Page 82 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

Tòrr writes in the dirt:

N-O S-T-O-P

“Some of us are mortal,” I tell him as I unbutton my trousers. “So, forgive my moment of awe while I take a piss.”

For the rest of the day, we ride further into Volkany’s interior. My senses are on edge here in a way they weren’t on the Astagnonian side. The shadows are ice cold. The smells are stronger. The pines emit a sap that smells like sun-warmed bark and a moonlit stream, two things that shouldn’t belong together but, here, do.

We make camp at the bottom of a cliff. I don’t light a fire, not wanting to announce our presence, so I spend the night hungry and shivering with a saddle pad as a blanket.

But then, I dream ofher.

And in my dreams, there’s nothing but the warmth of her light. It pours into me, chasing away the cold that grips my bones. When her hand touches my chest, I feel a spark. Stirring coals. Some part of me remembers her, even if my mind won’t.

I’m coming, Sabine.

I’m awakened by a thud.

Disoriented, I jolt upright. It takes my night vision a moment to focus. The forest is dark. It’s still before dawn. Crickets play their midnight song from the trees.

Tòrr’s front left foot is slammed to the dirt an inch from my boot.

I rake my hair back, blinking. “Tòrr?” I look from his iron hoof to his flaring nostrils and back down. “Hey—you didn’t break one of my toes this time! That’s progress!”

This modicum of improvement in our relationship fills me with a strange amount of joy—but it’s short-lived.

Tòrr shoves his nose in my face to blast me with a snort, his eyes flashing white.

“Okay.” My hand falls to the hunting knife at my side. “Okay. What has you bothered?”

Myst stands near the rocks, her tail flicking in agitation. My ears tune in to the forest.

Crickets. Shifting wind. An owl.

A mile away, someone sneezes.

“Fuck.” I dive for my knapsack, quickly readying my bow and arrow. “Myst. Tòrr. Time to go.” As I quietly move around the camp, I train my ears on the distance, calculating.

“It’s at least thirty soldiers,” I whisper to them. “Coming from the west. They’re moving quickly. They must have tracked us somehow.”

Tòrr cocks his head questioningly.

“I don’t know,” I answer as I saddle Myst. “My guess is that they heard about your little performance at the sheep barn back in Astagnon. I bet the shepherd family went straight to the nearest army outpost, and spies got word about it over the border. Volkish soldiers have probably been following our tracks all day, though until now, they’ve stayed far enough back that I haven’t heard them.” I pause. “They’re smart. They know night is the safest time to attack a monoceros.”

I look up at the slivered moon, cursing.

Myst paws the ground anxiously. I swing up into her saddle and rest a hand on her neck. “I know, girl. Let’s go.”

We move at a quick walk into the river valley. I don’t dare go any faster—the horses don’t have my night vision for loose rocks and roots. My heart batters against my ribs as I throw glances over my shoulder at the dark woods.

The further we descend, the colder it gets. A thick mist swirls around the horses’ legs, blanketing the ground so that I can’t tell if we’re headed for a road, rocks, or a cliff face. Within minutes, the mist has risen to mid-chest. Only the horses’ heads are visible above it, giving the eerie sense that they’re swimming through storm clouds.

Worst of all, the mist muffles my senses. It’s strange—smoke can obscure my senses, but not mist.

Until now.

An uneasy prickle runs down my spine. I’m unfamiliar with Volkany, sure, but this mist? It doesn’t feel natural foranyforest.

I’m about to tell the horses to turn back when an arrow shoots out of the mist.

---