Dagr sighed deeply, as if trying to blow all the air in the world out of his lungs. “If she awakens, what will happen?”

“When she awakens, I will explain my actions to her. I will try to make her understand.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”

Dagr seemed to consider this, then shook his head. “Against my better judgment, I’m going to help you.”

“That’s unnecessary. You have no stake in this matter.”

“Even so. I am involved now. I cannot simply walk away. It’s not in my nature. Or at least, it’s not anymore.”

Ludo understood the implication: This man had run from something before, and he regretted doing so. Ludo couldn’t help but to relate. “Then I will pay you for your time.”

“That’s not necessary. Bryony already overpaid me as a guide.”

“Then…thank you.”

“I’m not doing it for you.”

“I don’t care who you’re doing it for, as long as she’s kept safe.”

“Then, for the time being, we are allies.”

“It would seem so. Now, we’ll need somewhere safe to shelter until they’ve recovered.”

“I can help with that, as long as you don’t require luxurious accommodations.”

“Does it have a roof?”

“Yes?”

“Then that’s all the luxury we need. Give me an hour to sleep and then we’ll head out.”

As he turned away, Ludo didn’t give voice to the biggest question of all, the one that had been pounding at his insides, turning them to jelly: If the forest was truly the cause of Bryony’s illness, why, now that they’d broken free of its bounds, did she not wake up?

Two

Bryony

Dunmire, Finfalla

She ran through a tunnel surrounded by fire, heat licking at her arms and legs, scorching her skin. Or at least it should’ve scorched her. But it didn’t, the heat as mundane as the warmth of the sun on a mild summer’s day. She slowed to a stop, frowning, casting her gaze about her. Something felt…off…about it all. Staged. Like she was a puppet in a show, and the flames, as real-looking as they appeared, were made of cut felt.

She reached out to touch one, only to realize that the flames weren’t coming from the edges of the tunnel. No, they were coming from her.

I burn, she thought. I’m burning. With the realization came that fear born of trauma, as she was forced, for a moment of frozen panic, to relive the worst night of her life. She’d been just a child then, forced to leave her mother’s side to save herself, only to watch her own father abandon them both. And then she was pinned by a fiery projectile, unable to breathe, her own scream sounding foreign in her ears.