Page 130 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
He waited until Caedian stalked off, until the door leading from the training grounds back to the palace slammed in his wake, before blowing out a long, low breath.
Veros raked a hand through his dark swath of hair, scattering bits of snow. Then he leveled Atlas with a look, one that spoke of raw emotion, one that requested the promise of necessary truths.
“How bad was it?” he asked, his gaze flicking to his boots before meeting Atlas’s gaze and holding.
“Pretty fucking bad.” Atlas rolled his neck, wincing when it cracked. Even though he was fully healed, his body felt as though he’d been slammed into the trunk of a tree, then tossed to the ground and left for dead. “And I’ll be honest, for a minute, I didn’t think I was going to make it out of that hut alive.”
“And yet,” Veros ventured, his voice barely above a whisper.
“And yet, I did. But I wasn’t alone.” Atlas stalked toward the overhang where two heavy workbenches were shoved togetherand a spread of practice weapons were at their disposal. He gripped the ledge of the wooden table and let his palms rest against its rough surface. Tension coiled between his shoulder blades, and he blew out another breath, his nails digging lightly into the grain as Veros appeared in his line of sight once more. “There was a wolf.”
“A wolf?” Veros repeated.
“Yes.” The image of the beast was clearly visible in his mind. Sleek black fur, eyes the color of slate, and vicious jaws capable of ripping muscles and crushing bones. Which was exactly what it did to thebaukvist. Atlas had never seen a wolf of that size before, and the way it tore the fleshflayers to shreds, the way its piercing howl overpowered their screeches of pain, was like something out of a forgotten folktale. Yet what stuck in his mind the most was the way the wolf stared him down, like itknewhim. “In fact, it was eerily similar to the painting of one hanging on my bedroom wall.”
“The black wolf.” Veros nodded slowly, setting his sword on the table, and shoving his hands into his pockets. He ran a hand through his hair, dusting away the half-melted flakes of snow. “Wolves have always been symbolic of Prava, they’re commemorated throughout the whole palace. The black wolf, however, has always been the most elusive, yet he chose to help you in your time of need.”
“Suppose I owe him a debt?” Atlas mused out loud, though after the wolf had ravaged thebaukvist, he’d sauntered off into the forest without looking back.
“Perhaps.” Veros angled his head and rubbed his knuckles along his jaw. “Perhaps not. Only time will tell.”
Time. The only constant.
Atlas faced the training courtyard, where guards and soldiers were paired off, the falling snow slightly obscuring their shadowy outlines. He watched as they moved in expert form,precise and steady despite the gusting wind and thickening snowfall. His thoughts drifted from their mindful footwork to that of the Deszvila Forest, to when he’d told Everinne to run, to the moment he realized the threat was not to her life, but to his own.
Veros leaned against one of the benches and folded his arms over his chest. For a moment, he said nothing, and they stared at the training grounds in companionable silence. Atlas could hear his friend’s mind working, and the weight of their next discussion weighed on him like a cloak of iron.
“There’s something else,” Veros finally said, kicking one ankle over the other. “Something you’re not telling me.”
“Yes.” Atlas didn’t even hesitate. He knew what concern continued to prod at the back of his mind, just like he knew that whatever he was about to admit would ultimately be his undoing. “The forest, thebaukvist, none of it seemed threatened by Everinne. It was almost like…it recognized her. Or remembered her.”
He shoved away from the benches and paced the stone floor, his gaze flicking to the courtyard every few minutes. “I don’t know how to describe it, but when the fleshflayers arrived at the witch’s hut, it was as though they wanted to take Everinne into the forest with them. Or were trying to keep her, maybe even protect her. Whereas they were blatantly trying to kill me.”
“Like calls to like, Atlas.” Veros’s voice was hushed, a faint and distant whisper. His words hung hollow between them.
Atlas stilled and looked over at his friend, at the way Veros’s face had become vacant once more. They way it always did when hours of time haunted him. “Your sister is not a fleshflayer.”
“No, but she’s death-touched. She wields a dark and dangerously powerful magic.” Veros’s turquoise eyes clouded like the late winter sky. “It could be the forest, and even thebaukvist, can sense the power she possesses. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they considered her one of their own.”
Like calls to like.
Atlas rolled the phrase around in his mind, yet it didn’t sit well. For some reason he couldn’t explain, it left him on edge. Disbelieving.
Everinne wasn’t a monster. She wasn’t a wicked creature of night or a ruthless fae who belonged in the forest’s endless darkness. She wasn’t sinister or malicious, she was the ultimate temptation. The utter divine. Everinne was the alluring yet devastating crush of pain and pleasure. It didn’t matter if she was impulsive and fierce, because she wasgood. Her magic might be precarious, but Atlas had seen the darkest parts of her heart, he knew her mind, and she was a decadent disaster. Temperamental and uncontrollable, but he would gladly risk death if it meant surviving her storm.
Atlas met Veros’s fixed stare. He spread his arms wide, helpless. “I love her.”
Despite the admission, Veros’s face remained impassive. “I’m aware.”
It was a struggle to find words. He thought for sure Veros would punch him in the face this time. “I?—”
“I’ve always known,” Veros interrupted smoothly and the pinched line between his brows eased. “The only reason I asked you to take that vow, the only reason I wanted to keep the two of you apart, is because I have seen what awaits you both.”
He looked away then, taking up a keen interest in his boots. “I am not a seer, Atlas. I don’t hold fate in my hands. I can walk through time to the past, I can freeze the time of the present, and as for the future…what I see is only mere glimpses of events I cannot change. I don’t know what has transpired to lead to those moments, I have no control over decisions and destinies.”
Veros inhaled sharply and when his eyes found Atlas again, they were shadowed with an impending sense of doom. “This path, the one you’ve both chosen, will not be without hardship.”
Atlas nodded once. “I understand.”
