Page 31 of The High Mountain Court

“I don’t care what it’s like—I just want to be good at it,” Remy said. The two of them fought like sisters. It was the same way she and Fenrin bickered. Remy once had a little sister, but she had died at five years old during the Siege of Yexshire. She wondered if they would have squabbled the same way.

“No amount of talent will make up for time and perseverance, Rem,” Bri said, pulling her focus back. There was not a single drop of sweat on the female Eagle. “Eventually, we’ll add in your red witch magic to your fight training too. You need to be able to fight with your hands and magic at the same time. Now that we’re in the Southern Court, it shouldn’t be as big of a problem for you to be casting spells.”

The Western Court was rife with red witch hunters. The Western Court queen did nothing to curtail their hunting. Even if Hale had declared himself the Eastern Prince, those hunters back in Guilford would have tried to snatch Remy anyway. But in the Southern Court there was more vigilante justice. The Southerners didn’t like their green witches being mistakenly snatched or killed. They had already passed two towns with gruesome gnarled heads on spikes, a warning about what would happen if they caught a fae hunting witches. There was not much King Vostemur could do about it other than voice his discontent. To do anything more would be declaring war on the Southern Court. The threat of war loomed over Okrith. Vostemur had already slaughtered the High Mountain Court—would he do it again?

They fell into a steady rhythm once more. Bri would call out a combination, and Remy would fumble to execute it. Carys watched in serene silence. Over the next half hour, the movements became easier. Remy didn’t have to pause as often to think about where to step. Her body moved without so much conscious direction. Breathing ragged, she was covered in sweat. Her right arm was so sore she could barely lift it, but she felt good. Fantastic. It felt like she was reclaiming something, taking back control. She had always been passive. Life had happened to her. She was ready for that to change.

“That’s good for today. We’ve got to break camp,” Bri said. She was still immaculate. Not a single strand of her short, brown hair was out of place.

“It’s been less than an hour—let’s keep going.” Remy held up the dagger again even as her arm barked to be lowered.

“So eager for punishment.” Carys laughed.

“You’ll be plenty sore already, even though you’re a fast healer,” Bri said, her eyes darting down to Remy’s new boots. The blisters from her old pair had already disappeared. The mottled bruising on her face was beginning to yellow and fade. “We can pick this up tomorrow.”

“No, let’s keep going,” Remy pushed.

“Why?” Bri cocked her head at Remy.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, the thoughts of that day in Guilford bubbled up again. Fear still gripped her chest, making her breathless. She didn’t want to be that afraid ever again.

“They almost killed me,” she whispered. The pain of that admission opened the wound afresh. Remy thought to the limp, lifeless face of the witch hunter whose life she had taken. “I killed someone.”

“I know.” In a split second, Bri was a single step in front of her, peering at Remy with the full intensity of those golden eyes. “Those ghosts will always be there—that part will never change—but at some point you’ll stop resisting their presence, and that will help. The choice gets easier too.”

“What choice?” Remy asked.

“The one you make every time you pick up a blade: that if it comes to your life or theirs, you’ll take theirs every time, no question.” Bri’s deep, warm voice swirled around her.

Remy hung her head. It should be a simple choice, but it wasn’t . . . not yet, anyway.

“We will do this every morning before we break camp,” Bri said, sheathing her sword and taking the dagger from Remy. There would be blisters on Remy’s hands by nightfall. “You’re already strong and impressive with the bow—we just need that same skill with a dagger and you’ll be sorted.”

Carys hopped off the tree branch and passed Remy a skin of water.

“That simple,” Remy said.

“Simple, yes. Easy, no.” Bri gave Remy a strong clap on the shoulder, toppling her to the side. “We’ll make a warrior of you yet.”

* * *

They trekked through the heady perfume of garnet wildflowers, a trail of pollen strewn down the track, sparkling like gold dust. The air was so thick it felt hard to breathe. However grueling the trek through the Western Court had been, this was worse.

The leather straps dug into Remy’s shoulders, her wet tunic chaffing against the pack with each step. Heather’s face was tomato red, a thick sheen of sweat covering her skin. A sweat mark stamped Fenrin’s chest.

When Remy saw Carys and Hale’s packs on the ground up ahead, she thanked the Gods. They were getting a break at long last.

Her eyes followed the trail branching out from the main path up ahead, and she gasped. The path led to a clearing and, towering in the middle, was a gnarly ancient tree. Its twisting bare branches reached up in supplication. But it was not its size or its haunted bare limbs that made Remy gasp: it was the red ribbons tied to it. From each branch flowed long, waving scarlet ribbons, some of them bleached pink by the sun. They waved on the light breeze like strands of hair.

“What is this place?” Remy whispered, dropping her pack and stepping slowly forward. Her body felt lighter and lighter the closer she moved into the clearing.

“It’s a prayer tree,” Heather said from behind her. “A ribbon is hung with a prayer for the fallen.”

“I have never seen anything like it,” Remy said in awe.

“It is a practice of the Southern Court,” Heather said, releasing a heavy sigh as her pack hit the ground.

Remy’s gaze tore away from the towering tree at the sight of Hale kneeling in front of the trunk. His hand skimmed over something before him, and Remy stepped closer to see a small fountain. The copper basin had greened over time, water spilling over its sides only to be sucked up again into five arching jets of water. The five jets, Remy mused, symbolized the five witch covens or perhaps the five Kingdoms of Okrith.

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