“Well,” Hellic had replied, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You can always go back to fucking that servant boy with the big brown eyes you like to drown your sorrows in.”

Ren had pushed Hellic off his seat and onto his back on the grass and they had both laughed again. Hellic had been right. When Lady Arrika left, it was exactly what Ren had done.

Suddenly, complete darkness fell. Ren opened his eyes, but it was just as dark as it had been behind his eyelids. The torches had gone out. Eyes wide in the darkness, Ren heard the driver stop the horses with a soft sound, the wagon rolling to a halt.

“Just a moment,” the driver said. Then came the sounds of what Ren assumed was the driver searching for fresh torches in the darkness.

Ren sat up straight. Lyle whimpered quietly.

“It'll be all right,” Ren said. “Stag's Run isn't far, now.”

Ren held his hands up in front of his face. It really was pitch black, the thick clouds blocking what little moonlight might have made it through the trees.

Ren felt movement to his left, a nudge of his shoulder. “Niklas?”

There was a dull sliding sound Ren couldn't quite place, followed by a sound much worse: ripping, a choked-out gasp, the sound a person makes when blood floods their lungs. Someone fell to the floor of the wagon and Lyle cried out in fear.

“Where's the light?” Ren called, reaching for his sword with his heart in his throat. Something was very wrong, and Ren felt like a blind fly in a spider's web. “Where's the damn light?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Commotion.

A startled shout. It sounded like Anik, but Ren couldn't be sure.

The sharp pain of a blade slicing through the skin of his upper arm made Ren stagger to his feet. He backed up and stepped right into thin air.

With a cry, he landed on his back in the forest leaf litter.

“Niklas!” he called. He hadn't let go of his sword in the fall and he gripped it even tighter as he pushed himself to his feet, stars dancing in front of his eyes. The aftereffects of the poison left him panting, out of breath, although maybe it was fear making his heart race.

Raising his sword, Ren took a few steps backwards, feeling dead leaves and branches shift under his boots. When he held back a hand, he felt the rough bark of a tree against his palm. Warm blood trickled down his arm, making his sleeve stick to his skin.

Slowly, the clouds drifted away from the moon and gilded the forest scene in a faint, ghostly light. Ren saw figures moving in the dark: someone running, two people struggling. It was impossible to make out who was who. “Anik!”