Page 12 of Burn

Gusts of air shoved from my horse’s snout, and the mare’s solid body quaked beneath me, muscles revolving and hooves stamping into the earth. Miles and landmarks flew by in a mural, from rushing rapids to crusted timber and plaster taverns, from the deep mossy caves of forgotten faeries to brimming pumpkin patches, to sheets of fog capable of disorienting a person, to bulbous root traps, to soaring trees with fox and stag features carved into the bark like ancient monuments. I leaned deeper into my ride and whispered encouragements to the horse. All the while, my features pinched in concentration, and my gaze focused ahead.

Always ahead. Never back.

Dear Seasons. Do not look back.

With my two companions beside me, I shot forward as I had for three days. I kept moving, kept riding. If he were no longer breathing, this would not be possible.

So I knew. My jester was alive.

As was I. For now, at least. But how I wished I could tell him, reassure him, protect him.

Leaves blazed with color from the branches, the trees so vibrant it looked as though the world were on fire. Eliot and Cadence’s own horses panted on either side of me. I kicked my mount into full speed, and our trio launched forward in tandem, spearing like arrows through the wilderness.

Silhouettes with metallic antlers, phosphorescent tails, and long tusks swept in and out of my vision. With the roaming fauna so close, we could not stop yet. Not in this territory, where wild things lurked in the condensed shrubbery.

My jester would warn as much.

With every league, the environment changed. Mist clung to the boughs, and thickets of leaves shifted hues, from rich shades to moodier ones.

My loose hair flew behind me like a flaming torch, something his eyes always loved to follow. But what was he staring at right now? What was he thinking of?

Perhaps something red. And perhaps something that burned.

My friends and I broke past the most feral terrain, then took a rest. Although we’d made camp every night, each respite had been fleeting. After dividing tasks for the evening and then splitting apart, I swung off my horse and guided the mare to a creek where she could graze and drink.

“Brave girl,” I said, patting her down. “Once I’m done foraging for our supper, I promise to splash some water on you. If only one of us can enjoy a proper bath—”

But my tongue paused, the next words forgotten. As I glanced at my naked wrist, dismay ensnared my lungs. I had tied my scarlet ribbon securely to that wrist, yet not securely enough.

Because it was gone.

7

Briar

“No,” I hissed, frantically patting myself down.

The ribbon might have only just slipped and landed someplace close. My skirt pocket, perhaps. Or the toe of my boot. Yet grappling every stitch of my clothing yielded nothing.

My chest siphoned air, and perspiration rolled down my spine beneath the emerald cotton dress. Whipping around, I skewered my gaze past toadstools and gnarled undergrowth. I scanned every offshoot and creeper, seeking a glimpse of red.

When had I last seen it? When had I last checked the knot?

How farback?

Stumbling around, I yanked aside loose shrubbery. Swiftly, panic escalated to hysteria.

“No!” I shrieked loud enough to wake every dormant predator in a mile radius. “No, no, no!”

It was the only thing I had left of him. It was the only thing that tethered us now.

Crashing onto my knees, I crawled across the forest floor, brittle crimson leaves cracking under my weight. My palms mowed through woodland debris, searching, rummaging, ransacking the wild.

I would need to backtrack. I would need to retrace my steps.

Just then, another sound of alarm tore through the woods. “Briar!” an urgent male voice roared from leagues away. “Briar!”

At that moment, the hedges rustled. A male figure blasted into view, his furious blue eyes flashing and a garrote fixed in his grip. Eliot froze, arrested in place and momentarily dumbstruck, his expression slackening at the sight of me. “Briar?”

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