Page 89 of Aryn

He tilts his head as he glances between my eyes and the blue material. “You’re made of fire, and fire shouldn’t be cold,” he finally says. “Pack your bags, rha khor. We have to get moving.”

The nickname fills my entire chest with a warmth so intense it feels like I could live off it indefinitely. I’m exhausted from a night of tossing and turning, but things don’t feel so bleak. Aryn says nothing else as we pack up camp, but as we hit the road again, he gives my hand a brief squeeze.

The path splits, and one fork heads due north with a wide, maintained road. The other veers west into a trail that’s thinner, overgrown, and far less traveled.

We head west.

Of fucking course we do.

The trail climbs higher into the foothills, and what was once a manageable path becomes steep and uneven, covered with loose rock and patches of ice. As we climb in altitude, the air gets colder somehow, biting at my lungs with every breath.

We fall right into the paths of the Viskari, and signs pop up everywhere. Over the next day and a half, we pass three more carved trees, and the last one is so fresh, the dripping sap hasn’t had time to freeze.

“Should we turn around?” Ronan asks as he runs his fingers over the gashes.

Aryn chews on his cheek, glancing around the path. “There’s no other path to Maelithryne without cutting through the forest, and these lands are dangerous.”

Ronan gestures at the tree. “More dangerous than this?”

“Predators were a problem in these forests before the weather changed. Now that they’ve lost most of their prey to the cold? I imagine they’re even worse.”

“How much further is it?” I ask.

Aryn glances around, studying the landmarks. “A day? Maybe less if we push.”

I glance up at the sky, guessing we have an hour of sunlight left before the moons rise. “What if we walk through the night? We’re still pretty rested from the village, and the moons should be close to full.”

Ronan glances at the others, staring for a long time at Cameron before turning to Aryn. “What do you think?”

“I think we’ve come too far to turn around now,” Aryn answers with a slow nod. “We’ll go until it’s too dark tonight, and we should get there midday tomorrow.”

The mood grows heavier as the sun sets. Conversation dies down and shoulders tense, while hands stay close to weapons. Long after Kuu is in the sky, we round a bend and freeze.

What’s left of a wagon lies on its side off the trail, with charred wood and embers that glow orange. The same symbol we’ve seen carved into trees is painted in white across the side panel, barely visible past the damage. My scars tingle at the sight of the metal axle laying among the wreckage, hot enough to melt the snow and singe the ground beneath.

“Aryn,” I murmur, gesturing at the gouges in the ground. It looks as though boxes or crates were dragged away, recently enough the softly falling snow hasn’t covered them again.

His gaze moves to my full pack, then back up to my face as his jaw clenches. “We have to keep going. We’re almost there.”

I stare into his eyes, placing all of my trust in his knowledge of these lands. “Alright,” I agree.

We continue on, barely daring to breathe. Hours pass in silence, and even after Kuu sinks beneath the mountains, we keep going. The twin moons are full tonight, giving us just enough light to stay on the path. Everyone is exhausted and breathing heavier as we crest a peak, stopping to catch our breath.

“There,” Aryn says, pointing in the darkness, just as the first signs of sunlight touch the sky. I squint, following his finger, then finally catch the shift in terrain from mountain edges to something man-made.

“Walls?” I ask.

He blows out a long, relieved sigh. “That’s Maelithryne.”

I open my mouth, but pause as I hear the faint crunch of snow. My eyes dart between the others, but they’re standing still.

Another crunch.

The soft snap of a branch.

“Aryn,” I mutter.

“I know,” he whispers back. “I hear it.”