The ancient, enormous trees of the forest blocked out the sun, leaving the pipers in cool shadows. They pressed through the leaf litter from the previous fall. The meat of the leaves had long since rotted away, leaving behind the skeletal traces of veins, delicate and lovely as a moth wing.

The forest smelled of death and life—the spiciness of green rot and the sweetness of new growth. But deep beneath the rich colors and smells, an undercurrent flowed—an undercurrent that gently buzzed against Larkin’s sigils as if it recognized her.

The White Tree was hundreds of miles away, seated deep within a lake inside a fortified city of trees. And yet it was here too. How had she not sensed it before?

Larkin heard the gentle rush of the spring long before she saw it. The smell came next—clean, cold water and moss. The spring bubbled up between black rocks before rushing into the forest.

It was the same spring she, Alorica, and Venna had stopped beside that first day in the forest. Alorica had convinced Venna to make a run for it. She’d been darted with gilgad venom for her trouble and carried for the rest of the day.

Venna was dead now.

Much of the army paused to drink, crushing the bright green moss against the rocks. Larkin took her turn drinking from the headwaters. She refilled her water bladder while Sela lay on her belly and drank straight from the source.

They moved downstream to let someone else have a turn. They found Mama leaning against a tree, nursing Brenna. Larkin handed her the waterskin. Her mother drained it in one go.

Larkin directed Sela to kneel beside her on the bank. Together, they washed the sweat and dirt from their hands and face—the midspring day had turned hot.

Crouched beside her, Talox shifted, water dripping from his chin. “I’ve my own needs to attend to. I’ll refill that waterskin and be right back.”

Mama watched until he was out of sight. “Tell me the truth, Larkin. Has Denan enchanted you? Because if so—”

“Did the druids tell you that?” Larkin shook out her tousled braid and rewove it. “You’ve felt the pipers’ enchantment. Their influence disappears with their music.”

Mama unlatched the baby and shifted her to the other breast. “And how do you feel about Denan?”

Avoiding her mother’s gaze, Larkin tied the end of the braid with a cord of leather. “He’s the best man I’ve ever met.”

“You don’t really know him.”

Larkin wet the corner of her borrowed tunic and wiped a patch of dust Sela had missed on her temple. “There now,” Larkin said.

Clearly exhausted from walking all morning, Sela lay down on the moss and watched the water slip past.

Larkin sat beside her mother. She dropped her voice to a whisper so Sela wouldn’t hear. “I thought I knew Bane.” His name felt like an ember on her tongue. “He was my best friend for years. But I never guessed he and Nesha were together, that she was carrying his child.” Before Nesha, he’d been sleeping with Alorica. Larkin hadn’t known that either.

Mama winced and pretended to be interested in something to her left.

Larkin’s gaze narrowed. “You knew?”

Mama shifted nervously. “I tried to get Daydon to allow them to marry. But with her club foot … He offered Bane for you instead. It was the only way I could save you from the forest.”

Larkin rubbed her face and tried to stem her rising anger. “Nesha believes I knowingly stole Bane away from her.”

Mama raised an eyebrow. “She said you saw them kissing.”

Apparently, Mama believed that too. “Why are you both so quick to think so little of me? I saw Nesha kissing someone; I never saw his face, never guessed it was Bane.”

“Maybe we never really know a person.” Mama wiped her cheeks. “Do you remember when your father would chase you around our hut on all fours and tickle you until you cried?”

“I hate him.”

“He wasn’t always awful.”

Why was she defending him? He’d betrayed Mama most of all.

“He saved me from my brute of a father and coward of a mother,” Mama went on. “Took me where they couldn’t find me, even with all their money. Bought land and built me a house with his own hands.”

Larkin had never heard these stories before. Mama never spoke of her past. So why start now?

Mama chuckled. “Neither of us knew anything about farming. We worked until our fingers bled.”

Yet it had all changed that afternoon he’d overheard Mama telling them she would have another daughter. “Why was he so angry when he found out Sela was a girl?”

Mama shrugged. “He never told me. All he would do was drink.”

He was mean when he drank. “I’ll never forgive him. Nesha either.”

“They’re your family.”

“And both of them nearly got me killed.”

“Larkin,” Mama said, her voice chiding.

Huffing in disgust, Larkin left her mother’s side to lay beside Sela on the mossy rocks, watching the light highlight the ribbons of water. She reached in and pulled out a smooth, mauve stone. “Pretty.”

Sela looked at the rock, stood, and walked away. Heart aching, Larkin watched her go.

 

 

Over the tops of the trees, the massive cliffs loomed larger and larger. The waterfall split the cliffs in half, the roar discernable even at this distance. Beneath that roar, the thwack of axes sounded. They turned a corner, their view opening to the base of the gully.

Pipers built a pike wall—sharpened sticks lashed to fences at the perfect angle for impaling a rushing horde. Beyond that, sleeping pods had been set up in trees and cook fires let off lazy smoke.

“Nearly there,” Talox said. Sela slept on his massive shoulder, her arms curled tight even in sleep.

Larkin breathed a sigh of relief—her arms ached from holding Brenna. It had been a long time since their lunch of dried meat and fruit.

“Thank the ancestors,” Mama murmured. Between giving birth not long before, nursing, and lack of sleep, she was clearly struggling to put one foot in front of the other.

Talox pointed ahead. Larkin shaded her eyes and caught sight of Denan at a break in the pike line. Bracing Brenna’s head, Larkin hurried forward.

Unstringing his bow, Denan strode out to meet her. He embraced her, squeezing her too hard. Brenna squirmed and squawked. He pulled back and chuckled. He rested a hand on Brenna’s downy head. “Sorry, little one.”

Larkin peered up at him. “What’s going on?”

“You must be tired. Let me have a turn carrying her.” Without meeting her gaze, he tugged Brenna from her arms and started past the pike line.

Unease caught fire in her belly. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Denan glanced at her askance and then away again.

The situation reminded her of the first time they’d pushed through the forest. Only that time, he’d been bound from telling her the truth by a curse—a curse that no longer applied to her. “Denan—”

He glanced back at Talox, Mama, and Sela. He dropped his voice. “The wraiths don’t just take slaves. They fixate on certain girls. And they don’t stop until they have them.”

Horror washed through Larkin. She could feel the wraith around her again. His smell invaded her body. His shadows ate away all warmth and goodness. The vision of the Black Tree superimposed over reality. She couldn’t catch her breath. Couldn’t catch it.

Denan pulled Larkin behind the shelter of a massive tree. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Why?”

“Maybe …” Brenna fussed, and Denan patted her back. “Maybe all this time they’ve been looking for the girl meant to break the curse.”

Dizzy, Larkin pressed her hand against the bark. The steady, faint tingle in her sigils increased. Calm washed through her. She breathed out in relief.

“Don’t tell my mama.” It was bad enough that she knew.

Denan’s jaw set with fury or determination or both. “Ramass would have to go through both my army and Demry’s to touch you, Larkin. You’re safe.”

Two thousand against the mulgar horde. Would it be enough? “How long until we reach the Alamant?”

Brenna’s fussing increased, and he bounced her in his arms. “If we force march, two days. Maybe three.”

Men were going to die. Tonight.

This was happening too fast. She couldn’t take it all in. “My family?” She choked, thinking of the terror Sela would endure, and so soon after she’d just started opening up again.

Brenna had settled in his arms. He laid her over his shoulder and rubbed her back. “We’ll enchant them and hide them high in the trees. They’ll sleep through the worst of it and wake up with no memory of what happened.”

“And if the mulgars break through?”

“They won’t.”

“But if they do—”

“We have the advantage of choosing our location and building fortifications. And we only have to hold them off until morning.”

“Mulgars don’t fight during the day?”

“Oh, they will. They’re opportunistic—driven by instinct and hatred. They go for the easy kill, the taste of blood. But without the wraiths to drive them, they won’t keep throwing themselves on our spears. They’ll retreat.” He cupped the side of her face. “Where’s my warrior wife? The one who braved the forest twice to protect those she loved? The first female warrior in three centuries?”

“Not that I’ve done anything with that magic,” she grumbled.

“You saved me. And your magic will only grow stronger as your sigils do. Someday, you’ll do more. I know you will.”

The weight of his words settled around her heart. “How can you know that?”

Shifting Brenna to his other arm, he pulled up his sleeve, revealing the ahlea sigil—the sigil for women’s magic on his wrist. “I was meant to find the one who would break the curse. I found you.”

He rested his palm on her uninjured cheek. “The Idelmarch lost magic and memory; the Alamant faces barrenness and shadow. Part of that curse was broken with you. I think you can break it for others.”

Larkin heard her mother’s labored steps long before she reached them.

“Start with your mother.” He pulled back. “See if you can remove the curse from her.”

Mama huffed into view. She stiffened at the sight of Brenna in Denan’s arms. Then her gaze went to Larkin, and she stilled. “What’s wrong?”

Denan gave a bright smile. “There’s a lovely pool below the waterfall to wash up in, Pennice. Ancestors know the baby needs changing.” He grinned down at her. “Don’t you, sweet girl?”

Kicking her feet, Brenna stared up at him with eyes that still straddled the line between brown and blue. They reminded Larkin so much of Nesha’s violet eyes that she had to turn away for a moment. Mama took the baby from him and stepped back.

Pretending he hadn’t noticed her mistrust, Denan strode out ahead of them. “This way.”

Larkin felt her mother’s questioning gaze on her, but she kept her head down and followed Denan. She paused at the base of the pool ringed with stones. Water plunged from the steep cliffs covered in ferns into a turquoise pool.

Pipers stood on the shore, bows in hand as they fished for their supper. Others sat around campfires, sleeping or eating. Even with the masses of soldiers, it was still a beautiful place. The mist kissed her sweaty face and felt like a cool caress on her exposed neck.

But that tranquility and beauty seemed far away. All Larkin could feel was sorrow. The first time she’d been here with Alorica and Venna. They’d been so determined to escape, so united in their hatred of the pipers.

The second time, Larkin had been escaping with Bane. They’d plunged over the waterfall in their small boat. Larkin could still feel the grit against her cheek. Still feel the shock at the sight of hundreds of mulgars standing just inside the tree line, watching, but not attacking.

Why hadn’t they attacked?

“Larkin?” She started out of her memories to find her mother watching her with concern. “What is it?”

Mama wouldn’t be brushed off—not a second time. “I was here with Venna and Bane.” Venna was dead. If Denan’s ransom went wrong, Bane would be too. She choked, any other words she might have said sticking fast to her throat.

Mama reached for her.

From the pool, Tam crowed as he held up two fish on the same arrow. The men around him slapped him on the back and cheered.

“Looks like Tam has our supper.” She pushed past her mother.

 

 

Bellies full of fish and foraged greens, Larkin spent the last remaining moments of sunlight washing out Brenna’s swaddling—even with mulgars and wraiths hunting them, such things must be done. Mama wrung them out and hung them on bushes to dry while Sela stared at the waterfall as if entranced.

Scrubbing her hands clean, Larkin caught sight of her reflection in her cupped hands. The wraith’s blood had left splattered burns across her cheek and neck amid the freckles—the stinging, one of many small hurts. She shivered and let the water fall.

A dozen steps from the shore, a boulder jutted out—the same boulder she and Denan had shared her first time through the forest. She’d just discovered he meant to make her his wife, whether she wanted it or not. She’d been so angry with him. So confused and hurt and lost.

It was also the first time she had a name for the strange things she’d been able to do since he’d given her the amulet. She touched it through her tunic, feeling the outline of a tree imprinting against her skin. Like the sacred arrows and the pipers’ weapons, it was made of the sacred wood of the White Tree and had its own kind of magic.

Just like the magic pulsing in her four sigils. She opened them to the magic, marveling as they gleamed iridescent, their shapes geometric and floral. They were still growing in size and strength. The one on the back of her hand called up her sword. The one on her left forearm called up her shield. The final two were on the nape of her neck and a band around her upper arm. She didn’t know what they did.

She opened the one on her arm to the magic, to the familiar, almost painful buzzing. She focused on herself and her mother, trying to see what was different between them—why one of them was cursed and one wasn’t.

Nothing.

She tried again with the sigil on her neck. Still nothing. She rubbed her hand over her head in frustration. It would help if she knew how her curse had been broken. Perhaps she’d been born this way?

No. She rubbed her thumb across the faint scar on her palm. Everything had changed with the sliver. Her first thorn. Imperfect and quickly lost. The first time she’d gone through the forest, the barrier—or stirring, as her people called it—had attacked her, rendering her a blubbering mess of terror. It hadn’t the second time. But then it had again the third.

But what had allowed her to receive her thorn in the first place? It was almost like the White Tree had reached out through the ordinary trees, infusing it with just enough magic for her to use. Like the tree had cared about her even then. Like a friend might.

“The trees are our friends.”

The words Sela had spoken in the arbor ring and then before, when she and Larkin had been running for their lives from the beast. The enchantment made the trees look like melting candles, their wicked, burning branches snatching at Larkin.

Until her sister’s cool hands had touched Larkin’s shoulders. The enchantment had faded. Something had broken free inside Larkin—a light where before there had been only darkness. And then Larkin had noticed Denan, who’d been watching Sela, keeping her safe from a distance.

Could it be? Was Sela the one Denan had been meant to find—the one who’d broken the curse? Larkin gasped and rose to her feet, her gaze landing on her sister, who stacked stones into precarious towers.

“Larkin.” Denan came up behind her. He wore his armor of boiled, studded leather. Strapped across his back were his ax and shield, both made of the impenetrable wood of the White Tree—it would send anything with dark magic back to the shadow until night came again.

The way he looked at her, almost reverently. What if that reverence was just because he thought her a curse breaker—the savior of his people?

No. Sela was a child. She couldn’t have been the one to break the curse. She just couldn’t.

Denan’s gaze fixed on Larkin—open and vulnerable and so full of need.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice cracked on the question. A stupid thing to ask. He could die this night, protecting her and her family. She might never see him again.

“Come with me?” he asked.

Mama laid out the last of the swaddling over a bush. “She needs to stay with me.”

“I’ll be right back, Mama.” Larkin pushed to her feet and took Denan’s warm hand in her cold one. Larkin felt Mama’s eyes on her. She clearly didn’t approve. How could she? But Larkin didn’t pull away. She couldn’t.

She followed Denan wordlessly along the pool of water. He looked around once before pulling her into an alcove tucked behind a tree. The waterfall spray misted her skin, and the roar of it filled her ears.

The space was tight, her back against the moss-covered rock face, ferns draped across her hair. His body a mere breath away; the heat between them became a living thing. His hands braced on either side of her head. The muscles in his arms locked as if it took a great deal of strength to keep from touching her.

“Denan, what’s wrong?”

“I almost lost you today.” He sounded almost angry. He rested his forehead against hers. “Larkin, if the wraiths had …” Unable to bear his pain, she reached up, taking his beardless face between her palms.

The forest take her, she could lose him too. “I’m here.”

“May I kiss you?” He still hadn’t met her gaze. He seemed almost … shy. She heard the question he wasn’t asking. Did she want this? Did she want him—forever?

“We’ve already kissed twice,” she reminded him breathlessly.

“But you’ve always kissed me.” The backs of his fingers shifted down her cheek, along her neck, before skimming across her collarbone, trailing fire wherever they touched. “This time, I want to kiss you.”

“Yes.” Please.

A trace of a smile ghosted across his full lips. And then finally, finally, his gaze met hers. The depth of feeling in his obsidian eyes made her heart kick in her chest. Was that feeling based on a lie? Ancestors, it couldn’t be. She couldn’t have tasted this only to lose it so soon.

She wanted to rise up, wrap her arms around him, and kiss him. But she forced herself to wait, to let him set the pace. The pad of his thumb rubbed her bottom lip. His hand slid along her jaw and into her hair. He tilted her jaw back. She wet her lips, eyes slipping closed. Their mouths met, his lips soft and tender.

She took his face in her hands, the pockmarks rough under her fingers. She wound her arms around his neck and rose up on her toes. His palms skimmed down her back before settling around her waist.

He was holding back. Being patient. Considerate. The forest take him, he was always so patient and considerate. She took his bottom lip in her teeth, nipping before sucking gently. He moaned—a moan that sparked through Larkin, turning to a molten heat that spread through her torso and then her limbs.

He deepened their kiss, his arms wrapping around her so tight he lifted her from the ground, her toes scraping the mossy ground.

“Denan,” Tam called from out of sight.

She let out a frustrated breath and rested her forehead in the crook of his neck.

“Denan,” he called again. “It’s almost sunset.” She heard the apology in Tam’s voice.

Denan growled low in his throat—she could feel the vibrations against her lips. “I don’t start a battle I can’t win. No harm will come to you, Larkin. I swear it on my life.”

“And who will protect you?” Emotion choked her voice.

“I will always come for you.”

Tears clogged her throat. She clutched the words that had once felt like a curse; now, they were a promise to keep her afloat in a sea of turmoil.

He squeezed her. “I love you.”

The words shocked her. Before she could decide if she should say them back, he strode away. Her fingertips covered her mouth. She could still taste him, still feel his body against hers. What if he never came back to her?

He’d come to prepare her, she realized. To make sure he hadn’t left any words unspoken before battle. She hurried after him, arms reaching, but by the time she left the alcove, he was already striding past Tam and Talox, his gaze fierce and dark.

Damp from the waterfall spray, she shivered. The two pipers faced her. Tam had the gall to wink.

Talox rolled his eyes at his friend. “Can you be serious for even a moment?”

Tam shoved him.

Talox barely shifted. “Denan has gone to battle a hundred times, Larkin.”

For half a moment, she wondered why they hadn’t started after Denan yet. After all, they were his personal body guards. Then she realized the truth—he’d left them to guard her.

“No,” she said. “Go with Denan. I’ll be all right.”

“I am,” Tam said. “Only Talox is staying. But I couldn’t miss the opportunity to tease you before I go.”

Talox smacked the back of Tam’s head. “His men love him, Larkin. They will not let him fall.”

Tam made a face. “I wouldn’t say love. A certain fondness, maybe.”

Larkin rubbed her throat. “You can’t know that. No one can.”

Talox didn’t disagree.

“He won’t be on the front lines.” Tam flipped his dagger, catching it by the hilt. “He’ll be directing his commanders and the reserves.” He cursed as he timed it wrong and sliced his finger. Sucking on the thin line of blood, he picked up the dagger. “After all, can’t have our prince dying.”

She flared her sigils, a blade and shield of golden light appearing in her hands. Tam dropped his dagger again.

Talox looked more determined than ever. “You haven’t been trained to use them.”

He was right. She’d only be in the way. She reluctantly dismissed them. “What can I do?”

Talox tugged his pipes out from beneath his shirt. “I could enchant you. When you wake, he’ll be there.”

She considered the gleaming flute. “No. If he can fight, I can wait for him.”

Talox tucked it back in his shirt. “Then I will wait with you.”

Tam turned on his heel. “Have fun guarding the women and children, Tal! I’m off to kill mulgars.”

She opened her mouth to berate him for being so flippant, but Talox rested his heavy palm on her shoulder, his eyes flashing as he called, “They stick you in a tree because you’re too short to reach over the shields.”

Tam spread his arms in challenge. “Why hide behind a shield when you can rain fire from above?” He started whistling.

Talox leaned over her. “Humor is how Tam deals with the fear and pain.”

“How can you stand it?” Larkin mumbled.

“You should try it. It helps.”

He led her downstream. Mama nursed the baby by the river while Sela curled against a gnarled root, her ear pressed to the bark and her expression dreamy. Talox guided them to a tall tree, where three men waited. He introduced them as Dayne, Ulrin, and Tyer. Dayne was tall and broad, dwarfing all the other men. Ulrin had a unibrow, the curve of which matched his mustache. Judging by his long hair, Tyer was married.

Ulrin and Dayne took the children and started up the tree Sela had been under. Tyer assisted Mama.

When Larkin moved to follow, Talox held up a hand. “Your family will be safer separated from you.”

Her mouth fell open in wordless protest. “But—” She stopped herself from saying she needed to protect them. Talox was right. If the wraiths were after Larkin, her family was safer away from her.

Mama hopped down from the tree. “We will stay together.”

Talox’s expression gentled. “The dark magic is after Larkin specifically. Your little ones need you. I will look after Larkin.”

Larkin’s eyes slipped closed. She hadn’t wanted Mama to know the wraiths hunted her.

Tears welled in Mama’s eyes. “How is this safer than the Idelmarch, Larkin? We would have been better off with the druids, and you know how much I hate the druids and that worthless queen.”

It was easy to forget that the Idelmarch had a queen. Iniya Rothsberd had lost her power to the druids decades before Larkin had been born. They’d even kicked her out of her own castle.

“There are two thousand men between me and the—” Wraiths. Larkin choked, the curse stopping her mouth. “The dark magic. This is just a precaution.”

Mama wrapped her arms around herself. “We’ve all been cursed, haven’t we?”

Larkin blinked in surprise. Her mother was a smart, brave woman. “Yes, Mama. And I’m going to break it.” Certainty burned in her chest. But then her gaze shifted to Sela, resentment flaring. Larkin shook herself. Sela was her sister. She loved her.

Mama wiped her cheeks and shot Talox a fierce look. “You bring her back safe.”

He bowed. “On my life.”

Mama turned without a word and took Tyer’s hand. Larkin watched as the three soldiers helped her family up the tree.

Talox touched Larkin’s arm. “This way.”

She looked toward where the sun had been cleaved in half by the horizon. With one last glance at her mother and sisters, Larkin climbed another tree far enough away she couldn’t make out her family through the forest between them. There, she settled in to watch the last of the daylight die.