“Bryony, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, it must’ve been awful, but you are safe. Slough is safe. There wasn’t any fire.”

The strength left her leg and she slumped down, tears pricking at her eyes again. She blinked them away, frustrated and relieved, wide awake and exhausted all at the same time.

“You came to me,” she said.

“You were screaming, shouting ‘Father!’ over and over again. I heard you and came running.”

“I’m sorry…you didn’t get to enjoy Slough’s hospitality.”

“Honestly, I’m glad to put it behind me.”

She couldn’t tell if he was just saying that to make her feel better. “Why?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Let’s just say I’ve had enough of Slough’s hospitality. Anyway, I’d rather walk than sleep. You?”

Bryony managed a half-smile. “Yes, please.”

Fifteen

Soraya

Seer, Finfalla

The forest would usually comfort her like the arms of a loved one wrapped around her, arms made of branch and leaf rather than flesh and bone. Not this time.

Her lungs heaved with every faltering step, roots and vines seeming to grab at her ankles, causing her to stumble and trip. At one point a large tree seemed to rear up out of nowhere, and it was all she could do to only bash her shoulder into it as she dodged around it. Now it throbbed fiercely in time with her heart. She could feel Morg rattling around in her pack, trying to tear himself free. Trying to help her.

She clamped her hand tighter over the pack’s mouth and kept going.

As she ran, she wondered why she’d been made a Guardian when she didn’t have super strength like Shim, or any other useful Ability, why she’d been cursed with her own Ability. How was she, as Guardian, supposed to protect anyone when she couldn’t even protect her own partner?

No answers came to her, and, with no other reasonable option, she continued to run, trying to remember what Shim—oh gods, Shim—had taught her about finding her way back to the Rocklands. Go uphill. Always go uphill. She steered slightly to the left, where the ground seemed to rise a bit more, but then skidded to a stop, eyes catching a gleam of gold cutting through the darkness.

She listened for the crashing of a monster through the forest but heard only the usual night chatter from nocturnal creatures. Ready to continue her retreat at the first sign of danger, she moved toward the gleam, crouching to inspect it. A root protruded from the ground. There was something unusual about it, like a severed limb with no body in sight.

She immediately knew why. It was identical to Narcissi’s roots that could be spied throughout the Rocklands. “How is this…” She trailed off, brow furrowing. They were miles away from the center of Lostwood, miles away from where Narcissi had planted herself in the wake of defeat all those centuries ago. Could her roots really have grown this far afield? The answer, she knew, was in the golden gleam peeking through a bit of the root that had worn away, either naturally by the elements or from the gnawing teeth of a woodland creature.