Page 49 of This Midsummer Heart
I open my eyes. “I didn’t win that battle. I didn’t—it wasn’t me who killed him. The Blade of Hedril did it. I don’t—I don’t understand.”
“Dear Auberon,” she says, reaching up and cupping my cheek. Without thinking, I turn my head into her palm, squeezing my eyes shut for one long moment. “There is so much more to life than brute strength.”
“Like magic?” My eyes open, finding and focusing only on the soft glow of her face. “I haven’t the faintest clue—”
“You’ll learn. Maybe the elves in the fireswamp can help.”
My heart skips a beat. “We aren’t being pursued by bandits any longer. We can set up camp.”
“Absolutely not. We need to face the Bridge of Miracles well rested, and you need your wounds treated.” She removes her hand. “After what you just did, are you still afraid of a swamp full of elves not liking you?”
“Dark elves,” I correct, “and yes.”
She arches a brow. “Still vain as ever.” But her look lingers, almost teasing me. “Come on, Elf King. Let’s go before the other bandits return.” She offers me a warm smile. “I don’t think the dark elves of this region will turn you away. Not now.”
“And why not?”
“If you could see yourself right now, you’d understand.”
My throat tightens. Does Titaine—respect menow?
I never thought she would again.
And that, more than the promise of a warm bed and proper healing, is what gets me back on the road to Nox.
Chapter twenty-three
The Fireswamp
Auberon
“Areyousureyouknow which way you’re going?” Titaine asks me for the third time, nearly turning her ankle on the arc of a root. Giselda tosses her head at the flies harassing her, her legs and underbelly coated in mud. Our borrowed horses, Tiro and Chiara, are just as miserable as I lead them behind me, the three of us ducking under low branches and dangling moss that casts sizzling sparks onto the marshy ground.
My answer remains the same. “I’ve been here before.”
“Long ago,” she rebuts, as if it is an accusation.
“Yes,” I say, flexing my wounded shoulder, “long ago indeed.” I have not been to Embersdeep, buried in the heart of the fireswamp, since just after I became king of the dark elves—when the dark elves of this shaded, magical hollow refused to acknowledge me astheirking. I am grateful for whatever this magic is, because it has stopped my bloodflow and begun healing my wounds at a rate that confounded the human healer who offered to help me. I am almost fit for another battle—if I absolutelyhadto fight one.
Still, these fireswamp elves are kin of a sort, and given the choice between elven lands, a fae circle or humans, I’d pick these stubborn elves any day. Besides, the road that passes through Embersdeep cuts directly to the Bridge of Miracles.
I readily admit that these trees and paths all look the same, however. Embersdeep is aptly named, both for the glowing embermoss that drapes from the trees and for its location deep in the fire swamp. It would be difficult for travelers to reach the dark elves here by accident, to say the least.
The deeper we go, the more the bony limbs of the trees stitch together and block out the remaining daylight. Soon enough, it will be as dark as midnight in here, with only the red glowing moss to light our way. Even Titaine’s light is dimmed after using her magic.
I pause to check on her, looking behind me. When she is unguarded like this, not expecting me to turn around, I can see how her face is drawn, her golden tan complexion dulled. Even her wings seem to have a slight droop to them—though that could be from the swamp’s choking humidity just as much as fatigue.
Then she notices me, her chin raising without any hint of defiance. We just look at each other a moment. Her gaze returns to her feet, where even her enchanted slippers cannot protect her from the damp, loamy soil that sometimes sucks in a footfall up to the ankle. She’s picking her way across the raised tree roots with painstaking slowness. Giselda follows behind her, as surefooted as ever.
“We should take a break. Have something to eat,” I suggest, eyeing Tiro and Chiara, who do not have Giselda’s stamina.
Titaine just keeps moving.
“Titaine,” I say, a note of chiding in my voice.
“If I stop now, I doubt I’ll be able to get moving again.”
I am at her side in an instant. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
