Her breath caught.
Gods. ’Twasn’t much. Barely anything at all, but the flash gifted her with a brief glimpse of the terrain. Now she knew what trail they traveled. She’d spotted the marker—the jagged boulder signaling the last turn—amid the soaring trunks and leafless tree limbs. Add that to the rumble of water and—aye, no question—she neared River’s Bend. Was naught more than half a mile from the edge of the Limwoods.
Which meant she needed to warn Henrik.
Ritual must be followed and etiquette observed. Otherwise the ancient forest would react . . . and not in welcoming ways. Most people scoffed, mocking the magic even as they gave the woodlands a wide berth. But she’d seen it at work and respected its power, feeling privileged enough to call the mystical force friend most days. At first, she’d thought it odd the forest spirit liked her—had opened its borders and invited her in, allowing her to make a home under its watchful eye. Now she knew the truth. The goddess had ensured her welcome, sending a protector to see to her in exile. Praise be. Without the Limwoods, she might’ve died. Instead she’d found friendship, one that would last a lifetime. But as much as she loved the forest spirit—and it her—Cosmina understood its limitations.
The forest’s benevolence didn’t extend to anyone else.
A problem. Particularly right now.
If Henrik crossed the river before she introduced him and asked for safe passage, violence would ensue. The kind no one—least of all her—wanted to see.
“Henrik,” she said, her voice a low rasp. Drat and damn, she sounded awful, like an old woman on her deathbed, so frail her words didn’t carry. Which wouldn’t do. She needed him to stop. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to explain. A circumstance that would get Henrik and his friends killed. “Slow down. Wait before—”
“Later.”
“Nay. Now.” Fighting her injury, Cosmina pushed herself upright. He tightened his grip, keeping her flush against him. She thumped on his chest with the side of her fist. “You don’t understand. The Limwoods won’t—”
The horse’s front hooves left the ground.
With a growl, Henrik locked her down, keeping her contained in his arms. Thigh muscles flexing, he controlled the jump and landed on the other side of the embankment. Water roared, flowing along the banks of the Mureş River. Smooth stones tumbled, cracking into the next as Henrik raced for the river’s edge. The stallion’s hooves kicked high, spraying cold water into her face. Panic struck. Cosmina shoved at Henrik, desperate to stall his forward progress.
“Henrik, stop! Turn around—stop!”
Her desperate shout rang out. Too little, too late.
The scent of hollyhocks rose as the Limwoods awakened. She heard the lethal hiss. Sensed the ancient presence coil and powerful magic rise. Throwing both hands out in front of her, she yelled the forest spirit’s name, hoping to stave off the attack. To no effect. Already on the defensive, the woodlands sent thick creepers slithering toward them like snakes. Under. Over. A writhing symphony of sound driven by deadly intent. Cosmina cringed. Henrik cursed and hauled hard on the reins. The warriors behind him shouted. Horses screamed, water arcing as each reared, hooves clawing thin air. Venomous vines struck, reached out like tentacles, then yanked hard, plucking her from the saddle, breaking Henrik’s hold, dragging her along with the others deep into the recesses of the forbidden forest.
***
Henrik came to, shooting into awareness like a bottle thrown into rushing water. He bobbed on the surface a moment, heart beating an unnatural rhythm as he shifted. Sore muscles squawked, sending sensation prickling along his spine. He frowned and took stock. Hands bound behind his back. Check. Feet pulled together, a tight tether around both. Double check. He cracked his eyes open and . . . oh goody. Hanging upside down inside a dark plant-infested alcove too. Lovely. Just terrific. He’d just cornered the market on a triple threat called absolutely screwed.
Not that it meant anything. He’d been in tight spots before. A lot of them. All kinds of life-threatening situations, but, well . . .
Being attacked by a giant plant ranked as the most bizarre. One of the worst situations he’d encountered in a while. A close second to being strapped to the blue stone inside Grey Keep. The memory sliced deep, elevating his pulse. His heart punched the inside of his chest. Sucking in a deep breath, Henrik shook his head. Not good. Nowhere near fair either. He didn’t need reminding. His mind didn’t care, reacting to the bondage, serving up the memory on a mental platter.
Tied down. Spread eagle on cold stone. Helpless in the face of Halál and his knives.
A shiver rolled through him. Refusing to give in, he shut it down. ’Twas rank insanity. The height of stupidity. No way should he be comparing incidents. Or dwelling on the past when the present stared him in the face. Christ, he had enough to worry about right here. So forget the awful lash of remembered torture. The bitter memory needed to stay where he put it . . . locked in the dark pit at the back of his brain.
Flexing his hands, Henrik tested his bonds. Thick tentacles reacted, coiling higher, slithering up his forearms to brush the insides of his elbows. The cold, leathery slide gave him a bad case of the creeps. He hated being bound. Despised the weakness along with the vulnerability. Which meant he needed to figure a way out fast. Henrik wasn’t alone. He could feel the sway and bump of the body hanging next to him as wind swirled on a gentle updraft. One of his friends? Some other sorry shmuck who’d been punished for getting too close to the Limwoods? Cosmina? Henrik’s chest went tight, closing his throat. God, he hoped not. Prayed she’d gotten away. Was even now headed for safety, but . . .
Jesus help him. He couldn’t tell. The darkness was too thick, impeding his ability to see, never mind assess the situation. Guess now he knew how Cosmina felt, didn’t he? Blind. Vulnerable. Hemmed in by the reality of weakness and reliance on another. Not fun—any of it. Particularly since—
“Goddess help me.” Full of vexation, the mutter came somewhere off to his right. Henrik’s head snapped in that direction. Gaze narrowed, he searched the darkness and listened hard. A rustle of sound. A rasp of harsh exhales, almost as though she couldn’t catch her breath. The coil and hiss of unfriendly vines. “Thea, for the love of God, ’tis me . . . Cosmina. Please let go.”
Relief hit Henrik like a runaway horse. Oh Jesus. Thank Christ. She was unharmed. Sounded all right too—voice hushed but strong.
Cosmina cursed again. The low grumble rolled through the quiet, cluing him in to her mood. She wasn’t scared. Her tone said angry instead. A good sign. One that gave him hope as thick creepers tightened their grip, writhing around him.
“Cozs-meeena.” More hiss than voice, the whisper shivered through the trees, rolling on long-drawn s’s, raising the hair on the nape of Henrik’s neck.
“Aye.” She huffed. “’Tis me. Now, let go.”
The forest hummed, the slither and slide full of warning.
The body next to him jerked. “Merde. What the—”
“Jesu,” Shay said, coming awake on his other side.
Kazim stirred with a groan. “Allah be merciful.”
“Quiet.” Rocking sideways, Henrik bumped Andrei, then used the momentum to swing in the opposite direction. He touched shoulders with Shay. The gentle collision made his apprentice flinch, knocking him into Kazim. Steel rattled as blade hilts kissed. Shay sucked in a quick breath. Henrik snapped his fingers. The soft sound triggered a reaction. His friends took the cue and buttoned up, staying silent while vines creaked in the swaying to and fro. Excellent. Necessary too. The last thing he wanted was Cosmina distracted. Particularly when she appeared to be making headway, conversing with, well . . . he didn’t know. An enchanted plant named Thea? “Let Cosmina work.”