Page 89 of Blackthorn

“I don’t care if it’s possible,” he said. “You matter to me. Not too some biological, pseudo-mystical reaction. You. I choose you, Charlotte Wodehouse. You’re the soulmate I want.”

He could be so sweet it was terrifying. Impossible man.

Tell him. Tell him now.

Her confession wouldn’t change anything. He’d remain for the people who needed Lord Draven the tyrant of the mountain and he’d send away the one person who needed Draven the man the most.

“I’m very cross with you,” she said, her voice still shaking with tears.

“Good. Hold onto the grudge and we’ll have a proper argument when I see you again.”

She’d like that.

“I’m wearing a gown. How do you plan to send me down the mountain?” she asked.

Draven waved and three people stepped forth with equipment. She was outfitted into the appropriate gear, given a rucksack, and skis were strapped to her feet. All too quickly, she was ready to depart.

Charlotte handed him the silver dagger. “It’s my lucky knife,” she explained, feeling a bit silly. “Bring it back to me.”

He nodded, tucking the dagger into his boot. “I’ll find you,” he promised.

A few moments later, she and Luis were through the Black Gate.

Her glasses fogged over immediately. When the lenses cleared, the moonlight glowed on the snow, giving enough light to see the path. It curved around the mountainside, blocking the view of the approaching army. To one side was a cliff; to the other was a precipice and a slope that disappeared into darkness.

She felt Draven’s eyes on her. She refused to turn around. If she turned around, her resolve would vanish and she wouldn’t be able to leave.

“Have you used snowshoes?” Luis asked.

“Once.” Many years ago, on a school trip, when she was young, the idea of walking for hours in the freezing cold did not fill her with dread.

“Don’t worry,” Luis said, smiling in a way he likely meant to reassure but came across like a maniac. “The path I found is gentle. We’ll need to keep out of sight of the army, though. Come on. Miles is waiting.”

He lowered the goggles, adjusted the scarf around his face, and pushed off using the poles.

Charlotte adjusted her goggles and followed, never looking back.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Charlotte

Sweetwater Point

Charlotte refused to move on.

They traveled through the night and reached the settlement by midday. She cried the entire way until her voice left her altogether. Miles, exhausted from his recent transformation, slept in the cart. At some point, she rooted through the rucksack, hoping for something to eat. Instead, she found Draven’s journal, the one he had been so upset to discover her reading. The journal set off a new wave of tears because why would he give her this if he expected to survive? What kind of parting gift was that?

If their party appeared peculiar when they arrived in Sweetwater, no one remarked on it. Bedraggled and exhausted people must have wandered into the town on a daily basis. Their modest convoy was nothing of note.

“Does the gentleman require a doctor?” the landlady asked, watching as Luis helped Miles from the cart. He sagged against Luis. “I won’t have contagion in this house.”

“Anemia. Low blood iron, you know. Nothing a hot meal and good night’s sleep won’t fix,” Luis said, flashing a smile meant to charm.

And charm it did. The landlady softened, all her suspicion vanishing. “Travel is so difficult for those with a delicate constitution.”

“Did you hear that? You’re delicate,” Luis said in a whisper to Miles, followed by a playful jab with his elbow. Color flushed Miles’s face. Before being bitten by a beast, the man had been a blacksmith by trade. No one would have ever described Miles as delicate.

After a bath, Charlotte collapsed onto the iron-framed bed. The idea of sleep seemed insulting when Draven’s fate was unknown. The audacity of her body requiring such mundane necessities as sleep and sustenance when her heart was broken. After a few hours of sleep, she emerged from her room just as the sun set behind the mountains.

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