Page 112 of A Frozen Pyre
It was still the depths of northern winter, but no longer were they in the arctic tundra. Between the clean furs, free of whatever invisibility magic had stained his clothes from the castle, and the constant movement, sweat glistened on their brows.
Harland waited expectantly for the first mate to turn and answer. The fae ahead guided them past a deeply red tree large enough for three men to wrap around. It seemed as though the trunks swelled the deeper into the forest they went.
“It doesn’t work like that, sir,” Caleb said over his shoulder.
“But surely, you must feel it growing stronger or weaker.There has to be something…”
Caleb shook his head. “I’m not a tracker or a seeker, not in the way you’re thinking. I navigate. I can point us to our intended location, and we will not miss. But it could be over this hill or six weeks’ travel from here, sir. I have no insight beyond that.”
“Well,” Harland grunted, “that’s a damn shame.”
They carried on until the last gray hour of day. They unrolled the canvas packs they’d taken from the ship’s supply stores before Harland had horrified the first mate by telling the crew to go home. Harland had promised him that once they’d found what they were looking for, they’d be able to travel faster than any skiff over ice. Whether they’d walk through a door or ride out on a winged beast, Ophir was a manifester. Her imagination was the only limit to what she could accomplish.
Game was plentiful in the Unclaimed Wilds, but he was grateful they didn’t have to hunt. He was sick of the dense, nutty brown bread in their satchels, the slabs of aged, salted meat, and the dried apples lining the bottoms of their bags. He was quite certain that he never wanted to see a white rind of salty, earthy cheese again. Still, they were mentally and physically exhausted. Caleb was with him on a wild goose chase. Though he was grateful for the first mate’s company and skill, he seriously questioned the man’s judgment. He wondered if anyone could have strutted onto the boat in the wake of that night’s chaos and been handed the role of leadership.
“You really think the princess is still alive?” Caleb asked. The fire they’d built between them smoked as the pine leaves caught and turned to ash.
“Wouldn’t you know?” Harland asked, frowning.
“No, sir.” Caleb looked frustrated as he answered. “Like I said, I’m not a tracker in the way you might want. I’ll lead us to her, but I may very well be leading us to her bones or to whatever remains of the princess in the stomach of some animal.”
Harland chuckled lightly, which drew a look of concern.
“Sir?”
“It’s nothing,” Harland said, a small smile on his lips. “But you underestimate her. No animal could best her.” He’d once been so afraid for Ophir’s safety. He’d run into fires for her night after night when terrors had haunted her. He’d tried to protect her from the world. He would have given his life to save her. Little had he known that she was the most fearsome creature on the continent. There was no beast that would find its match in Ophir, unless the monster’s name was Dwyn.
“Pardon me for saying, sir, but you speak like a man in love.”
His heart ached at the words. Was he as transparent as he was foolish? Love made people do wonderful, terrible, foolish things. If only he’d been wiser, he would have known how to love her better. It was a conviction he’d never dream to have returned. In his wildest fantasies, his only hope was to make amends for the pain he’d caused.
A pop to the south of their camp drew their eyes to a dark space between trees. They’d chosen a flattened area between mountains and pitched their tents among the fallen logs. The forest floor was barren, the overhead canopy of leaves too broad and dense to have allowed bushes and brambles any chance for survival. The pressing silence offered only by a carpeting of snow should have been the only sound.
A twig snapped, and Caleb nearly jumped out of his skin.
“What do you think it is?” he whispered.
Harland shook his head. “We’re fine,” he said, but his voice was unconvincing. “Wild animals would be scared off by our fire, not drawn to it.”
“Even bears?” Caleb asked in a hushed tone.
Harland casted a glance at their satchel of food. He wasn’t sure how bears felt about fire, but if one was scouring the cliffs this late into the season, it would be starving. It could have sensed their meats and cheeses from leagues away. He wished he’d brought a bow, but he’d been fleeing the stadiumand had scarcely had the wherewithal to return for winter gear. All things considered, he counted himself fortunate to have a good sword.
Another sound came from the woods.
Not an animal, but a man.
“Sedit, don’t,” said the deep, male voice.
A low growl rippled between the trees. The sound felt like melted snow had been drizzled down Harland’s back. He tensed, hand on the hilt of his sword as he called out.
“Hello?”
“Please, Sedit!” The man’s voice came more loudly this time.
A new confusion filled Harland, tinged with an uncomfortable familiarity. There was a musical lilt to the dance of the man’s voice…almost as if he were…
“Tyr?” Harland called out.
