Chapter Sixteen

Red

The trek to the Edge took much less time than it used to, now that they didn’t have to be on the lookout for pits of shadow or rotting trees or escaped monsters. Under any other circumstances, it might’ve even been pleasant.

But, circumstances as they were, everyone was tense and silent. Especially Raffe.

Red watched him over her shoulder as she led their odd procession with Eammon, crunching through the leaves of eternal autumn. The other man’s brows drew low over preoccupied eyes, his gaze barely rising from his feet, deep in thought that drew his mouth tight. The only thing he actually appeared to see when he looked at it was Kayu, who, though quiet like the rest of them, took in the forest with wide-eyed delight. Even then, the look on his face wasn’t something Red could easily read.

This had to be awful for him. Raffe and Neve had never really been together, as far as Red knew, but the way they’d felt about each other was obvious. At least, it had been. Now things seemed more complicated. Layered in ways she no longer knew either of them well enough to interpret.

Not that Neve’s romantic entanglements were any of her business. The last time one of them had tried to wade into the other’s love life, it had gone poorly.

For all his awareness of her, Raffe kept a careful distance from Kayu. Occasionally, she’d try to speak to him, or point something out that interested her, and he’d bend a slight smile before going back to brooding. Lyra and Fife indulged her a bit more, answering her questions about the healed Wilderwood when she voiced them. It appeared the third princess of Nioh had read quite a lot about the forest, about Valleyda, and was eager to have someone to discuss it with.

“I’m not sure about her,” Eammon murmured, glancing back to follow Red’s gaze.

“Neither am I.” Red turned back around and leaned her head on Eammon’s shoulder, half to further obscure their conversation, half because he had very nice shoulders. “But Raffe seems to trust her. And beggars can’t be choosers—if we need to go to Kiri, we’ll need a ship.”

“I don’t recall begging to sail to the Rylt,” Eammon muttered.

Apprehension coiled in the muscle beneath her cheek.

“Maybe we won’t have to,” Red said. “If those key-branches are carved on the wall of the Edge, maybe Valdrek will know where the Heart Tree is. What it is.” She sighed. “Anything about it at all would be welcome, really.”

Eammon shrugged, jostling her head; when she frowned up at him, he dropped a kiss on her brow. “Maybe,” he conceded, “but even if Valdrek can answer some questions, I feel like we’ll have to deal with Kiri at some point. Call it Wilderwood intuition.”

“That’s what you call it?” She didn’t have to elaborate—he meant the feeling of something running just alongside your mind, the golden thread winding through their bodies that was both wholly them and wholly other.

Eammon shrugged again, this time purposefully dramatic, to send her head popping up from his shoulder. He grinned when she swatted at him, though his eyes were contemplative. “Seems as good a term as any.”

“Wilderwood intuition is a thorn in my side.”

“You have thorns everywhere, Lady Wolf.”

“Such a romantic,” she replied. But she sounded as preoccupied as she felt, and Eammon gave her an understanding look before reaching down and threading his fingers through hers.

“She’s fine,” he said quietly. “The mirror shattering yesterday means she’s done something, right? That’s what it told you?”

Red nodded grimly. The forest within her—her Wilderwood intuition—had imparted understanding after the mirror broke, in that voice she’d heard in her dreams. She no longer needed the mirror, because Neve had done… something. Taken in the dark the way Red took in the light.

That meant she was alive. But it still wasn’t exactly comforting.

The mirror’s breaking had broken something in her, too—she’d passed out in the tower, and not awoken until deep night seeped around the windows. It’d delayed their trip to the Edge until this morning, bright and early. Pale yellow sunlight filtered through the autumn colors of the leaves, dappling everything in crimson and ocher and gold, a precursor of the fall rapidly approaching outside the Wilderwood.

“How do you keep the forest from turning?” Kayu jogged up to them, slightly out of breath. Her black hair shone in the autumn light as she gestured to the trees. “Turning with the seasons, I mean. I asked Fife, and he said to ask you.”

Red doubted he’d said it so politely. “It’s not conscious. It just…” She trailed off, looked to Eammon, who gave an inexpressive shrug. “It follows our lead, I guess. Takes on our aspects. It was early autumn when we… when we did what we did.” Even now, she didn’t quite know how to articulate it. The nature of what she was—woman and Wolf and wood—eluded easy language. “So it’s frozen there. We stopped changing, so it did, too.”

Kayu nodded, her eyes tracking between them. “Because you are the Wilderwood.”

“Exactly.” Red tried to sound sure of herself. Eammon shifted uncomfortably on his feet, the movement sending black hair feathering over the tiny points of his antlers.

“And because you are the Wilderwood,” Kayu said slowly, “it won’t call any more Second Daughters.”

Something about the question prickled Red’s skin, that damn Wilderwood intuition sparking enough to make her wary, but not enough to give her its reason. She slid a look to Eammon as she nodded. “Right. No more Second Daughters.”

Kayu looked thoughtful but didn’t ask anything further. She drifted back toward Raffe and the others, picking up a fallen leaf from the ground and twirling it between her fingers.

“That was strange,” Eammon muttered under his breath as she walked away. “We can both agree that was strange, right?”

“It makes sense for her to be curious.” Tugging absently at one of the ivy tendrils growing in her hair, Red flipped him a wry smile. “We are a bit of an enigma, after all.”

“Still.” A slight shake of his head. Eammon rubbed at one of the bark-vambraces growing over the skin of his forearms. “I think we should be cautious.”

“When are we not cautious?” A joke, but a weary one. “And it’s not like we have much choice. She knows Neve is gone. Like Raffe said, it makes more sense to keep her close.” Red glanced at Raffe again. Kayu was telling him a story, shaping it in the air with her hands. He smiled at her, small but genuine.

Eammon made a gruff noise, somewhere between challenge and agreement. He looked at the pair over his shoulder, then turned curious eyes to Red. He didn’t give voice to his question, but she could read it there.

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I don’t know how he and Neve… left things.”

He squeezed her hand. “We bring her back,” he said decisively, “and then she can figure out her own damn love life.”

Ahead, the forest thinned, the golden autumn trees giving way to green moss and unencumbered sunlight. Red could just glimpse the Edge’s outer wall, though even squinting, she couldn’t quite make out any shapes in the arabesques carved there, key-groves or otherwise. Her own key was in the pocket of her tunic, beneath her bridal cloak. She slid in her hand, brushed a finger over one of its teeth.

Eammon picked up his pace as soon as he crossed the tree line, his much longer stride making it so the others would have to jog to match. Red was the only one who did, though—Lyra and Fife kept to a leisurely walk, and Raffe and Kayu seemed content enough to stay with them. Eammon stalked quickly to the gate, rapped once on the wooden wall, then stepped back to peer through narrowed eyes at the carvings.

Red reached him and leaned against the wall, out of breath from trying to keep up. “Your legs,” she panted, “are entirely too long.”

“Blame the forest.” Eammon put a hand on her shoulder, moved her gently aside to look at the carvings her back had hidden. The markings didn’t seem to follow any sort of pattern Red could make out—some were curved and flowing, others spiky and nearly runic. None of them looked like keys.

The others reached them, squinting against bright sunlight after the shade of the Wilderwood. Raffe’s eyes tracked over the marks, a frown turning down his mouth. “Where was this carving you spoke of again?”

“I don’t remember.” Barely leashed irritation in Eammon’s voice—all of them lived on a shatterpoint. “We’ll ask Valdrek. If I can describe it, he’ll know where it is. He can read the wall.”

“Read the wall?” A new concept to Red. Her brow arched.

Eammon cut his hand toward the wall in question. “The marks are a map, sort of. A history. When the explorers ran out of paper, before they figured out how to make their own, they started carving things they wanted to remember on the walls of the Edge instead. It’s a complex pattern, a language all its own. I can make out parts of it, but I’m not fluent.”

Red’s eyes widened. She looked back to the strange carvings with renewed interest, trying to find meaning in all those waving lines. She’d only ever thought of the carvings as decorative, but it made sense that they’d be more than that—those in the Edge made do with what they had, and resources like paper were prohibitively expensive even on the rest of the continent.

Kayu traced one curving line with a manicured finger. “Doesn’t look like anything but shapes to me.” She shrugged at Eammon. “But you’re the forest god, so I trust you. Though trusting gods seems to be a fraught thing, of late.”

“Gods who show their true selves are fine by me,” Raffe muttered. “It’s the ones who try to hide you have to look out for. On all the shadows, it seems like I can’t walk two feet without running into something out of a story anymore.”

“I think I’m at least three feet away,” Lyra said.

Raffe blanched, swallowed. “I mean… of course, it’s not… I didn’t…”

“Need a shovel?” Lyra jostled his shoulder playfully as she stepped forward, joining Fife by the door. “Don’t worry, Raffe. Just because you prayed to me doesn’t really make me a god.”

“What does make one a god?” Kayu mused, like it was an intellectual exercise.

Lyra tapped a thoughtful finger against her collarbone. “You have to believe you’re one, first,” she said finally. “At least, that’s what I think. Magic and prayers aren’t enough if you don’t decide your own divinity.”

“When this is over,” Raffe murmured, “I’m never discussing religion ever again.”

Fife snorted. “I’d also prefer to avoid it.”

“Sorry, dear,” Lyra said, ruffling his reddish hair.

The gate swung open, revealing a pleasantly surprised Lear. “Wolves! And Fife! And the Plaguebreaker! And…” His eyes tracked from familiar faces to unfamiliar ones. “… friends?”

“We do have those, shockingly enough.” Eammon stepped forward, he and Lear grasping elbows and clapping backs. “This is Raffe and Kayu.” He didn’t offer titles.

“Welcome.” Lear dipped his head, satisfied with the bare-bones introduction. If the Wolves trusted someone, the Edge did, too. And though Red still wasn’t sure how far that trust went in Kayu’s case, it was clear they’d have to deal with it in order to find Neve. “Valdrek is in the tavern, since I assume that’s who you’re looking for.”

“Imagine that.” Red grinned. “How’s Loreth? Congratulations, by the way. Marriage looks good on you.”

The other man smiled back, running a hand over his hair. The thin line of a tattooed ring snaked around his finger. “Thank you kindly, Lady Wolf. She’s wonderful.”

“Has she come around to the idea of leaving?” Fife asked quietly.

Lear sighed. He wanted to go beyond the Wilderwood, to reenter the world after centuries of his ancestors being locked away from it. Loreth wanted to stay.

“She still isn’t decided,” Lear answered. “But we have time, it appears.” His face twisted, realizing what he’d said. “Not that it’s a good thing, what with your sister… I mean…”

“It’s fine, Lear.” Red kept up her smile, but the edges of it dimmed.

She didn’t bear ill will, but it still took the shine out of the conversation. Lear waved the rest of them in without another word, inclining his head as he pulled the gate shut behind them. Eammon gripped Red’s hand, ran his thumb over her knuckles.

“A tavern, he said?” Kayu perked up. “I could go for a drink.”

“As long as you don’t mind it watered,” Lyra muttered.

They wound through the main thoroughfare of the Edge, nodding at passersby. Behind them, Fife and Lyra fielded questions from Raffe and Kayu, similar ones to what Red remembered asking when Eammon first brought her—what this city was, why there were so many people here, why they were dressed so out of fashion. Kayu seemed to take the answers in stride, but Raffe was slightly shocked, and when Red glanced back at him, his eyes were wide as saucers.

It was impossible to know all the corners of the world. There was always some wrinkle left unironed, something tripping you up in your understanding of how things went and your place in them. That was something she’d been learning ever since her twentieth birthday, and she still went back and forth on whether it was terrible or comforting.

They reached the tavern, made their way through the dancers to the back of the room, where Valdrek was predictably playing cards for outdated modes of currency. The man across the table from him looked slightly familiar, but the way he held his cards obscured most of his face. Red didn’t have time to try to place him before Valdrek noticed them.

“Welcome to the Wolves!” Valdrek raised his tankard—clearly not his first. “And their entourage. Lyra, darling, it’s been too long. You’ve somehow grown even more beautiful. I’ll have to write you a song.”

Lyra cocked a brow. “You say that to all the girls.”

“Only my favorites.” He turned to Eammon, clapping him on the shoulder. “What can I do you for, Eammon? Did any of those books help you at all?”

“Unfortunately not.” Even in the din of a rowdy bar, Eammon’s quiet, leaf-laced voice cut through the noise without him raising it. “But I do have a question I think you can help with.”

He explained it in quick, broad strokes—the key, the sentinel shards in the Shrine, Red’s odd dream and how Raffe’s mirrored it.

“So the question,” he said, “is if there’s any mention of something called the Heart Tree on the wall. Or anything that looks like a grove of keys? I remember seeing something similar, somewhere.”

To Valdrek’s credit, he kept his face mostly nonchalant, other than the steady widening of his eyes. “Quite a tale,” he murmured, draining the last of his beer. His tankard made a hollow noise when he put it back on the table, and he kept his eyes on it as he spoke, as if he could read it as easily as the wall. “The carvings are enigmatic,” he said finally. “Up for interpretation. My father taught me how to read them, after his father taught him. But it’s not a recorded language, only passed down orally, by knowledge of our history. Not exactly foolproof.”

“No.” Raffe’s voice was hard and with no trace of nervousness, despite the fact that he’d only just learned this place existed. “Trusting history is never foolproof.”

Valdrek only inclined his head, an acquiescence. “There are pieces of the wall that we never quite knew the meaning of, and were told not to try,” he said. “Our ancestors… they were desperate, there at the beginning. The Kings had only just disappeared when they arrived, the Wilderwood closing to trap them here. Some of them tried unsavory things to attempt an escape.”

“Like bargaining?” Red asked.

“Not quite that simple.” A sigh as Valdrek sank a hip onto the table and crossed his arms, settling in for a tale. “They were wayfaring people. Always on the sea. And they worshipped the god of it, worshipped it in the way the Old Ones liked to be worshipped, with blood and with suffering.”

“The Leviathan.” Eammon nearly spit the title.

The other man nodded, silver rings glinting in his beard. “They bled into the sea to secure safe passage. And once they were here, bound to the shores by all that infernal fog that kept them from navigating back to the world, those offerings became more… involved. Full sacrifices. Bodies bled into the ocean and sunk with stones.”

Red shifted uncomfortably on her feet. She’d known the worship of the monstrous old gods was violent, back before the Kings banished them, but the books she’d read on them in the Valleydan library kept it vague.

Fife sat down in the chair Valdrek had vacated and wearily signaled the barmaid for a drink. Kayu did the same, holding up two fingers when the maid looked her way. The somehow familiar man at the table had laid down his cards, but kept staring at them, fair hair falling forward to obscure his eyes. Red only glanced at him, too taken with Valdrek’s story to try to puzzle out where she’d seen him before.

“The worship didn’t give them a way out,” Valdrek continued. “Not once the Leviathan was locked away with the rest, the lines of communication blurred and broken by the Shadowlands. But it did give them odd knowledge. Pieces of things that came in dreams, seemingly unconnected. They recorded them, anyway, carved them into the wall alongside everything else.”

Red thought of those spiked, runic carvings alongside the fluid lines on the wall. Violent marks that didn’t seem to fit.

“But the shorthand language they used to carve those things died out with the worship. And good riddance, too. It apparently drove those who knew it mad.” Valdrek fingered one of the rings in his beard, thoughtful. “It was only the first generation who knew how to decode it. The rest of us have left it alone.”

The barmaid came with drinks. Kayu passed one of hers to Raffe. Fife shared his with Lyra when she held out a hand.

Red could’ve used one herself, but it felt like whatever they were headed for would require her mind to be at full capacity.

Valdrek took a long drink, leaving foam in his beard when he lifted the tankard away. “So yes, Wolf, I know the carving you refer to. But no, I don’t know what it means.”

“I do.”

The man across the table finally looked up from his cards. His expression wavered somewhere between clarity and confusion, like he hadn’t meant to speak up. Pale hair fell across a white brow, eyes dark.

It took her a moment, but Red finally remembered where she’d seen him before. “Bormain.”