Page 70 of Lore of the Wilds

Later, when she placed a completed crown triumphantly atop Mama’s curls, the smile she was gifted filled Lore with a warmth she would ache for every day of her life, long after she’d grown into a woman and could make crowns in a blink as well.

***

Lore’s eyelids fluttered as she woke in the low light. A candle flickered nearby, illuminating a room she’d never seen before. She flexed her jaw; she’d been clenching her teeth in her sleep again. She winced at the slight movement.

Actually, she was in way too much pain for it to just be a case of a bad dream. Her entire body ached like she’d been tossed down a mountain.

Someone was squeezing her hand, and she followed the limb to the person’s face.

Asher.

Asher was squeezing her hand.

“How do you feel?”

Asher flickered in and out of focus; his face was mostly shadows, like those in the forest calling to her.

Wait, no. That had been a dream. Her mind felt fuzzy, sluggish.

Asher’s eyebrows pulled together, and she noticed the deep lines between his thick brows had returned. She wanted to reachup and smooth the worried lines away, but her arms wouldn’t obey her commands.

He leaned over her, tucking her wild curls away from her face. “How are you feeling, little mouse?”

“I feel like I was tossed down a mountain by a giant. Then run over by a horse and carriage for good measure.” Her voice was raspy. She sounded like her old neighbor, the one who always had a lit pipe puffing out of the corner of her lips.

Asher grimaced, the concerned look on his face growing, but he moved away from her. He pulled the tattered quilt up to her chin, tucked it in, and whispered, “You need to rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m being dramatic.” She tried to sit up to put him at ease, but she found she didn’t have the strength. The effort alone almost made her black out again. “Where is Finndryl?”

Asher stiffened beside her. “He’s downstairs at the Exile. We told him to take the night off, but he said, ‘The house is too crowded.’ Prick.”

Lore had so many questions for Finndryl. She closed her eyes, thinking back to that morning—how had he found her so deep in the woods? She’d left him, sulking in the tavern, to go to the market with Isla.

But then, when she was about to be captured or violently murdered, he had shown up in the middle of the forest, murdered three royal guards to save her, sucked poison out of her—risking his own life—washed her wound, and apparently, probably, carried her all the way back to his home.

She wanted to ask Asher to call for Finndryl, but her questions would have to wait.

The world faded again.

***

She was shaken awake some time later. Her teeth were chattering, and the room was still going in and out of focus.

Asher and Isla were both crouched over her.

“Lore, honey, wake up a moment.” Isla’s usual cheery self was subdued.

Lore hadn’t thought it was possible, given how perfect Isla’s skin was, but there were bags under her eyes. They were somehow still attractive, making her look like the haunted heroine of a romance novel.

“Here, drink this. You need your strength.” She tipped a shallow bowl of broth to Lore’s lips.

She drank as much as she could, finding herself famished and thirstier than she had been in her entire life.

Beside Isla, Asher held her hand. “Lore.” He squeezed her fingers and swallowed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

Whatever he’s about to say, I’m not going to like it.

“Isla and I are leaving in a bit. The town is crawling with sentries. Some of them are the wolf clan—dark fae with wolfen attributes—and they almost always find what they are looking for. We want to draw them away. At this moment, you are... not well enough to move and we heard they’re searching people’s homes.” He swallowed again, gaze darting away. “We can’t risk you being found, so Isla is going to wear your scarves and tunic, take your pack, and pretend to be you. We are going to lead them away, farther south.”

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