Page 16 of Through the Wicked Wood

“And the wolves?” he asks, pulling Amis to a sudden halt. “How many times have you run them off?” His question is direct but not unkind. Still, I can’t help the irritation it makes me feel.

Scoffing, I tug his arm off me. “I’ve never seen the wolves before that day,” I admit, even if it’s not entirely true. The day, two summers ago, when I had indeed seen them is still bright in my mind. “What are you implying?” So much for casual conversation.

Sorin’s lips turn up as he dismounts Amis, offering a hand to help me down which I decline by crossing my arms. Sighing, he sticks his hands in his pockets. “I’m implying nothing, Enchantress.” His voice is tired, and I’m beginning to wonder if he, too, didn’t sleep well. “The wolves in the southern part of the Trinity Forest are notorious for being ferocious predators. I mean just look at the guards.” He shrugs, and I’m reminded he didn’t witness me killing one of the men. He must think the wolves killed them both. What would he think if he knew? We’ve only known each other a few short days, and in those days I’ve ended not one, but two lives.

Monster.

He takes a hand from his pocket to run it through his dark hair. “And the fact that you survived all that time without a single run in,” he continues. “Impressive is all. I am wildly fascinated by you, Enchantress.”

I roll my eyes, and remain seated atop the horse. “Your turn,” I say. “Tell me something.”

“All right,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. My eyes snag on his arm again. Deep circular, swirls of black, somehow all connected and yet complete shapes on their own, are permanently inked on his skin.

“What does the mark on your arm mean?” I ask, craning my neck to get a better look as he stretches.

Sorin pauses, absently running a hand over his inked forearm. His expression darkens for a brief moment before brushing it off. “Ah this? A brash decision. Nothing more than teenage regret.” He laughs. “I’m sure you understand.”

I don’t.

“My turn again,” he says, offering his hand to me again. This time I accept it. My boots sink into the moist soil as I hop down from Amis. My legs ache from riding, but I don’t mind. Pain has never been a stranger, rather an anchor.

“Ask away, thief,” I say, mimicking his movements, stretching my arms over my head. Admittedly, it feels good to be out of the saddle.

“Your favorite color?” Sorin asks in the most serious tone I’ve heard him use yet. As much as I don’t wish to, I can’t help but laugh at the severity in his voice.

“Are we children?” I manage through a laugh, placing my hands on my hips and twisting my body. Hoping to stretch out any knots formed in my back.

“Most certainly not,” Sorin’s words are playful. Dangerous. I meet his eyes, swallowing down the unwanted feeling swirling in my stomach. “But I’m afraid if I ask anything personal again,” he continues, “you’ll have my head.”

Good point.

I cease stretching to consider my answer. Had I ever thought about my favorite color? Maybe it’s not a favorite, but the only one that matters.

“Black,” I finally say.

“Black?” He laughs.

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“Is it?” I laugh again at how absurd our conversation has gotten. How one moment we’re discussing my past and the next we’re bickering over a color.

“Sure,” Sorin says, taking a sip from the canteen. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone say their favorite color is black of all things.”

“That is because everyone is so afraid of the dark.” I smirk, grabbing the canteen from him and taking a deep gulp. “The unknown. The inability to see what’s right in front of you.” I wipe my mouth with the fabric of my cloak. “I find comfort in it. The deepness of it.” I brave a glance in his direction, to the dimple on the left side of his cheek.

“Fascinating,” he whispers.

* * *

Dusk has settled as we reach a small clearing in the woods. The expanse of the trees becomes less dense, leaving room for small patches of moss and beautiful rich ferns to cover the ground. White birch trees line the clearing, their stark trunks an amazing contrast against the darkening sky.

My ears buzz with the faint hum of music. I frantically scan the woods for the source. Through the small line of birch trees, whimsical voices singing words I can’t decipher carry through the forest. The softness of a flute floats through the air, the beautiful melody washing over my senses. As Amis steps closer to the line of birch trees, panic begins to settle in my chest as the noises become clearer, but the image of a darkening forest is all I can make out. Where is the music coming from? Is it in my head?

Sorin leads Amis by foot but halts her with a quick tug of the reins. “Through here,” Sorin says, gesturing to a thicket of bushes nestled between two tall, skinny birch trees. The bush is covered in tiny green leaves with jagged edges, small red berries adorn each leaf.

Glancing between him and the thicket, I’m wondering what exactly I am supposed to be looking at. I shoot him a puzzled look, keeping my place atop Amis. Reading my mind, Sorin laughs as he pushes apart the thorny bush, creating a small tunnel. As he does, the music I thought I heard earlier grows louder.

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