Fall

Kane

He shouldn’t be intimidated. He shouldn’t be worried. He had done this many times since their campaign. But with Briar screeching above them and Donovan looking increasingly impatient, he had to say something quickly.

“Doyouhaveprogress?” he blurted.

“What?” Donovan snapped.

Flint was smug, but said nothing.

Kane cleared his throat. “What’s our progress today?”

Donovan sighed atop his horse. “Same as always, princeling. A little bit every day. We should be at the Eastern borders in less than a week.”

“Thank you.” Kane hid his embarrassment by writing down his notes on the checklist.

Flint was still smug.

Oh, shut up, Kane muttered.

I haven’t said a word.

He stayed in the nucleus of the army until they staked camp for the night. Then he, Flint, and their triple guard made rounds in the camp, forming paths that would be worn by the time they left in the morning.

In the dark, and if Kane was wistful, he could picture the peaked tents as mountains. Islands of the North in the flatness of the West. They were so far from home. It was hard to believe they were straddling the line between two territories, when the land spoke otherwise.

And we just keep going. Kane knotted his tent’s doorway, saluting the guards a goodnight before retreating to seclusion.

Flint folded his legs under him. He was careful to keep his antlers away from the already-patched places of previous rips. We’re almost there. Donovan said it himself.

You’re right. Kane changed into his nightclothes, and kneeled onto the thick mat that served as his bed. The stark canvas of their wall was toasted into a tan by the torches outside. He watched them flicker and blow with the wind. I thought this would be…

Easier? Flint finished. You should know wars are not easy.

I know. Uneasiness churned in his stomach. It’s just—King Asher was willing enough to let me go, after all this time. It means he’s strained.

He’s doing all he can, short of leaving Elbe. If he were to leave Elbe, I’m sure the Council would have to be called for it.

We’re walking into danger, I know it. Kane laid on his back, brows furrowed.

Flint huffed. At least we know what we’re getting into. We asked for this, after all.

Piper

The scent was fading. It seemed to be swallowed into the vitrum, sinking into its leaves like Piper’s boots in the marsh.

The crumbling, waterlogged land was no help to Reine’s tracking. She circled the mangrove roots, and finally clawed at them in irritation.

I hate vitrum, she spat. It knows what you want, and does the opposite.

Piper instinctively reached for her alea. It’s saved our lives before.

I think there is intelligence in these plants. More than should be warranted. She glared at the glass vines. They reflected her spotted snarl.

“The trail’s gone cold,” Piper told Finch.

“But it hasn’t even been an hour.” Finch was perplexed. “It should be fresh.”

“Reine can’t guide us any further.” Piper scuffed the mangrove root. “We’ll have to go by visual clues, and pray it comes back up.”

Night crickets sang around them, along with the occasional brup of a frog. Piper strained to see Finch’s expression.

“Visual clues?” he finally chuckled. “Piper, it’s the middle of the night.”

“Your vitrum disk can turn into a torch, right?” she asked.

He took out the clear disk, and it morphed into a small canister. “A flamethrower.”

For a brief second, Piper wanted to use it to light their way. The curiosity that stirred inside her begged to be satisfied. They just needed to go a bit farther.

But the flamethrower would act as a beacon to anyone, or anything, nearby. Anonymity was their best weapon in the East, and a strange fire would only draw attention.

Piper groaned, and pressed her palm to her forehead.

“Maybe we should wait till sunrise,” Finch said.

And wait for the trail to grow colder? Piper thought.

It’s already dead. The vitrum ate it, Reine said. Birdbrain is right. We should wait for light.

You’re in agreement with him? Piper said.

I’ve already said why, Reine sniffed. It’s pointless going on.

Piper couldn’t argue with her as the hope faded. She was too tired. “Okay.”

They slept in hour shifts until the sun was up. Piper felt no more refreshed than the night before, and Finch saw it too.

“We should lay low, and rest some more,” he said.

“No.” She shook her head. “We have to keep going. The trail…”

Is dead, Reine reminded her. Visual clues now.

Finch sent Chip to the vitrum canopy to scout. “If you look too tired, we’re stopping.”

Piper played a radiant smile. “I’m in peak condition, coach.”

“Coach. Ha,” Finch took the lead this time, parting aside clear vines and reflective leaves.

Piper noticed that the vitrum here came in a variety Elbe’s fields lacked. Besides growing in creeping vines and exotic flowers, the very glass inside them differed. Some were opaque, others see-through. A curled flower they passed held a web of fractures, as if shattered from the inside. It showed Piper’s face as a puzzle.

Amazing, she thought.

“Look at this,” Finch said. Piper joined him to see claw marks cutting the carpet of tree roots around them. They were slanted diagonally.

“We should head that way.” He pointed to the east.

Reine hovered over the tracks, then began to scratch into them.

“Reine!” Piper cried with her voice and mind.

The leopard stepped away. We must keep in mind whom we are following.

Reine’s claw marks were deep, but thin lines in comparison to the tracks. Their quarry had weight and strength on Piper’s fera. Tennyson, Taft, and whoever they were with would easily overpower them should it come to a fight. They would have to stay back if Tennyson held any grudges over his capture.

Or if Tennyson’s friend disliked being followed.