Page 33 of Through the Wicked Wood

“Not to mention,” Jarek says, “the guards that may still be stationed there looking for the Stones themselves. Then, you plan to just waltz into the castle and—” He cuts himself short and shoots a quick look in my direction before continuing. “Do whatever it is you plan to do.”

I force myself to look away as he begins to jog in place. The spinning in my head is only made worse by his quick movements. Sorin kept his plans for Valebridge a secret from me, and despite our promise to be truthful, he has yet to divulge any information.

You’re keeping a secret too.

“More or less, yes. That’s our plan.” Sorin’s tone is just as relaxed as his posture. As if we aren’t discussing an impossible idea. He reclines back in his chair as he crosses one leg over the other, placing his hands lightly in his lap. The movement is subtle, but I watch as he twirls the ring on his index finger several times.

Samaria and I move to the floor to stretch out our limbs, sharing a plate of various fruit and crisps. The pounding in my head has subsided, at least, as I fill my stomach with water and food.

“Doesn’t sound crazy at all,” Sam mumbles before stuffing another grape in her mouth. I toss Sorin a look, the worry I feel I’m sure is obvious across my face. Maybe we hadn’t thought this through enough. Finding the Stones is already a risk and we haven’t even discussed how we’ll get into Valebridge. But Sorin’s expression remains unbothered as he finishes his second mug of coffee.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Galen to get here?” Jarek’s voice is winded as he drops down next to Sam from his exercise. “He is coming, is he not?” He reaches over and helps himself to the remainder of the grapes from our bowl. Sam and I send him the same narrowed gaze as he tosses half of them in his mouth, with a wink.

“He’ll be here.” Sorin’s voice is assured, though when I glance up at him, he doesn’t hide how his knee bounces under the table.

“My apologies,” I say, standing to head to the kitchen for another glass of water. “But who is Galen?”

Sam’s burst of laughter startles me so much that I spin around on my heels. Jarek and Sorin wear the same smile, clearly I’ve missed something.

“Galen, Galen, Galen,” Sam muses, snatching back the last few grapes from Jarek before he gets a chance to eat them himself. “He’s Sorin’s best mate. The brains behind every one of Sorin’s plans. Though Galen finds Loxley unworthy to reside in,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He lives in Ramshire. Studies there under the scholar…oh what’s his name? Leland?” Jarek shrugs in response, piling the remainder of the crisps into his mouth.

Sorin scoffs, “I like to think I’m the brains of at least some part of the plans.” Standing from his chair, he joins me at the large kitchen table. My shoulders release their tension at his closeness.

Jarred memories of the two of us intertwined while dancing make my skin heat in the brutal light of day. How his hands felt on my waist. How, when we danced as the music slowed, his mouth had grazed my neck. How badly I wished he hadn’t stopped our touches on the dancefloor and even more so, how desperately I wish to get the memory of it out of my mind.

“Studies what?” I ask in an attempt to clear my mind of Sorin. And Sorin’s hands. And most importantly, of Sorin’s hands on my body.

Sam hums for a moment. “Arithmetic for one,” she says. “But Leland, I think that’s the scholar he studies under. Damn, I can’t remember. Anyway, he’s best known for the history of magick.” She cuts me a glance, and I arch my brows, curiosity fully piqued. “And Galen’s been studying under him for years now,” she continues, “isn’t that right Sorin?”

Nodding, Sorin places the porcelain pitcher back on the table between us. “Yes. Well, everything aside from the Loxley part. You know he has never looked down on Loxley. He’s an opportunist like us, Sam. He just so happens to find his opportunities in a less unsavory way.” Sam rolls her eyes while Jarek gives her arm a quick squeeze. “Where I’m the big picture man, Galen is the details man,” Sorin continues. He brings his fingers to his temples again, rubbing around his hairline. “He’ll be the one to fine tune the logistics of our plan. Tell us if we’re completely mad for attempting any of this.”

“Oh, we’re mad. There is no question about that.” Samaria lets out a laugh as she scoots herself onto Jarek’s lap.

“Ah,” Sorin says before downing an entire glass of water. “So, you’re saying you’re in?” He sets the glass down and crosses his arms. His lips curve into a lethal smile, showing off that dimple I’ve come to admire too much. Sam and Jarek share a look, their communication so fine-tuned they don’t require words to understand each other.

“Of course, we’re in,” Jarek says, grazing Sam’s cheek with the back of his hand. She leans into his touch with no hesitation, and for a moment, I wonder what that must be like. To embrace the touch of another and not have guilt and fear swallow you up. “We’re always in.”

* * *

While Sorin and Jarek clean the dishes from breakfast, Samaria helps fetch my freshly washed tunic and breeches so I can change out of the clothes I borrowed from Sorin. Back in her room, I quickly braid my hair while she thumbs through a book on her bed.

“The Stones.” Her voice is quiet, almost a hum. “Do you know how to wield them? It’s rare to meet any other Enchantresses aside from my mother. It’s embarrassing, really. How little I know about…any of it.” Fastening my hair with a band of leather, I reposition myself at the foot of the bed.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed by,” I say. “Your life…” The words catch on my tongue. “Loxley looks like a beautiful place to grow up. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little envious.” Sam laughs, low and sweet. “And yes,” I continue, “I have a general idea of how to use them.”

My knee begins to bounce, responding to the anxiousness growing in my stomach. “If I’m being honest,” I say again, “I’ve never done a full Ceremony before. It was something my mother and the older Enchantresses performed, but I’ve attended several.” I meet her gaze at my confession. “I’ll do my best. If it means helping you awaken your magick, I’ll try.” I offer a small smile.

“And what about you? In what ways has your magick manifested? My mother is a Seer but outside of her, I don’t know much about what we’re…capable of,” she says, her eyes scanning my face with curiosity. I bite my lower lip, glancing down at my hands. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course,” she says, reading my shift in disposition.

“I haven’t completed my Ceremony,” I say. “No magick to be had, yet.” The shame of not possessing any brings me to lie, and I’m instantly guilted by doing so.

“And where are they now?” Sam asks, setting her book to the side. “Your mother? The others?” My body tenses. Opening my mouth, I quickly snap it shut. My knee ceases to bounce as I clench my hands into fists. Pushing deeper until there’s a sting of nails against flesh. I don’t mind the hurt. I need it. It’s a small reminder to myself I’m in the present, so I don’t get caught up in the past.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says. “I didn’t mean to be blunt.” She scoots closer to me on the end of the bed. Furrowing her brows she says, “Sorin hasn’t told us much about you. I don’t mean to pry.”

She reaches her hand over to place it on mine. Slowly unrolling my fingers, I place my palm flush with hers, surprising myself by not flinching away. She has every right to be curious about the person who has suddenly shown up in her life, asking her to risk everything on a slim chance of success. I owe her at least an explanation of where I’ve come from.

“They’re…gone. My mother, the Enchantresses that escaped Valebridge with us, and a few others. They’re gone.” I swallow a little too loudly as I recall the night but find myself grateful for Sam’s closeness despite having just met her. “We fled to the base of the Kirsgard Mountains five years ago, right after King Roman took the throne and staged the uprising.

---