Page 38 of Heart of the Summer Queen

With his expression indicating otherwise, I’m far from convinced but don’t argue with him. He’s made up his mind, and I doubt I can sway him. Instead, I sit back and hope he really can keep our carriage flying until we reach the woods.

Several minutes later, I’m certain he’s on the brink of collapsing. But then our carriage descends, and since it isn’t avertical plummet through the sky, it seems we have reached our destination. When I look out the window, I can make out the silhouettes of tall trees.

Yet as we near the ground, Elaric’s control over the carriage weakens, resulting in us shaking either side. The land sways beneath, more like roiling waves than stable ground. And we’re approaching it at an alarming velocity.

“Elaric,” I gasp.

If he hears me, he shows no sign of it. His brow is creased with deep lines of concentration.

The land draws nearer. Dark trees loom over us.

Then we hit the ground. Hard.

The carriage jostles violently, throwing me against the window. Luckily, it’s too small for me to tumble out. But I strike my head and temporarily lose all sense of my surroundings.

For a while, I’m trapped in a daze.

Then awareness pierces through.

I push myself upright. The carriage and horses are gone. I’m lying in long grass, blades tickling my cheek. Elaric lies a few paces away, our sack beside him.

It seems his magic reached its limit.

I rush over. His eyes are closed, and his expression is peaceful—a world apart to how it was in the carriage.

I drop to my knees and shake his shoulders.

“Elaric,” I call.

Clarity bursts through the flurry of fear, and I remember to check his pulse, pressing two fingers to his neck.

I hold my breath as I wait to feel something. Anything.

It takes a few moments to feel a slow, steady beat. The rhythm of his pulse is so unlike anyone else’s. But that’s to be expected, given his frozen heart.

I sit back on my heels. He isn’t dead. Just unconscious. Though that isn’t ideal either, since we’re currently sitting on the doorstep to a witch’s home.

When I dare to look back at the gnarled trees, they appear even more foreboding than they did from the sky.

All I have to defend myself is the dagger strapped to my thigh. Anything could leap from those shadowy trees and ambush us. Even Belinda herself.

Minutes later, Elaric still doesn’t stir. I shake his shoulders and call his name again, and to my surprise, his eyes finally drift open.

“Adara,” he breathes, taking my hand. He looks up at me in puzzlement.

“You were unconscious,” I explain.

Understanding dawns on his face, banishing the confusion. “Are you hurt?” he demands, though he should be more concerned about himself.

I shake my head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I thought I had enough magic left.”

“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself so hard.”

“It seems I overestimated my abilities. When I last visited here, all those years ago, I flew on a single steed rather than in a carriage.”

“We could have traveled without one,” I say.

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