Page 30 of The Withering Wood

“Cerise, I’m sorry, I didn’t⁠—”

“It’s fine,” she said too quickly, running a hand through her short, tangled hair, flipping it over to the side. She gritted her teeth, pushing against the aching, swelling skin over her knee. She’d momentarily forgotten about it while gazing at the prince like an idiot. “We need to get going.”

She pulled the layers from beneath her, once again draping them over herself. The prince hesitated, but soon she heard the rustle of clothes as he did the same. Once bundled, she pushed herself to her feet, hunching as she slipped outside, leaning on Beloved.

Wind whipped against the trees, branches creaking and black, dead flakes of wood hurtling along with the snow. The storm thrashed against her clothes, threatening to pull down her hood. She tightened it and squinted in the blazing white, trying to keep the flurry out of her eyes.

Behind the howling wind and thuds of dislodged wood cascading against other trees, the intermittent pops of Azkanix’s bursting bones erupted. A deep mumble came from behind her, and she turned to find the prince standing near her shoulder. Only his vibrant eyes were showing beneath the winter clothes, brightened by the blinding white blizzard.

Another deep mumble rumbled from the prince, and he stared at her expectantly.

“What?” she shouted, voice swallowed by the wind.

He pulled his scarf down. “The breaking bones—Vraethik may have carved them, like yesterday’s.”

Dread settled heavy and nauseating in Cerise’s gut. If those distant, erupting bones were carved with the same explosion rune they experienced the day prior, this section of the forest was doomed. Even if the snowpack slowed the curse’s progression into the ground, the wind could whip it into other trees, propel them with enough force to hurtle them through the snow and into the earth. As the curse seeped from the bones, the snow would melt, and it’d pierce the soil eventually.

They needed to move fast.

They took down camp while Cerise pretended not to hear the prince’s command that he do it by himself. There wasn’t time to waste, and her knee couldn’t get much worse than it already was. How they’d catch up to Vraethik when her leg was as heavy and stiff as the Merathel Mountains, she didn’t know. But she had to try.

The blizzard rampaged. Icy snow slashed against their clothes and pricked their faces like needle points. Wind threatened to topple them, hurtling from the west at dizzying speeds. With each laborious step, a shock of sharp, aching agony reverberated from her knee through her leg. It distracted her from the cold that pressed through her many layers, the slices of frost against the flesh around her eyes.

There was only pain.

Searing through her joint. Blazing through her leg.

Taking over all sensation.

Her leg weakened and wobbled, quivering like cursed tree branches beneath the storm. Even Beloved wasn’t enough to keep her upright. It couldn’t find a firm place through the fresh, unpacked snow, and she couldn’t lean on it.

By late morning, her knee gave up. With one step, it trembled and ached, and with the next, it refused to catch her weight, instead collapsing on itself with a loud snap. Cerise crumbled to the ground, face meeting the frigid, icy snow.

She pushed her fists into the ground, gritting her teeth as she tried to pick herself up. She couldn’t fail now. Not when Vraethik threatened the fragile existence she’d created with Eirwen. Not when she’d learned that the prince might’ve found a way to reverse the curse.

While her torso would lift and her right leg could curl, when she shifted her left leg, a blinding pain like a lightning strike shot through her, and she’d fall once again.

Distantly, the prince’s voice shouted, but she couldn’t understand what he said.

He crouched beside her and yelled, “I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

She pushed her torso up one more time, arms shaking with the strain. But she couldn’t get her legs beneath her, couldn’t get to her feet on her own. Cerise grunted in acceptance even as her body tensed, preparing for the prince’s contact.

Strong, thick arms looped under hers. As if she weighed nothing, they lifted her back up. The prince draped her left arm over his shoulder, and he wrapped his own around her back, holding her tight.

“You can do this.” His yell was a whisper beneath the storm, but his words bolstered her heart as his strength supported her body. “Only a little farther.”

Despite the prince’s touch, no images of being buried beneath the undead, their limp limbs and heavy forms tangled with her own, conjured in her mind. She could only think of the torment ripping through her body. The need to push through it. To keep going and kill Vraethik.

Time slipped away and her surroundings faded from her awareness. She didn’t know how long or how far they walked. A lightness filled her head, magnified by the sweeping, swirling snow all around her. The howl of wind like Azkanix’s cry as the Celestials tore him apart, horrible and paralyzing.

The next thing she knew, she was sitting against a stone wall, legs outstretched. Ripples of pain shuddered through her, and her vision danced as tremors wracked her body. Arms once again wound beneath her, scooping her up. Her knee cracked as it bent and sent another shockwave of anguish cascading through her, amplifying the roiling nausea. Hot stomach acid heaved out of her mouth.

The cold disappeared with the snap of tent flaps. The prince laid Cerise on her back, the absorber a pale blue, shaking light above her. Layers of furs, pelts, and blankets draped over her, yet her body would not cease trembling.

The pile on top of her shifted, feet slightly elevated, and cooler air brushed over her leg.

“What—what are you d-doing?” Cerise asked through chattering teeth, glimpsing at the prince. He’d moved the layers on her and pulled up her pant leg, revealing the swollen, scarred flesh beneath.