It’s kind of—pardon my pun—cool.
Before we left Morgan’s house, she packed a small bag that she wears across her body. Besides her cloak, that’s all she has, but it’s enough. She has a kettle that’s self-heating, even if I can’t understand how it works. When she conjures snow, she plops it inside and, voilà, instant drinking water. Sure, she uses it for tea, but I’m just glad to have something to drink that doesn’t have dirt in it.
When she isn’t showing off how she can create snow, Morgan keeps her hands covered in gloves. At first, I thought it was because the chill of the Winter Court was getting to her. Nope. Now that we’re traveling together, she wanted to make sure that she didn’t actually touch me.
Smart. Considerate, too, but very smart.
We’re not moving at a punishing pace. I know that Morgan is thinking of this as an adventure. She’s not in any hurry. I don’t want to linger, but since I also don’t want to admit why I’m afraid of taking too much time, I try to push her to go a little faster.
Still, two days into the journey and there’s no real sign of a threat. Grimly hasn’t been able to sniff us out. Our first night, I could’ve sworn I heard the rider coming nearby, but Morgan changed direction and the hoofbeats stopped. Since then, it’s all been quiet.
So… I guess it was about time for my bad luck to finally kick in.
The first sign that something is wrong is the piercing caw that screams through the night. A couple of times so far, I could’ve sworn I caught sight of a crow or raven—I don’t know, some kind of big, black bird—following us as we navigate the woods. The caw isn’t too out of the ordinary, but Morgan stops short.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Did you hear that?”
I nod. Of course I did. It was super loud.
“No,” she says. “Not Branwen.
Branwen? “Are you talking about the crow?”
“Raven, actually, but— Seelie.”
My heart jumps into my throat. Seelie?
“What about the Seelie?”
She points. “There.”
She’s not wrong. I wish like hell she was, but she’s not. There’s a speck of gold light in the distance, maybe twenty, thirty feet away from us.
As if he knows he’s caught, he shouts out a command. “Prisoner! This is Vale of Siúcra, with the Unseelie, Coal. We order you to stay where you are.”
Ha! Good thing my true name isn’t “prisoner” or I might have had to listen to him.
And you know what? Maybe it wasn’t Veron or Bram or any of those goon soldiers who found my circle after all.
Nope. It’s just a goon guard.
I grab Morgan, careful to wrap my hand around her wrist, my palm against her glove. “Come on.”
I’ll give her credit. She doesn’t even hesitate. Cloak billowing out behind her, she takes off running as soon as I do. I’ve got my bag of apples slung over my shoulder, banging into my back as I break out into the lead, still holding tightly to her so that we don’t get separated.
I have no idea where I’m going. Right now, all I’m worried about is getting away from Vale and Coal.
“This way,” Morgan says, veering off the path.
The fae are fast. I know that already. It won’t take long for Vale or Coal to catch up with us, but so long as she’s willing to haul ass, I’m going to go down swinging.
And that’s when Morgan stops again.
Oh, come on.
“What are you doing? Come on! Let’s go.”