Page 47 of The Puppeteer and the Poisoned Pawn

It takes me only a minute to get back to that loose plank. I tug and wiggle it, but nothing happens. The rain drenches me, splashing into my eyes already welling up with tears. And that familiar gnawing twinge of loss fills up my stomach.

I climb the rest of the way, collapsing on the wet, wooden floor of the tree house, sobbing as the shower of rain cloaks the Emerald Lake forest.

The sounds drowning out my cries for miles.

14. Building The Armor

“If you’ve made it to heaven, please, give me a sign.”

Still damp in my black funeral dress, I bow in front of my cot, hands clasped in prayer. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve eaten real food. I’ve collected rainwater to, at the very least, keep myself hydrated. But I’m weak after sleeping endlessly in this tree house, watching the sun rise and fall in the gloomy sky, listening to the birds whistle and flock from tree to tree, all while I lie lifeless so close to the clouds.

“They’ve taken everything from us.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as I wait for an answer from the paranormal, spiritual occurrence I’m waiting for. I just need to know he’s happy. He’s safe and cared for. I need to know what happened to the other alters. Did they become their own spirits? How does it work? Maybe if I know he’s at peace, I can find a way to crawl my way out of this dark, hopeless hole.

“Please, Kane, find a way to tell me you’re okay,” I whisper. My own voice sounding hoarse and weak, like sandpaper and the creaking wood of an old ship.

But nothing happens. The birds don’t even make a sound. It’s as if my surroundings hold their breath, waiting for him to answer me.

My shoulders sag, and I let my hands fall to my sides. I need to leave, find fresh clothes, and figure out how to navigate through my lost memories. I’m closest to the Evergreen Dark Wood, to the Nightamous Horde. Maybe I can trouble them for comfortable clothes and be on my way.

I think back to the places I could visit that might trigger a lost memory. Kane’s house. The Red Oaks. My father’s house. Those would be the best places to start.

It takes me half a day to hike barefoot through the humid forest. By the time I reach the shadowed dry lands of the Evergreen Dark Wood, I feel a tremor in the air. A ripple of awareness running down my back like warm bathwater. And without so much as a sound of breath, I can feel the rhythmic beating of two heartbeats.

Normally, I’d take one look around and decide I’m alone here. The woods are uninhabited, dark, and filled with an eerie quiet. But I can’t calm the hairs rising on the back of my neck and that thrumming of alertness filling my veins.

I start walking again, careful not to step on any sticks or pine cones. My feet are already raw and covered in dried blood and small gashes. I have to remind myself to ask for shoes and find a creek to clean my wounds.

As I descend deeper into the darkness, echoes of a breathy conversation find my ears. I stop in my tracks. Looking around, I strain my eyes to see where the sounds are coming from. To my right, I see the dimming glow of a torch that’s about to extinguish. A blue sputtering flame that I follow through the trees. The sounds of hushed words get louder, defining highly registered feminine tones.

Closing in on the torch, I finally catch a glimpse of the source of the noise before I quickly avert my eyes. A woman standing in front of a tree with long white hair, pallid skin, slightly pointed ears, cheekbones, and a sharp jaw.

Runa. Like moonlight in the dark forest. She whispers to a woman leaning against a tree. They laugh quietly as if they’re sharing gossip they shouldn’t know.

“Runa,” I say, turning around to give them privacy. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Runa turns to face me with a raised eyebrow.

“Skylenna?”

I give a noncommittal nod.

“This is Prim.” Runa nods at the woman adjusting her hair behind me.

She smiles and gives me a quick nod. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Skylenna.” The woman is tall and muscular, like a warrior goddess. One white braid with black streaks hangs over her right shoulder, dipping down her cleavage.

“Look at you,” Runa says with a sharp laugh. “You’re as pale as one of us.”

I haven’t eaten.

Runa is narrowing her cold, black eyes on me, studying my gaunt cheeks, lifeless hair, and red-rimmed eyes.

“Where is he?” Her daunting stare doesn’t leave mine.

I swallow. It’s thehethat does it. Makes my veins run in the opposite direction. My insides clench together in a death grip. The look of someone who doesn’t know what happened to him. And I can’t say it. The words turn to ash on my tongue, and all I can do is shake my head.

Runa lifts her chin in sudden understanding. She tries not to let the icy look of pity cross her face. But she fails.

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