they don’t know it.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asks. “Or do I need to make other arrangements?”

“What is this place?” I ask to distract myself.

He shakes his head. “Later.”

What does that mean?

Putting himself between me and the handrail, he leads my reluctant body around the curved balcony, down two more doors. He opens the second one. Not so far after all.

Taking up most of a tiny room is a massive container that reminds me of the oak wine barrels sent to the palace from Wildernyss and Savanah. It’s filled to the brim with steaming water. From it, a series of pipes protrude from the bottom. Beside it sits a bucket and, thank the heavens, soap and a sponge.

He points at the various items. “For scrubbing, for rinsing off. Pull the plug in the bottom when you’re finished, and the water will drain from under the barrel.”

A bath. In the trees, granted, but what does that matter? I am looking at bliss in a wine cask.

“Dry off with that.” He points to a towel made of some rough material. It could be a boar’s coat for all I care. I get to scrub off multiple days of sweat, dirt, and fear.

“Once you’re dressed, knock on the door between this one and yours. That’s my room. I’ll take you down to introduce you.”

My brain isn’t sure which piece of information to glom onto first. The fact that Reven’s room is directly next to mine or the fact that I am about to face introductions. “Who am I meeting?”

Reven pauses in the doorway. “You’ll see.” He pauses again, gaze sliding between me and the tub, and his turquoise eyes are suddenly filled with an unexpectedly wicked light. Men have flirted with me before—both as Meren and as Tabra. Is that what’s happening here?

Without a word, he leaves.

I guess not.

After I stare at the closed door for a long second, wrestling with why I’d even think that, let alone want it, I turn to the room and dive in. I take my time, scrubbing every inch of my body, dirtier than I ever was coming out of the desert, which had always felt clean to me. Dried off and back inside my room, I snatch up the fresh clothes already laid out. They are in the style of the Marianans, made for warmer, more balmy weather rather than the thicker wools and furs Tyndrans wear. Not the opulent, restrictive garments of an authoritate, but simply stitched, sturdy materials, easy to move in.

Hoping I am getting the layers right, I put on supple leather leggings and a simple linen tunic. Belted at the waist, it is cut above the knee, the length more typical of serfs and workers for practicality. Fine by me. I need practical.

Over that, I’ve been provided a peplos in a shade of forest-green clasped at the shoulder by broaches shaped like delicate leaves but only painted to look bronze rather than the real thing. Finally, I drape a long, rectangular-shaped mantle in an even deeper green over one shoulder. Most ladies of court in Tyndra wear this more as a shawl or a veil, but instead I tuck it into the broach at that shoulder and into the belt at my breasts so that it won’t get in the way. I don’t care about my hair, so I decide to braid the still-wet, heavy tresses around the crown of my head.

I put my signet ring back on my pinkie and slip Omma’s amulet around my neck, tucking it safely under the layers of clothes to lay against my skin. The glass gives a thrum like it’s greeting an old friend. For the first time since the ladder, I have enough time to think about it. Is my amulet speaking to me? If it’s not in my head, it’s real. Is Tabra’s amulet from the king doing the same thing? They’re too much alike not to wonder.

I’m not going to find answers just sitting here.

My hands are trying to shake. Closing them tight, I gather courage and leave my room to knock at Reven’s door. Almost immediately, he swings it open, and I blink to find him also bathed, his hair slicked back, the slight curl to the raven-colored locks already springing loose. As seems to be his preferred color, he wears all black, which only serves to make his turquoise eyes brighter by contrast.

“Ready?” he asks.

“I have no idea.” I mean the words to come out haughty, not confused. Maybe the bath softened me up.

His lips, usually a harsh slash in his face, quirk, and I realize what is most different about him now. He suddenly gives the impression of being more relaxed. Our entire journey here, I could’ve bounced off the tautness of his shoulders like a gum tree. I’d even worried for his poor teeth several times, his jaw had been clenched so tightly.

But here he already seems…looser. Easier. Stronger.

I glance at the shadows that seem to almost cocoon this land, so constant I’ve already started forgetting they are there. Does he feed off them?

“Follow me,” he says, oblivious of my thoughts.

He leads me down the curving staircase, careful to keep his body between me and the handrail and the drop beyond. Once we reach the forest floor, I can see more buildings—an entire village of wooden-sided and thatch-roofed homes built high up in other trees throughout. Several buildings are connected by swinging bridges of rope. In trees standing closer together, the structures meld around them.

More rudimentary buildings, walled in on three sides but open to the front, are lined up around the bases of the trees, facing one another, forming what looks to be a sort of market. I recognize a forger’s anvil, the distinct odors of a tanner, and a seamstress’s goods.

What is this place?

I glance up to find Reven waiting, his seaside eyes giving away nothing.

“This way.” His hand to my elbow is almost gentlemanly as he leads me through the oddly silent, seemingly deserted village to a path that wanders away from the buildings and deeper into the mighty forest.

The trees are red barked like the one in my room, their trunks as thick as my hovel, reaching into the skies like mighty watchmen. They have to be hundreds if not thousands of years old. The shadows hold more sway out here, and I almost expect a chill, but the air on my skin is nice.

On this journey, we’ve walked in angry silence and suspicious silence and even exhausted silence. But this silence is new, and I can’t put my finger on how. Companionable is the best way I can think of to describe it.

Then we turn a bend, a clearing opens up before us, and my feet stutter to a halt. Because a throng of people is gathered there. Waiting for us.

No… Waiting for me.

I catch sight of a petite girl with skin I think might be blue, but maybe my eyes are deceiving me, standing on the edge of the group, not quite with the others. She smiles, and I smile back, but then she walks away, disappearing through the trees. It happens so fast, I’m not sure it was real.

Hand at my back now, Reven urges me forward toward those still waiting, watching, until I stand before them. “Princess Tabra Eutheria I of Aryd, may I present the people of the Shadowood.”

I swallow. Hard.

All my training as a pretend princess fails me completely. What am I supposed to do in this moment? What am I supposed to say? Not even the part of me that might call on my grandmother’s conceit and regal presence knows. I cast my gaze over the faces before me—faces of all races, all dominions, all creeds and kinds—and my empty mind kicks back into motion, rusted gears cranking over with a groan.

Facts start to stick out at random.

These people are clean, clothed, and appear well-fed. Their expressions don’t reflect concern or fear, although they aren’t necessarily happy. Reven moves us forward with a persistent hand at my back, and, despite a well-cared-for aura, they also back away from us slightly, and I don’t know if it’s him or me who is making them anxious.

So tempting to tell them that I am the furthest thing from a threat. I am nothing.

“I don’t understand.” I turn wide eyes to Reven. “Are these your…prisoners?”

A quiet twittering rises up from the people closest to us who overhear, but Reven’s reaction holds me captive. He flinched when I said prisoners, his jaw tightening, and an odd, inexplicable guilt pinches around my heart.

“The Shadowood isn’t a prison, princess,” he says. “It’s a sanctuary.”

He steps back, out of the way, and immediately I’m surrounded by people. Crowding in on me. Touching. Nothing too invasive, my shoulder or my hand, but coming from Aryd, I feel it all.

My shock doesn’t exactly wear off, but through it, impressions start to sink in. Like hearing words through water. These people are welcoming me. They’re warm and smiling and open. Yes, there are some who remain at the back, still wary or maybe even suspicious. But mostly, the residents of the Shadowood seem happy to add me to their ranks.

I catch Reven’s gaze across the sea of people surrounding me.

A small child tugs on my mantle, pulling my gaze to her, and I squat down with a smile. “Hello,” I say to her.

Rather than speak, she holds out a tiny ring made of woven blades of grass. My heart melts as I accept it and slip it onto my pinkie next to my signet ring. “It’s beautiful,” I say. “Thank you.”

On a shy smile, she runs off to join a large group of children nearby. They grin and giggle, talking rapidly to her and glancing at me. There are children here. Cared for and safe and happy.

How is this place real?

A sanctuary, Reven said.

The man who stole me—the Shadowraith—is giving refuge to people who have no other place to go.