Page 133 of A Vow of Wrath and Ruin

“That’s just something you must learn to live with.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Tharan awoke just as the sun was setting. A feeling of dread sat like a pile of rocks in his stomach. Something wasn’t right. Hopper still slumbered beside him, and Sumac prepared the wolves for another ride, her short hair pulled back behind herears. Was it his guilt from leaving the women eating him up inside, was it Aelia, or was it something else?

“Ready to go?” Sumac said, tightening the girth of one of the massive wolves.

“I guess so,” Tharan replied. “Sumac?”

She arched a brow at her friend.

“Does something feel… off?”

She scoffed.

“Something has felt off since the moment we entered the elven kingdom. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Tharan got to his feet, wiping the snow from his behind. “I have a terrible sense of dread.”

“You’re the one with the intuitive powers. You’d know better than me.”

“I don’t trust myself after what happened back there.”

Sumac placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself about it. Anyone would have been disoriented in that situation.”

Tharan swallowed the hot taste of embarrassment.

“A king should know better.”

“You have only been king for a short while. No one expects you to be your father right away.”

Tharan sighed.

“I know, but he was so beloved. I don’t want to dishonor his memory.”

“Your father was beloved, that is true, but he never got to be with this true love, Elowen. You honor him by doing what he could not. You honor him by trying to save the forest he loved so dearly,” Sumac said, her normally stoic demeanor softening.

“Thanks.”

“We better get going,” Hopper said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “If we ride through the night, we can hopefully make it to the Court of Malts by tomorrow.”

They rode silently and swiftly as shadows through the vast lands of the elven Kingdom of Eden, so named because it was considered heaven to the elves. With its rolling hills and fertile soil, it provided everything the immortals needed to survive.

The stillness of the forest unnerved Tharan. In the Woodlands, he could control the magic, but here, the magic was different. Older, wilder. Arendir said he knew everything that happened on this continent. Why hadn’t he alerted his outposts the women were missing? Was he lying or…

As if summoned by Tharan’s thoughts, an arrow whizzed past his head.

“Archers! In the trees!” Sumac called. Her rider pulled their wolf to the left. Arrows rained down upon them, striking the wolves but not harming them. Dire wolves were bred to have thick hides.

“Split up!” Tharan called. The four wolves and their riders divided. He hoped they would all make it to the next court alive. His heart raced as they moved swiftly through the trees.

The elves wanted him alive; they wouldn’t kill him, but they would do whatever it took to stop him.

The elves’ breath turned to vapor in the cool night air, giving away their hiding places. Tharan summoned his power. A fire lit beneath his skin, and he fired poisonous darts into the trees where the mist lingered.

The sound of an elf falling to his death and landing in the snow echoed through the silent forest. How many were there? How did they find them?

“Hold on,” the soldier guiding his wolf said, turning the creature violently and flinging Tharan to the ground.

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