Page 169 of A Vow of Blood and Tears

But my moment still hadn’t come. I’d hoped to find that moment in the darkness, but Miro was on his guard the whole way through, and now my plans were askew.

I couldn’t return through the mineshaft; the junctions had been not only ahead of us, but sideways and diagonal, branching in ways that turned the deceptively simple path into a snarled knot. Even if I turned tail and fled right back into that blighted shaft, even if I managed to steal the lantern from Miro and, by some miraculous chance, had enough oil to light the whole way through, the odds were high that I would choose the wrong path at the wrong junction, and possibly find myself face to face with something better left alone.

Which left the over-mountain route as my only option. I finally raised my head, squinting up at the ridge over the shaft’s entrance. This side of the mountains, on Forian soil, the timbers were bare of cold iron or charms, but they had been clawed into splintered shreds.

Beyond it, the mountains rose in high, ugly peaks. A sharp and deadly switchback trail had been chiseled into the cold gray stone. I licked my dry lips, imagining what it would take to climb it… and deciding it was well worth the effort if it meant never inhaling that mephitic breath of the earth again. Better to spend a week crawling inch by inch over the mountains than to face that soul-crushing darkness again.

My bag, containing both my journal and the ritual book, was slung over the saddle. Miro had the lantern, the packs, the food, and my pen. All I had to my name was the wilted bloodrose tangled in my hair.

But I was willing to sacrifice the books to get home. Because we were in Foria now; I turned my head away from the mountain and mineshaft with no small effort—every inch of my body screamed at me not to turn my back on that gaping hole in the mountainside—and looked out over the enemy’s territory.

It was like the gods themselves had drawn their hands over the earth, raising mountains between the misty, green coolness of the Rift and the blasted ruin of Foria itself. Before me was asea of waving grasses, baked brown by months of summer sun. There were few trees, and what little there were grew stunted and gnarled.

I narrowed my eyes, seeing deep grooves in the earth, places where the grasses gave way to rocky embankments and old walls.

“That’s where they fought,” Miro said, taking a deep draught from the waterskin. “This was a small sliver of the battleground. Most of Foria’s western border looks like this now; if anything grows, it looks poisoned. We can thank the bloodwitches for that.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sourly surveying the dead-looking land. He must be well again, if he was back to lecturing me on the evils of the war Foria had started to begin with.

I got to my feet, knees still weak as I brushed dirt from my skirt. I motioned to the waterskin and Miro handed it over willingly enough. I was valuable to him, which meant I needed to play that up, collect supplies while I could.

Despite the dryness of my throat, I took the most perfunctory possible sip and tied the waterskin to my belt while his back was turned. If he asked what I was thinking, I would simply tell him I’d done it out of habit.

Then I kicked my ankle leash aside and stepped towards him, meeting his eyes and touching my stomach, miming taking a bite of something.

A slight smile touched the corner of his mouth. “How can you be hungry after that?” he asked, but he lifted the flap of a saddlebag and dug around, pulling out a small package of oilskin. He unwrapped it, revealing strips of toffee. “Well, I suppose it’s been at least a day since I fed you. Here.”

He passed me two strips of the toffee, and I took one bite, chewing slowly, making the caramelized candy last. The rest of it I tucked it into a deep pocket while he was replacing the oilskin.

“We’ve got a few miles to go before we make camp. I want to see the creek before we stop for the night.” He buckled the saddlebag, shielding his eyes from the setting sun as he gazed into the distance. “Hakkon will find us by the signal-fire.”

I nodded, as though I were complicit in my own kidnapping. As though I wanted him to take me. As I turned my back on the mineshaft, a violent shiver coursed down my spine, sending the sensation of cold water trickling through my veins.

It was violent enough that Miro noticed, turning to give the shaft a dark look. He mounted the horse again, reaching a hand down to me. “Too damn right. Come on. We’re wasting sunlight.”

I took his hand, allowing him to pull me up sidesaddle once more, my thighs protesting after that long, tense ride, and gathered the loose coils of the tether, holding them in my lap.

Miro nudged the horse to a walk down the mountain, following a worn switchback path cut in dirt.

I looked down, picking out distinct shapes pressed into the path. Paw prints bigger than a man’s head, elongated and deformed.

Light save me.

The route through the dark had worn both of us to the bone, and the anxiety had clearly gnawed away at Miro’s chatty good mood of earlier. He was silent and watchful as he guided the horse down to the flatlands, aiming for the northeast. My fingers itched to pick at the knot of the tether, but he kept one arm around me, his hand resting loosely on the pommel, fingers covering the knot.

So my chances remained near zero as we moved through the grass. Day became evening in sullen silence, the sunsinking below the mountains and casting long shadows over the grasslands.

Miro swore under his breath, using the last stray rays of light to move the horse faster, and it was only when I heard the trickle of water that he slowed.

“Here,” he said gruffly. “Get down.”

I dismounted, legs aching, and leaned on the saddle for support, watching like a hawk. He would want light, and while he lit the lantern, I would jump back on the horse and make a break for it the way we’d come.

But Miro gave me a nasty sort of smile as he dismounted, and he kept the reins looped around his arm as he untied the tether from the saddlehorn. I thought about baring my teeth in a snarl, furious that he couldn’t be stupid and careless even for one minute, but kept it to myself.

Kept my expression pleasant and neutral, even as he led me to one of the spindly, stunted trees and tied the tether to the base.

“Pull down some of those branches,” he instructed me, turning his attention to the lantern. This time, he got the match lit on the first try.

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