Page 25 of Too Hexed to Handle

And it’s never one worth paying.

9

Dawn burns through the magic of night, and by the time we’re dressed, I’m left wondering if I dreamed our conversation. Astin is certainly pretending it didn’t happen. He took one look at me curled beside him and leaped out of bed, tripping over the sheets tangled around his feet in the process.

He rushed me out the door soon after, his scowl deepening when the barkeep informed us we were at least an hour behind the rest of our competitors. Let’s hope being an early riser isn’t a cure-finding requirement, because I’m failing miserably.

And let’s hope being last to arrive at the gathering isn’t an issue, because although my ankle has returned to its normal size, it still twinges with every step. Voices shout in the distant forest, but there’s no way I’m catching anybody up, no matter how much Astin urges me to walk faster. Plus, the knife-wielder could be among them, and he’d make a worse companion than Astin.

It’s a tough competition though. When Astin’s not lamenting my speed, he’s refusing to speak to me, taking his frustrations out on every low-hanging branch blocking our way. I make a point not to look at his hand as he holds a thorny vine above my head. In the harsh light of day, the idea of Astin, of all people, offering me comfort in the form of his little finger is laughable.

I regret telling him I was pleased he’d accompanied me on this trip. It’s like I cracked a small piece of myself open last night, and now he’s peered within, he’s decided to slam the lid shut for good. Embarrassment heats my face.

After hours of walking, the trees part to reveal golden streams of sunlight, slipping through the leaves until no trees remain, just an expanse of rocky terrain. The city of Rerta sprawls below, nestled in the basin of a valley, brightly coloured lanterns dangling from strings interlinking the rows of brown buildings. Bridges intermittently cross a river dissecting the land in two.

A large patch of green covers Rerta’s centre, and people – barely more than dots from here – rush back and forth, erecting tents around the outer ring of the park, while a hedge maze stands tall in the middle.

I’m more interested in the tents. Several are pink. I let out a wistful sigh. The meeting point we’re aiming for – the ruined castle belonging to our final king – is up here somewhere, far away from love festivals and pink tents and whatever other delights I might find below.

‘Come on.’ Astin nudges me along. ‘We need to find these ruins.’

Long ago, we might have been able to spy the tips of the turrets from here, but the castle has crumbled into disrepair over the years, and now it’s hidden behind a thicket of – wonderful – more trees.

Except these aren’t the dank, dark trees of Wolf Forest any more.

From a distance, the forest sparkles, light refracting off branches until the gleam’s so blinding it hurts. I have to cover my eyes with my elbow to allow them to adjust.

It’s only once we’re beneath the canopy that we realise what we’re looking at.

Emerald.

It coats every tree, wrapping them in glossy sheets of green; smooth as glass but bulging with fully formed jewels in places. And the air’s cold, like the gems have absorbed all sunlight and left this place lifeless. It might be beautiful, but it’s a pretty tomb and nothing more. Even I can see that. A faint breeze sweeps through, causing the leaves to clink together like wind chimes.

Astin tries to pull one of the leaves free, but it refuses to budge, the emerald encasing both leaf and branch keeping them trapped as one. ‘This isn’t natural.’

‘Obviously,’ I say, knowing exactly what he’s insinuating. But what could a Souleater have to gain from this? The more I look, the more I think this whole place is kind of ugly.

Clattering sounds ahead, and we follow the noise to find a familiar face from last night. Not the knife-wielder, thankfully, but Elbows, slightly more in control of them today. He’s accompanied by two women, who are watching, noses screwed up, as he batters a tree with a log he’s procured. As far as I can tell, he’s doing more damage to the log than the emeralds he’s trying to break apart.

‘Nuri was right, this stuff is indestructible.’ A woman in a threadbare cloak tugs his arm. ‘We should carry on to the ruins. We don’t want to be late for the party.’

Elbows kicks the tree. ‘What good is all this if I can’t have it?’ He whirls round, catching sight of me and Astin approaching slowly. ‘You. Have you changed your mind? Will you join us? Will you help?’

He waves the log around, like if he can’t bash the emerald free, he’ll bash something else instead. Astin steps in front of me. I wish I could tell him not to worry – there’s no danger in Elbows’ emotions, just despondency.

Elbows drops the log to his side. ‘I’m sorry. But if I don’t get the reward –’

‘You mean, if we don’t get the reward,’ the woman says sharply. ‘You’d better not be planning to run off with it.’

They descend into an argument, talking over one another until it’s impossible to determine who’s speaking. The log is brandished once more, Elbows jabbing it against the emerald again and again, but the woman seems to be correct about it being impenetrable. Astin’s hand on my back jerks my focus.

‘Let’s leave them to it,’ he murmurs in my ear. ‘Desperate people do desperate things, and we don’t want to be near them when they start.’

I’d argue they’ve already started, given one of the women actually shoves the other, their temporary alliance falling apart before it truly began, both of them shrieking how their need for the reward is more important, all while Elbows whacks futilely at a tree that is no more able to make him rich than I am.

Astin steers me away, leading us off the main path and into a quieter section of the woods. More voices ring elsewhere in the forest – some argumentative, some more jovial – but we don’t bump into any other contestants. The downside to taking the long way is that it gives me more time to question whether any of this is a good idea.

Especially when the bushes rattle.