Page 56 of Dare

The wilderness played a tune, birds whistling a symphony akin to pipes and flutes. My insides fluttered with delight, yearning to bond with this dream realm. How I craved its spirit and longed to become one of its forest tenants.

Wait. Did I smell mangoes?

Cocking my head, I detoured from our route. Behind me, the prince’s hiss cut through the raptors’ melody. “Get the fuck back here,” he snarled.

Not that I listened. Whipping shrubs aside, I discovered a massive trunk attached to the deadliest looking fern tree in history, its bark riddled with thorns so large they resembled spikes, much like the ones on which King Rhys displayed the severed heads of convicts.

I peered overhead to where plump orbs dangled like ornaments from the branches. As the irritated prince reached my side, I clapped my hands, bounced on my feet, and pointed. The pickings could be mangoes, apart from the beaded texture rising from the yellowy red skin, the rind so dazzling that we saw the fruits from three stories below.

I tied the hem of my chemise between my legs. I wasn’t a climber by nature, but—

“Do not think about it,” the prince warned.

Naturally. I didn’t think about it.

“Hey!” he gritted, launching forward as I scaled the first branch.

His arm swiped out to seize my ankle but missed as I scrambled up the trunk. Gripping the base of a thorn, the prince spoke through his teeth, “We don’t know if they’re edible.”

“That’s why we taste them.”

“The thorns—”

“What’s one more cut?”

Yep. He’d heard all of that, even though I hadn’t been looking at him. And fine. I had more important things to dwell on.

Truly, I wasn’t daft. After recently regretting what I’d stuffed into my mouth, I knew the risk. But if one of us didn’t take the gamble, we’d starve. Sand drifters had to make this leap of faith every day.

The Royal swore under his breath, the echo louder than usual in this acoustic place. I stifled my mirth, too famished and happy to tolerate his negativity. It wasn’t high so much as sharp, so I hunched and twisted around the thorns. A pointed tip scoured my toes. Gasping in pain but also chuckling, I hauled myself up and flopped one leg over a branch, marveling at the treasure before my attention diverted to a network of ropes threaded among the boughs. Cobwebs laced the cords, the lines frayed as though they might break into dust particles from the slightest touch.

Old ropes. It could be a large net to catch the fruit. Except these ropes didn’t exhibit the same type of woven pattern. Instead, they stretched parallel to one another and then disappeared into the canopy.

The prince spotted the cords too. “A conveyor,” he said from below.

Trepidation snatched my chest. This appeared to be some manner of pulley.

But attached to what? And created by whom?

Baffled, I shook my head. This rainforest was supposed to be deserted. And despite the familiar arrangement, the cords’ brittle material was shaggy and timeworn unlike anything I’d seen before.

Relief eased my muscles. This forest was ripe with mysteries and newfangled wonders, meaning it had to be a type of natural cord, which grew on these trees, which some animal had sewn into the boughs.

While the prince contemplated, I focused on the reason I’d quested here. Yet my enthusiasm withered. The orbs had been plundered, their insides devoured by what must have been insects, save for one treat. Resigned but grateful, I plucked my only catch, then wagged it at the prince.

He rewarded me with a scowl. Then his scowl collapsed, his gaze flashing with recognition. With the sort of calm that signified restrained panic, he ordered, “Get. Down.”

The Royal strode forward, about to vault up here and grab me. And that’s when I heard the long hiss.

I paused, listening to the slip and slide of an animal in motion, the sounds of a predator winding itself in my direction. Slowly, my gaze scanned the trees. The noise came from everywhere, quivering across the branches and driving shivers across my flesh.

The rainforest cared about me. But that didn’t mean its residents felt the same.

So when a reptilian tail lashed into view and whipped toward my skull, I ducked with a yelp. As I sank into a crouch atop the branch, the tail whisked my way again, slamming into a trunk when I scuttled out of harm’s way and onto an adjacent offshoot. The wide branches anchored me as I lurched upright, wobbling and springing to another bough as the tail came back at me, aiming for my stomach but missing.

A livid noise cut from the prince’s mouth. Despite his size and lack of climbing skills, he’d made it halfway up the trunk by then, with the scalpel hilt locked between his teeth.

The lithe dweller moved in a flash, its face darting from the creepers. Instead of smooth scales, barbs prickled from its body and encircled its face. Yet I recognized the type.

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