Page 49

I turned my head enough to see the line of scruff on his jaw. “In the beginning, you were gone for months. Was it worth it?”

“I built alliances.” His gaze remained fixed on the trail ahead. “I kept you all as safe as I could.”

That shut me up.

The forest thinned as dawn edged closer, though the sun itself remained hidden. The world took on that strange blue-grey cast that comes before the first light of dawn, when everything looks half-made and the veil between day and night is too thin to trust. The mountain loomed larger now, its lower slopes covered in jagged, sharp rocks and wind-twisted vines.

Then, high above, came a yowl—not a phoenix or a wolf—and I shuddered. “Was that a lynx?”

The horse’s ears flicked back, and it snorted out a long puff. He was uneasy, too.

Aster pulled me tighter against his chest in a soothing motion. It had been too long since I had been out in the wild, and he seemed to understand that. “We’ll cut east at the fallen cedar,” Aster said. “Then along the ravine. It’s not far. They won’t see our trail in there.”

We reached the fallen cedar moments later—an impressive, giant dead trunk half-swallowed by snow. Aster turned the horse off the main track and into a narrower cut between boulders, where the snowdrifts were deeper and untouched. We were no longer protected by trees, and the thought had me constantly scanning the sky.

Then, far behind us, a phoenix screamed.

The horse slipped and recovered, muscles bunching hard beneath us. I swore. Aster’s arm tightened, steadying me.

“Easy…” I wasn’t sure if that command was for me or the horse.

Again a phoenix shrieked in the distance, and we both searched the grey sky that time. Aster went still in that dangerous, contained way he had when he was running through options. “They’ve noticed we didn’t head to the library.”

“You’re surprised?” I scanned the snow-laden clouds for signs of movement.

“I was hoping for another hour, maybe half a day if they flew there to check.”

“Didn’t you used to say that hope was for fools and temple men?”

The horse surged forward at his touch, climbing harder now. On either side of us, tall fir trees gave way to rocks and boulders topped with snow and veined with ice. Then we entered the ravine. It was towering and narrow, funnelling us into a path barely wider than the horse itself. Hail-filled wind barrelled along its path and drove into us. I half-turned into Aster’s chest to get away from the sharp, icy sting on my face, and he swept his cloak around me.

Ahead, through the howling winds, I caught sight of an unnaturally smooth stone—and a dark line cut into the mountain face, half-hidden by icicles and snow-covered hanging moss. An arch covered in Celtic symbols.

The horse’s ears snapped back, and its stride faltered.

“Stay,” Aster soothed.

The horse stilled beneath us as Aster’s grip steadied him. Griffin’s breath fogged in huge puffs into the dark, but he was calmer now. The quietness of deep winter settled around us.

Then a shadow passed overhead.

My pulse slammed.

Phoenix.

But it flew too fast, and the mountain rocks blocked my sight—I couldn’t make out the colour.

Aster moved with practised speed, one hand dropping from the reins and wrapped around me, hauling me tighter against him as he turned the horse sharply toward the arch. Jagged stone clawed at my cloak as we forced our way through the cascading snow and suffocating drifts. The air thickened with urgency.

“Down,” he murmured. “But keep one hand on him.”

I didn’t argue.

We slid from the saddle together, landing hard in the snow, the impact jarring up through my legs, cold biting instantly through leather and wool. Aster dragged the horse’s head down into shadow, one hand firm over its muzzle, pressing it still as it trembled beneath the strain of silence.

Above us there came a shriek and then another, from a different bird. Was that Kit and Torran searching for us?

“But you said they can’t see the Warhorse?” I whispered.