“What are we going to do when we get there?”

I looked up from the meager meal I’d laid out to thaw before the fire. Juniper’s eyes watched me expectantly, wide and dark and young.

“Try and talk Avery out of it,” I said, looking away.

In truth, I had no idea what we were going to do if we caught up with Avery. I didn’t think he would listen to me, and I didn’t think Juniper’s Bjorn would make much of a difference, either. The Huntress had laid most of Avery’s family in the ground. I didn’t see much hope for a peaceful resolution.

“You know that isn’t going to work,” Juniper said, calling my bluff.

“We have to try.” I gave the fire an overly vicious stab.

“Do you have to save her?” She spoke in barely a whisper, but the accusation was loud and clear. An ugly silence descended. “Why?” She asked, finally. “Is it the magic?”

“No.” An owl hooted in the distance. The sound emphasized the gulf between me and my sister, and I felt the miles of wilderness stretching out around us to either side.

“I don’t understand. She kidnapped you. She killed people, Rowan.”

“I know.”

“Then why?” she asked again, her face incredulous.

A gust of wind tossed the pine boughs over our camp and dislodged a fine mist of snow. I raised my face to it, letting the cold burn against my cheeks and listening for the distant cry of wolves. The wind carried only its own howl, however, and did not blow away Juniper’s words.

“I love her,” I said, the sound of rustling rose leaves rising to a cacophony. “I love her, and I left her, and now everything is falling apart.”

•   •   •

There was something wrong with the roses. I grew more certain of this with each passing day. My feet crunched on fallen petals, frozen into perfect, translucent shapes that bloomed the palest of pinks against the snow. Had they ever dropped their petals before? I could not remember. We should have neared the boundary by now, but all I saw were the roses that had followed me down.

Juniper trailed behind me, speaking only when necessary and watching me out of eyes that seemed to take up half her face. She was hungry and angry, and I held the blame for both. The bitter taste of resin and bark filled my mouth. Bitter, but better than nothing, and I knew we had to save the last of the bread and sausage in her bag for the return.

“You should go back,” I told her again, pausing to let us catch our breath. “You have enough food to get you home if you follow the hedge, and it will be easier going downhill.”

She shook her head.

“Please, Juniper. You’ll be safer there.”

“You were screaming in your sleep last night,” she said, surprising me.