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“Tell me immediately if you do,” Marcellus said. “This connection you have… I don’t like it.”
Thicket nodded. “I will.”
“So,” he drawled. “What is going on with you and Delmore?”
“W-what?” she stammered. “There’s nothing going on.”
She couldn’t see his expression, but felt the disbelieving huff against the nape of her neck. “I’m not blind. Two days ago you were all ‘let me go for a romantic nighttime stroll with Delmore’ and today you two can barely look one another in the eye.”
“That’s not— We just…” She sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“I’ve got nothing better to do than to listen.”
Thicket hesitated. “I don’t know if I should be talking to you about this…”
Marcellus stiffened. The warmth seeped from her back as he shifted further away. “Right. Sorry, Princess. It wasn’t my place to ask.”
“No, that’s not what I—”
“We should reach the Desert Mountains by nightfall. We’ll rest there, then figure out the rest of the way in the morning.”
Thicket closed her eyes. She had once told Marcellus he had a talent for making people angry. It seemed as though she also had a talent for hurting the people she cared about most.
Thicket had another dreamless night. Her mind still whirled, thoughts coursing through the darkness of sleep in that way where despite being unconscious, she was aware of the slow drag of time.
It all came to a crashing stop when someone jostled her awake. “Get up,” Marcellus said, hauling her up by the arm with one hand while the other clutched his sword. “Now. We’re under attack.”
Thicket’s eyes widened as Lotta’s leopard intercepted a crystal deer, only feet from where she had been sleeping. It had been conjured from the same orangish stone as the cave in which they had made camp. The deer shook the leopard off with a thrust of its head. The sharp, dagger-like antlers cut across the leopard's body, sending bits of stone flying.
“We need to get out of here,” Bern said, her canary diving for the deer and shattering one of its crystal antlers. “Before we get boxed in.”
“This way!” Elian called. His badger was already halfway down a dark tunnel leading deeper into the cave, its yellow and purple flames bouncing off the walls.
“Go.” Marcellus shoved her towards the tunnel right as something dove in from the entrance. Feathers fell around them as Marcellus’ piranha intercepted it with a flash of flickering yellow. As he did, three more came to take its place, letting out a resounding shriek that shook the very marrow in Thicket’s bones. She stumbled, holding her hands over her ears. When she drew them away, they came back red.
“Songbirds!” Bern yelled. “Cover your ears. Their notes can kill you.”
Thicket pressed her hands tightly over her ears, feeling the vibrations of the songbird’s cries as she stumbled towards Elian’s badger. Marcellus stood close to her, hands blocking out the songbirds’ attack. Without the use of his hands, he could do nothing more than use his body as a shield. Lotta, Elian, and Bern fared a bit better with their magic, but their coordination was disrupted by the vibrations pulsing through the entire cave.
They couldn’t fight like this. She needed to get rid of the songbirds. But what could she do in such a small space? Fire would be too dangerous. Water would flood the cave. She caught sight of the sharp stones protruding from the ceiling, an idea forming. “Vynt!”
A gust of wind shot upward, forcing the songbirds to the roof of the cave. The vibrations stopped. Thicket uncovered her ears and looked up. Blood and feathers stained the stones. Whether they were injured or just unconscious, she didn’t know. A wave of guilt spread through her, hating that the blood of innocents had to be shed in a war that didn’t even concern them.
“Elian!” Lotta’s cry pierced through the cave.
Thicket whirled. Her entire body froze. Her brain refused to believe what she was seeing.
Her blast hadn’t just swept away the songbirds. Elian had gotten caught in it, too, the force of her magic slamming him against the cave wall—right into one of the pointed stones.
Thicket rushed forward, catching him as he slumped. “No, no, no, no, no,” she pleaded.
Elian coughed. Blood dribbled from his mouth. Thicket pulled him from the spike and eased him onto the ground, pressing her hands to the gaping hole in his side. Thick, warm blood gushed between her fingers.
“Y-you’re going to be fine,” she told him. Her entire body was shaking but she kept pressure against his stomach. The stench of iron and lavender permeated the air, the combination making her stomach lurch. She swallowed it back, forcing her body to cooperate. “You are going to be just fine. Gayrir.”
Blood kept gushing, faster now. There was a puddle beneath her feet, staining everything red.
Elian’s hand wrapped around her wrist, trying to draw her attention. His skin was dangerously pale. “I,” he gurgled, more blood dripping from his mouth. “I… am not g-going to make it.” The words were weak, strained.
