“What’s this?” I shoot her a puzzled look.

“A gift,” Sam says coyly, sliding the box closer until it bumps my leg, “from Sorin.” Without another word, she slinks out of the room, clicking the door shut behind her.

Once alone, I trace my fingers along the edges of the box. It’s long and narrow, but not incredibly heavy. The shiny, black wrapping paper is silky to the touch. A wide, black ribbon is tied across the top, so neatly I almost don’t want to disturb it. Black wrapping. Black ribbon. Despite his natural arrogance, Sorin remembered my favorite color.

Curiosity finally gets the best of me, and I unwrap it quickly, tucking the ribbon into my pocket. Inside the box lies a new, black cloak, a fresh white linen shirt, black breeches, and sturdy soled boots. And at the very bottom… My hands freeze over the objects. Tears threaten to overspill as I pull out the last items from the box. The dark green leather is butter smooth in my grip. Tracing the lines of the etchings, my fingers take their time as my eyes soak in their beauty. The sheaths from Letty and Eviey’s table at the market fit perfectly on my belt loop, and my daggers slip in smoothly as if they were made just for me.

Sorin’s gift is more generous than I could’ve imagined. Is this where he snuck off to the other day when I trained with Jarek?

Layering my new black cloak atop my shirt and breeches, I clasp it shut despite the warm weather I’m sure we can expect from today’s ride. Stepping in front of the small mirror in Sam’s room, I take a quick glance at my reflection. Not half bad now that I’ve been able to bathe properly the past week and a half. My eye catches on a reflective bit of wool in the mirror. So small and delicate I almost missed it. A small arrow has been stitched into the fabric just above my heart.

* * *

Gathering outside the house, we take a moment to say our goodbyes. Letty and Eviey both give me a kiss on the cheek before insisting I take an extra loaf of bread in my pack. Agnes holds Samaria and Sorin in a close embrace. Her faint sniffs have me averting my eyes, guilt settling in me that she has to say goodbye to her children. That we can grant no indication on when we’ll return.

If we’ll return.

A thick hand on my shoulder is a welcome distraction. “You ready for this?” Jarek’s deep voice is a comfort to my growing nerves.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, offering him a genuine smile. His blue eyes are soft and assured as they meet mine. It’s only then that I realize he wears a matching cloak—black wool with an identical arrow stitched in the fabric. Over his heart. I glance around at the rest of the crew. Sorin, Sam, and Galen, all wear the same cloak.

“What’s with the matching ensembles?” I ask, his eyes remain locked on Sam as he answers me.

“Sorin likes the way it looks whenever we have to venture into other villages. United. Strong.” He taps above my heart. “The arrow,” he says, “is for alliance. A reminder we’re all in this together.” I trace the stitching with my fingers and replay the word in my mind as warmth spreads through my chest. Thinking of the dinner Sorin and I shared together when we first arrived here. A promise made.

Together.

* * *

Once through the ward that keeps Loxley hidden, we gather the horses we prepared earlier in the stables. There are five of us, and only four of them. Amis nuzzles my hand as I feed her a fallen apple from the ground. When Sorin suggested he and I ride together, I couldn’t find a good enough reason to fight him about it, so I didn’t.

I’d be lying to myself anyway if I said I wasn’t excited to be so close to him again. After our night in his room a few days ago, we haven’t had much time alone, and while I’m not sure what our growing friendship means, I’ve become quite fond of his company. Excessive chatter and all.

Seated atop Amis, Sorin pulls me close into his chest, a swarm of butterflies flutter in my stomach as his thumb caresses the back of my hand. “Ready?” he whispers so only I can hear. After a deep inhale, my body relaxes further into him and I nod my head. Jarek, Sam, and Galen ride up next to us and position themselves in a half circle with Sorin and I in the middle, as if they’re waiting for his lead.

“We’ll ride until nightfall.” Sorin’s voice is authoritative but kind. “That should get us to the edge of the Trinity Forest. We’ll plan to set up camp there and continue east first thing tomorrow morning. We should reach Wickersham by end of day tomorrow if the horses allow.” His voice is confident but the way he tightens his grip ever so slightly around my waist gives me an indication he’s nervous. “Once we make it to Wickersham, we’ll rest for the night and leave the horses. The rest of the journey needs to be on foot. More inconspicuous that way. “And that should lead us”—his hand flexes on the reins as he lets out a long sigh—“through the Wicked Wood.”

“What!” Sam’s voice booms as she and Jarek exchange the same wide eyed glance.

“It’s the fastest route, Sam,” Galen chimes in as he positions his horse between Sam and Sorin. My eyes bounce between the friends and I dare not say that I have no clue what they’re talking about.

Sam’s brows furrow as she grips tighter on her reins. “Fastest route or not, we can’t go ba—”

Sorin cuts Sam off, his grip around my waist even tighter than before. “We’ve made it through before, Sam. We can do it again.”

“But Sorin you—”

“The decision is made.” He cuts her off again, his body flinching as he does, as if it hurts him to do so. “We can’t risk the alternative route, you know that.”

Not giving the conversation another second, he gently presses into Amis with his heels, and we take off in a slow trot, leaving the other three behind us. Peering back over my shoulder, Sam and Jarek exchange words I can’t quite hear as he attempts to comfort her from his horse. Ripping her arm away, Sam shakes her head before trotting in our direction. Galen and Jarek follow suit and our four horses form a single file line as we ride into the Trinity Forest.

“I guess this is a bad time to ask,” I say, pulling my hood up and over my head to shield myself from the wind, “what exactly are the Wicked Woods?” Sorin’s arms stiffen around me, his chest pushes into my back as he takes a deep breath.

“The Wicked Woods are a small grove of trees between Wickersham and the Kirsgard Mountains,” he says. “It used to be a well-traveled route by the fishing merchants traveling from the mountain to Davenport but now all the merchants travel around the grove, adding over a week's time to the journey.”

“I don’t understand,” I say. “I’ve traveled those woods and never heard such a thing. What has deterred so many people from entering?” I ask, repositioning myself in the saddle. Trying anything to get more comfortable though nothing seems to work. Most of my memory from fleeing Kirsgard Mountain is a blur, my mind’s natural defense mechanism. Keeping me shielded from so many painful nights alone. But I do remember the woods and never once do I recall anything like the Wicked Wood Sorin explains now.

“The Wicked Woods are home to a woodland nymph, Grawgeth.” Sorin continues his story as Amis leads us through the dense pines of the northern forest. “The story is that Grawgeth fell in love with one of the fishing merchants off the coast of the Holden Sea many years ago. When he was called to fight in the Geode War, she waited years for his return only to find out he had fallen in love with a human woman in Davenport. With a broken heart, she called upon the dark parts of her magick, cursing all those who entered her woods, stealing the souls of travelers who failed to pass her tests or pay her price upon their entry.” Sorin hasn’t disclosed how or why Sam had entered into the forest before, but if I had to guess by Sam’s reaction, it didn’t end well.