Till

My eyes flutter open as the dappled sunlight warms my skin.

The first place I look is the spot near mine where Anya had fallen asleep last night, and my heart lurches when I realize she’s not there.

I do a quick check of my person and my pack—everything is where it should be, so she didn’t rob me. Looking around, I notice the dew on the grass is disturbed in a thin path, so I follow, hoping to find her.

The forest opens up into a small clearing, and that’s when I see her, standing at the center, light illuminating her hair like she’s the sun itself.

My breath catches in my lungs when I go to speak, and she smiles when I cough instead, a look of pride in her eyes as she straightens her back.

Pride suits her.

And why wouldn’t it? She was born to royalty, the divine blood of the silent gods supposedly coursing through her veins.

There’s a nagging ache at the back of my skull that wants me to hate her for it—to hate her for the way she stands so tall with her fiery hair and eyes that shine like polished gold.

Old scars burn with memories of my own childhood, starved and beaten while her parents sat around a feast table in a warm castle high above the slums of my birth.

“Speechless? That’s a first.” She runs her fingers through her hair, working out knots and snarls from a night spent sleeping on the forest floor. “Care to share what’s on your mind?”

My lips press into a thin line as I reluctantly tear my eyes away from her, shame burning in my belly.

No, Anya doesn’t deserve any ill will for who her parents are. Even if she was born for a life of luxury and privilege, it’s evident enough from seeing her in that tower that the life she lived wasn’t the finery she was born for.

“I’m only surprised.” My voice is still hoarse from waking, and thankfully, I’m accustomed enough to lying to noblewomen that my cover comes along easily. “I imagined either I’d wake before you, or I wouldn’t wake at all.”

Her laugh is not the dainty twinkling of bells that one might expect of a princess, but rather a hearty expression of mirth, genuine, from her belly. More akin to the roar of a lion.

“I already told you that I have need of your services.” She shrugs, glee still tugging at the corners of her lips. “If I were to kill you, I’d lose my guide in the city.”

“How very pragmatic of you,” I scoff, trying not to be obvious when my eyes linger on her as she stretches, before giving her body a slight shake as she sighs contentedly. “You seem to be in higher spirits. Can I assume that sleep recovers your magic?”

“Mhm,” she hums, plucking a fresh berry from a bush before popping it into her mouth. “Does that make you nervous?”

The teasing edge to her voice is enticing, but I’m well aware that I’m playing with fire. Still, I’ve done much more than flirt with danger in my twenty-seven years.

“It should, considering that when we met, you tried to burn me to death.” I take a few easy steps closer to her, but she doesn’t step back or even turn away when I get close enough that our toes are practically touching.

I could stoop to kiss her if I wanted, but she doesn’t give me the chance, instead rising to her tiptoes to press her lips to mine.

My hands roam the curve of her body, settling on her hips as I pull her off balance so that she stumbles into my chest, her lips curving downward with disappointment when I stop kissing her.

“We need to keep moving,” I explain. “While we have the daylight.”

She quirks a brow, frowning deeper as her hands rest against the front of my leather cuirass. “What do we need daylight for? I can cast a light spell.”

“Sure, and draw any wandering soldiers to us like moths to a flame.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair, and she takes a step back from me.

“You’re right.” She shakes her head, clearly a bit irritated. “Lead the way.”

And so, I do.

Anya follows me as we trek through the forest, her eyes darting around, like she’s trying to take in everything—or perhaps memorize the path home.

I shudder to think of her returning to that tower with the witch who kidnapped her as a babe.

I still struggle to imagine myself breaking into the Witch of the Wilds’s tower, and yet, here I am now, traveling with her stolen “daughter.”

The question of why the witch took her in the first place rattles around in my mind, but it finds no answer. I always believed that the lost princess was surely dead. What did the witch have to gain from keeping her alive all these years?

From raising Anya as her own?

“Damnation,” I curse when we reach the chasm.

That rickety excuse for a rope bridge fell to shit between the time I’d crossed it and now, leaving a broad, deadly deep chasm between us and the path back to the city.

Feeling defeated, I kick the old wooden post that keeps what remains of the bridge dangling over the precipice, muttering a few choice words that would make Anya’s queen birth mother blush.

Anya herself though, merely looks amused. “I don’t think kicking it is going to fix the bridge.”

“I suppose you think you’re very funny,” I grunt, staring over the chasm’s edge, rethinking all the decisions I made that led me to this point.

This all started as a pissing contest between Fergus and I—I just couldn’t let it go.

But when I look at Anya, I realize I wouldn’t go back and stop myself from making the journey, even if I could.

Maybe I’m growing soft, but she was kidnapped as an infant—whether she chooses to believe me or not—and she was raised by a witch, isolated in that tower.

She wants to be free, deserves to be free, and damn it, I’m the only help she’s got.

“We’ll have to walk the edge—see if there’s another way across.” My face sets into a hard grimace. “This could add days to our trip, and that’s if we manage not to get lost.”

I only packed supplies long enough for the intended journey, and only supplies for one at that—though, we won’t starve to death out here. I’m not exactly a woodsman, but I know how to make a snare trap, and Anya’s lived her whole life in these woods.

But I’m not keen to stick around and find out what happens when the witch comes back.

Before I can go into a deeper spiral, huge wings cast a shadow over me before I’m swept up in mighty talons.

“What in the—!”

My stomach drops as I’m carried right over the edge, and I feel so small, so high above the endless chasm.

If I fell into the chasm from this height, my corpse would be mangled beyond recognition, and everyone in the Crows would think I simply met my fate at the hands of the Witch of the Wilds.

No one would ever find my body down there.

As quickly as I’d been snatched up, the enormous bird drops me on the other side of the chasm, before transforming into Anya before my very eyes.

She has the audacity to look refreshed.

“It always feels good to stretch my wings.” She beams, all the tension melting off her.

The realization of how natural magic must feel for her almost overshadows how completely horrifying it was for me.

Almost.

“First of all. . . ” I hold up a finger. “I didn’t know you could do that, and second—for the love of the gods—do not do that in the city.”

Her relaxed demeanor evaporates, and something akin to instinctive fear ripples through me when she fixes me with a stern glare, body tensing like a lion ready to tear out my throat.

Or, perhaps, pick me up again and drop me into the chasm.

“I thought you said magic is legal in the kingdom.”

“Legal, yes, but it’s still rare,” I hiss in my own defense. “Mostly it’s just holy men, or wizards who train for decades to throw a fireball—unless you want to draw a ton of attention, we need to lay low.”

Her eyes narrow as if she’s still trying to decide whether or not she believes me, but neither of us have a chance to say anything before both our heads snap into the trees at the sound of hooves beating the ground.

“Military horses.” She grimaces, flexing her fingers as though preparing to cast a spell.

These soldiers are likely out here hunting the Witch of the Wilds—if Anya starts throwing magic around, the guards will be on the attack. There’s a good chance they wouldn’t see her eyes until they got close enough that either she immolates them or, gods forbid. . .

Gods forbid the lost princess be recovered, only to be slain before anyone but a master thief has a chance to figure out who she is.

I know damn well who the scapegoat for her death would be.

I grab her hand. “We need to hide.”