Chapter One

Sylvia

The tea kept my heat suppressed, and it was also making me sick. Unfortunately, one of those problems mattered a little more than the other.

I stood beside the small stove with both hands wrapped around the clay cup and swallowed the last mouthful before I could convince myself I had already suffered enough for one morning. Wolfsbane coated my tongue first, followed by bitterthorn, which left a sharp green taste behind no matter how quickly I drank. The other three plants I used were unpleasant in their own ways. One numbed the back of my mouth, another made my teeth ache for the first hour afterward, and the last barely tasted of anything even after I had dried and crushed the leaves myself, which made me trust it the least.

Nine years of drinking the same mixture every morning had not made it easier.

I lowered the cup onto the counter beside the washbasin and stretched my fingers, only for my right hand to start shaking almost immediately. The tremor was small but steady enough to move through my fingers and into my forearm, and when I curled my hand into a fist to stop it, the movement continued anyway.

“Wonderful,” I muttered to myself, pressing my fist against the edge of the counter while I waited for the shaking to ease.

The cottage remained quiet around me except for an occasional crack from the stove. A few coals still glowed beneath the ash from the fire I had banked before bed, leaving enough warmth in the single room that I hadn’t needed to pull on my coat yet. The smell of woodsmoke had worked itself into everything years ago. My blankets smelled of it, my clothes smelled of it, and some mornings I was fairly sure my hair did too, no matter how recently I’d washed it.

I rinsed the cup with a little water from yesterday’s bucket, rubbed my thumb along the inside to loosen the green residue, and set it upside down beside the basin. There wasn’t enough water left for a proper cleaning. Maybe two cups remained at the bottom, which meant I would have to refill it after checking the ward line, assuming I could still reach the creek by the same path I had used yesterday.

The creek itself never moved. It ran through a low section north of the cottage, narrow enough in most places that I could cross without getting my boots wet, but the paths leading to it were less reliable. Sometimes I walked there in ten minutes. Sometimes the Blackroot shifted enough roots, brush, and trees overnight that the same trip took forty.

I kept two rain barrels beside the cottage because of that. Experience had made me practical, although it had also made me very tired of carrying water.

I turned toward the peg near the door and reached for my coat. The heavy wool caught against the inside of my left wrist as I pulled it on, and I stopped when the edge of the cuff scraped over sensitive skin.

The marks had spread again.

Only a little, but enough that I noticed.

I pushed the sleeve back before I could talk myself into ignoring it and held my arm beneath the narrow window above the counter. The morning light wasn’t particularly strong, but I didn’t need much to see them. Black and muted gold covered the inside of my forearm, the lines crossing and turning through patterns I had spent years studying without understanding. The lowest section now reached almost to the heel of my palm, while last winter it had stopped several inches above my wrist.

I ran my thumb over the newest section and pressed lightly against the skin. It was cool beneath my touch, no warmer than the rest of me, and there was no glow or pressure from my magic beneath it.

For the moment, the marks were dormant, which was usually the best I could hope for.

They had first appeared when I was a child, though there hadn’t been much to hide then. One narrow black line along my ribs and another near my shoulder blade. I remembered my mother tracing the first one with a fingertip while my father stood nearby, but I had been too young to understand the expression on his face.

He had known what the marks meant long before I did, and he had also known enough to be afraid of anyone else seeing them.

By sixteen, they covered most of my back, part of my chest, both shoulders, and my left arm. Gold had appeared between the black during my first heat, followed quickly by more magic than I had known what to do with and a Crown detection strong enough to bring royal agents to our door.

After that, I had learned exactly why my father had always insisted I keep my sleeves down.

I pulled the wool over my wrist again and adjusted the cuff until nothing showed. There was nobody outside to see me. There hadn’t been anyone close enough to see my bare arms in nine years, but that didn’t seem to matter. I still checked before opening the door, when I dressed, when I bathed, and whenever a sleeve caught on something and pulled too high.

At this point, hiding the marks required less thought than remembering not to.

I sat on the edge of the narrow bed and pulled on my boots, tightening the laces enough that they wouldn’t shift during the ward walk. My hair had already started coming loose from the braid I’d slept in, so I gave up on fixing it properly and tied the whole mess back at the nape of my neck. A few strands remained around my ears and cheek, but the forest was unlikely to care.

I picked up the small supply pouch from the table, slung the strap across my chest, and checked the short knife at my hip before opening the door.

Cold air reached my face immediately, and I stayed on the threshold for a second while I pulled the collar of my coat higher. Frost covered the moss closest to the cottage, pale enough to show clearly against the green, though the ferns several yards past the woodpile were wet rather than frozen. A thin drip of water fell from the edge of the roof into one of the rain barrels, and somewhere farther back in the trees, a woodpecker struck the same section of bark several times before stopping.

The Blackroot had been keeping different temperatures within short distances for the last week. Frost beside my cottage, damp soil beyond it, and a warmer section farther east where I had found mushrooms growing two days ago.

Three winters earlier, I’d walked less than half a mile and gone from snow reaching my knees to warm rain. I had spent the first few years trying to understand why the forest did things like that, but I didn’t anymore.

My cottage sat in a shallow clearing surrounded by black-barked trees, exposed roots, thick moss, and nine years of accumulated work. Chopped wood stood beneath the lean-to along the western wall, stacked high enough to last another month if the temperature didn’t drop too sharply. Bundles of herbs hung beneath the eaves where they could dry without getting soaked by rain. Two covered barrels waited near the eastern side, and a low wooden rack behind the cottage held three rabbit skins I needed to scrape again before they dried too stiff to use.

There was also a square patch of empty ground beside the southern wall where almost nothing grew.

That had been my garden for approximately half an hour.

My first spring in the Blackroot, I had decided I was tired of eating whatever roots and greens I could identify without accidentally poisoning myself. I cleared the weeds, marked out a small plot, and started digging. About a foot down, the shovel struck something solid.

I expected stone. Instead, after clearing away some of the dark soil, I found a root thicker than my thigh and black from one side to the other.

When I put the shovel against it again, the root moved beneath the metal.

I pulled the blade out, filled the hole, and abandoned my plans for vegetables. Nine years later, I still bought carrots whenever I managed a supply trip to Greyholt.

Some things weren’t worth arguing over.

I closed the cottage door and started toward the outer wards, following the narrow trail past the woodpile.

You’re late, Vex said inside my head before I had made it twenty steps, its voice perfectly clear despite the fact that I couldn’t see it anywhere.

“I’m not,” I said aloud, pushing both hands into my coat pockets while my boots broke through the thin frost covering the path.

You used to leave before sunrise, Vex pointed out, its voice following me while I stepped around a root that had pushed farther out of the ground since my last ward walk.

“That still doesn’t make me late,” I replied, watching where I placed my feet because the frost had made the next stretch of roots slippery. My left boot slid an inch before catching again, and I shifted my weight without stopping.

It makes you later than you used to be, Vex said, sounding pleased enough with the distinction that I knew continuing the argument would only encourage it. I looked toward the ferns on my right. Nothing moved beneath them, though several narrow fronds trembled where water dripped from the branches overhead.

“Are you going to complain about this all morning?” I asked Vex, ducking beneath a low branch and pushing it aside with my forearm.

I haven’t decided, Vex answered after a short pause, apparently treating the question seriously.

“Take your time,” I told it, releasing the branch behind me and hearing the wet leaves brush together.

I always do, Vex replied.

It appeared beside my left boot without disturbing the ferns or making any sound against the wet leaves. I didn’t catch movement at the edge of my vision either. One moment, the path beside me was empty, and the next, a large red fox walked there.

After nine years, I still hadn’t learned how it did that.

Vex was too large to be an ordinary fox. Its back reached higher than my knee, and its dark red coat deepened to almost black along its legs and the ends of its ears. Its eyes were darker than they should have been too, and neither firelight nor sunlight reflected from them properly.

Its shadow followed slightly behind, and the delay never changed. Morning, afternoon, sunset, firelight—it always moved a fraction later than Vex did.

I had asked about that once.

Vex had asked why my shadow didn’t do the same thing. I had chosen not to continue the conversation.

“How long have you been out here?” I asked Vex, glancing down while it crossed a patch of frost without leaving a single pawprint.

Since the fourth hour, Vex answered, keeping its head pointed toward the trail while both ears shifted toward sounds deeper in the forest.

I frowned. “Why have you been wandering around since the fourth hour?”

I wasn’t wandering, Vex corrected, turning one ear toward me. I was sitting.

I waited several steps, but Vex offered nothing else.

“Why were you sitting out here since the fourth hour?” I asked it, changing the wording while I pulled my coat tighter around my middle.

I was bored, Vex replied, continuing ahead with no indication that it found the answer inadequate. I stared at the side of its head. “That doesn’t tell me why you were sitting out here.”

You asked why I was sitting here, Vex said, finally looking up at me. Boredom was the reason.

“You could be bored at the cottage,” I told it, stepping over another exposed root. “You do it all the time.”

You were asleep, Vex answered, returning its attention to the path.

That was apparently all I was getting. I had named it during my first winter in the Blackroot. It had never given me a name of its own.

At seventeen, starving and angry and still stupid enough to believe insulting a Fae counted as a victory, I had called it Vex because it irritated me. It had tipped its head, watched me for several seconds, and accepted the name.

I had thought I’d won something.

Later, once I’d learned enough about Fae to understand how seriously they treated names, the memory had become considerably less satisfying. Vex had never lied to me about being called Vex, but it had also never said that was actually its name.

The outer ward line began nearly two miles from my cottage. Forty-one stones formed a rough boundary around the section of forest I used most often. Some sat several inches above the ground while others were almost completely buried beneath moss, roots, and years of fallen leaves. Every one of them had been placed where two or more large roots crossed beneath the soil.

My mother had taught me the ward words before I was old enough to understand why I needed them, while my father had taught me how much blood each stone required and how often to renew them.

Neither had lived long enough to explain everything else.

The first stone sat beneath an old pine with a split trunk. I crouched, brushed several wet needles from the top, and pressed two fingers against the granite. A quiet vibration moved through my fingertips, steady and familiar enough that I relaxed immediately.

The ward was sound.

I stood, wiped a little soil from my fingers onto my trousers, and continued to the second stone, which responded the same way.

At the third, I found a beetle stranded on top. Its legs moved rapidly against a thin layer of frost, but it couldn’t get enough traction to reach the edge, so I crouched beside the stone and held my thumb close enough for it to climb onto me.

Leave it, Vex said, stopping several feet ahead and turning its head toward me while its tail hung loosely behind it.

“It’s stuck,” I told Vex, keeping my hand still while the beetle tested my skin with its front legs.

I noticed, Vex replied, lowering itself onto its haunches to watch. The beetle eventually climbed fully onto my thumb. I moved my hand toward a dry strip of bark near the base of the tree and waited again when it stopped halfway between my skin and the wood.

There are thousands of them in this forest, Vex said, its attention following the tiny movement.

“Probably more than that,” I answered, lowering my hand another inch once the beetle started moving again.

One beetle makes very little difference, Vex told me, sounding genuinely puzzled by my decision to remain crouched in the cold.

“It probably disagrees,” I said, waiting until all six legs had reached the bark before moving my hand away.

The beetle crawled beneath a loose strip of lichen. I stayed where I was for another few seconds to make sure it didn’t turn around and head straight back toward the frost, and by the time I stood, both knees of my trousers were damp.

You still do that, Vex observed, rising as I brushed dirt and bits of moss from my palms.

“Save beetles?” I asked it, starting toward the next ward stone.

Spend effort on things that cannot offer you anything in return, Vex clarified, falling into place beside me.

“It took maybe fifteen seconds,” I told it, stepping carefully over a root slick with moisture. “I think I’ll survive the loss.”

You usually think that, Vex replied, its paws making no sound against the leaves.

I looked down at it. “That sounded suspiciously close to concern.”

Vex’s ears shifted once.

It wasn’t, Vex answered.

“Good,” I told it, turning my attention back to the path. “I’d hate for you to develop feelings after nine years. It would be uncomfortable for both of us.”

Extremely, Vex agreed, and there was enough amusement in its voice to make the exchange feel familiar again.

At the fourth stone, I felt the deeper roots before I touched the ward. A low vibration moved through the soles of my boots, and I stopped with one hand halfway toward the granite, standing still long enough to separate it from the ordinary movement around us.

Vex stopped too.

The vibration had been there since midsummer. At first, I checked the wards twice a day because I assumed something was wrong with them. When every stone continued responding normally, I dug beside several of the roots. That told me nothing. I followed the vibration farther north after that, then east, then toward the deeper section of the forest until the paths stopped cooperating and I gave up.

Nothing had happened. No ward weakened, no tree fell, and no unusual animals appeared near the cottage. The vibration simply continued beneath everything else.

The roots nearest the surface weren’t causing it. I knew how those felt when the Blackroot shifted them to change a trail or block something from reaching me.

This came from much farther underground.

The Blackroot had plenty of ways to communicate when it wanted something. It changed paths, moved branches, opened certain flowers out of season, and sent animals into places where they shouldn’t have been.

Once, after I ignored several changes along the creek before a flood, a crow dropped a dead fish onto my roof three mornings in a row.

I had understood that message eventually.

The deeper vibration offered nothing nearly as useful.

I put my palm against the fourth stone and felt the familiar ward response beneath my hand.

“It’s still doing it,” I said to Vex, shifting my weight and concentrating on the low movement beneath my boots while the ward itself remained sound.

Yes, Vex answered, turning its head toward the roots beside the path.

“Do you know why?” I asked it, straightening and wiping damp moss from my palm.

Yes, Vex replied immediately, already beginning to walk away.

I stayed beside the stone for a second before following. “You know why the roots have been doing this since midsummer?”

I know why, Vex confirmed, its tail moving once behind it.

I stared down at the fox. There were days when living alone in the forest was difficult, and there were other days when the most difficult part was not being allowed to strangle the only company I had.

“Why are the roots doing it?” I asked Vex, making the question as direct as possible.

That isn’t something I’m answering today, Vex replied, sounding completely comfortable with the decision as it continued down the trail.

“Of course it isn’t,” I muttered, rubbing my tongue against the bitter residue from the suppressant tea that still clung to the back of my mouth.

The fifth stone was sound, and so was the sixth.

At the seventh, my hand started shaking before I touched the granite. I stopped and pressed both palms against my thighs, holding them there while the tremor worked through my fingers and up into my forearms. The shaking had become more noticeable during the last few months. It used to happen only after strong magic or when I was exhausted, but now some mornings it began before breakfast and returned several times throughout the day.

I had decided not to think too much about what that meant.

Vex sat several feet away and watched me.

Your tea isn’t working, Vex said, its dark eyes following the movement of my hands.

“My heat is suppressed,” I replied, keeping my attention on my fingers while I pressed harder against my thighs.

That wasn’t what I said, Vex corrected, sounding frustratingly calm.

I lifted my head. “My tea is doing what I need it to do.”

Your hands have been shaking since spring, Vex said, remaining seated while its attention moved over me. You sleep less than you did last winter. You’re cold more often, and the marks have spread twice since midsummer.

My right hand moved toward my left wrist before I caught myself and dropped it again.

“You’ve been keeping track?” I asked Vex, trying to decide whether I was annoyed or unsettled that it knew the timing that precisely.

I have eyes, Vex replied, blinking once.

“You also have entirely too much free time,” I told it, straightening fully.

That too, Vex agreed.

A brief wave of dizziness hit before I could take another step. I reached for the nearest tree and pressed my palm against the damp bark while I waited for my vision to clear. The frost along the path lost definition for several seconds, then sharpened again as the dizziness passed.

Vex watched the entire thing without coming closer. It never did when I was hurt or sick, and not once in nine years had it offered physical comfort. Apparently, nine years still wasn’t long enough for me to stop noticing.

“Do you think the tea is killing me?” I asked Vex, leaving one hand against the trunk while I looked toward the trees instead of directly at it.

Vex’s ears moved forward.

Slowly, Vex answered after a short pause, its voice giving no indication that the answer bothered it.

I lowered my hand from the tree. “That’s encouraging,” I said, scraping the toe of my boot over the frost until dark soil showed through underneath.

You asked, Vex pointed out, remaining several feet away.

“I know,” I replied, rubbing my palms together while the last small tremors worked through my fingers.

You usually prefer knowing, Vex added, its gaze staying on me.

“Knowing something doesn’t mean I have to enjoy hearing it,” I told Vex, checking my hand again before letting it fall to my side.

No, Vex agreed, finally looking away toward the rest of the ward line. My fingers were steady enough to continue, though I wasn’t particularly happy about what I had just learned.

“I can’t stop taking it,” I said to Vex, adjusting my coat and beginning to walk again. Vex rose and followed without answering, and after several steps I glanced down at it.

“That is normally where you say something irritating,” I told the fox as it stepped over a thin fallen branch.

You already know what happens if you stop, Vex replied, continuing beside me.

I did. Without the suppressants, my heat would eventually return naturally, my scent would become harder to hide, and if I traveled anywhere near a populated road or village at the wrong time, someone would notice.

After that came questions, registration, the crown, and everything my father had died getting me away from.

“I know,” I said quietly, keeping my attention on the ward line ahead.

I should have left the conversation there. Instead, I looked down at the fox walking beside me and asked the question I already knew was a mistake.

“Do you care?” I asked Vex, my fingers settling around the worn strap across my chest.

Vex stopped.

I made it two more steps before turning back toward it. The fox looked at me without speaking, its dark eyes fixed on my face while several seconds passed and nothing in its posture changed.

That was enough.

“Right,” I said, turning away before I could become annoyed with myself for asking.

Vex followed when I resumed walking. It had kept me alive for nine years. During my first winter, it had provided shelter when I had none and led me to food when I wasn’t strong enough to hunt properly. It had hidden my trail from Crown trackers, directed me away from dangerous parts of the Blackroot, and done exactly what it had promised the night we met.

Care had never been one of those promises.

I had been seventeen when I made the bargain, three days inside the Blackroot with no proper food, a coat meant for autumn instead of winter, and my father’s dried blood still trapped beneath my fingernails because I couldn’t make myself wash it away.

I remembered Vex appearing in the snow ahead of me and hearing its voice inside my head before I had any idea what it was. It offered warmth, food, concealment, and survival.

I agreed.

There were parts after that I remembered badly and others I couldn’t remember at all. At seventeen, I had been too cold and hungry to care about missing details as long as I lived through the night.

At twenty-five, the missing pieces bothered me considerably more.

I checked the eighth stone, then the ninth and tenth. Each ward answered cleanly beneath my fingers.

The eleventh had blood on it.

I stopped several steps away, my attention catching first on four dried drops across the northern face of the granite and then on the tree opposite it.

Vex continued forward without hesitation. It walked directly to the stone, turned once, and sat beside it.

A partial handprint marked the tree trunk at about the height of my waist. Whoever had left it hadn’t placed a hand there deliberately. The blood had dragged across the bark in a wide smear where someone had caught themselves after losing their balance.

I moved closer and crouched near the ward stone. The blood had been there for hours. It had darkened almost brown, and a thin edge of frost had formed around one of the smaller drops.

The stone itself looked normal. There were no cracks, no displaced moss, and no darkened sections indicating burned magic. I held my fingers above the granite for a few seconds before touching it, waiting for the heat that usually came whenever something unfamiliar crossed the boundary.

Nothing happened.

When I pressed two fingers against the cold surface, the ward responded immediately beneath them, strong and completely intact.

I checked again because the first result made no sense.

The answer didn’t change.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” I said to Vex, keeping my fingers against the granite while I stared at the dried blood.

It is possible, Vex corrected, sitting comfortably beside the stone. It simply hasn’t happened before.

“Something crossed here,” I told Vex, lifting one hand to point toward the blood on the tree.

Yes, Vex answered, turning its head to look at the handprint.

“The ward should have reacted,” I said, pulling my fingers from the stone and rubbing them together to get some warmth back into the tips.

It didn’t, Vex replied, returning its attention to me. I stood and looked at the ground. No footprints marked the frost beyond the stone, and there was no blood trail, flattened fern, or snapped branch. The handprint ended at the tree, while the four drops ended at the ward stone.

Beyond that, the forest floor looked untouched.

I walked several yards east, carefully checking the damp spaces between roots where footprints should have been easiest to find. When that gave me nothing, I went west and searched again before returning to the tree and crouching near the base. I moved several fern fronds aside to inspect the ground underneath, but there was no drag mark, disturbed soil, or hidden track.

Whoever had crossed here had been injured badly enough to leave blood behind.

There should have been a trail.

The Blackroot had removed it, and that bothered me more than the blood did.

The forest had hidden my trail plenty of times. If Crown trackers came close enough to the ward line, I could walk across a muddy stretch and turn around five minutes later to find smooth moss where my footprints had been.

It did not do that for strangers.

A lost trapper had crossed the boundary six years ago. The nearest ward stone became hot before he made it ten steps into the forest, and I found him before noon. A royal surveyor came in three years later, and the entire eastern line activated.

Wolves triggered the wards.

Deer did not.

People always did.

I looked into the canopy and finally realized another detail had changed.

The birds had stopped calling.

I hadn’t noticed when it happened, but now the quiet was impossible to miss. No wings shifted through the lower branches, nothing scratched through the leaves near the roots, and the crows that usually followed me along part of the ward line were nowhere nearby.

The deeper vibration beneath my boots was the only familiar thing that remained.

I turned toward Vex, which was still sitting beside the stone while its shadow finished settling behind it a moment later.

The fox appeared entirely unsurprised.

“How long have you known about this?” I asked Vex, keeping my voice level while my attention stayed on its face.

Since the fourth hour, Vex answered without hesitation, its tail lying neatly beside its paws.

I stared at it. “You knew about the blood before I left the cottage?”

Yes, Vex replied.

“You were sitting out here because of this,” I said, looking from the fox to the dried drops.

Partly, Vex answered, shifting one front paw against the frost.

“And you walked the entire ward line with me without mentioning it?” I asked Vex, feeling the tremor start again in my fingertips.

You didn’t ask about the blood, Vex said, watching me steadily.

“I didn’t know there was blood to ask about,” I replied, stepping closer to the ward stone while my irritation rose.

That is true, Vex agreed.

I stared at it for several seconds. Sometimes I genuinely wanted to throw things at Vex. The problem was that it would almost certainly find the experience entertaining.

“You know who crossed?” I asked Vex, slowing myself down enough to make sure I asked exactly what I wanted answered.

Yes, Vex replied, its ears lifting slightly.

“How many people crossed my ward?” I asked.

Four, Vex answered.

I looked south through the trees. “Four people?”

Four men, Vex clarified, following my attention toward the southern part of the forest.

“Are all four still alive?” I asked it.

At present, Vex answered.

I did not particularly enjoy that addition. Four men were somewhere inside my ward line. The forest had allowed them through and then hidden where they went.

“Are they Crown soldiers?” I asked Vex, scanning the spaces between the trees even though I knew the nearest stranger was unlikely to be standing close enough for me to see.

No, Vex replied.

“Trackers?” I asked, turning back toward it.

One has been called that, Vex answered, its head angling slightly toward the south.

I frowned. “Does that one currently serve the crown?”

No, Vex replied.

At least one answer had been useful.

“Did they enter the Blackroot looking for me?” I asked Vex, letting my hand settle close to the knife at my hip.

Vex became very still.

I noticed immediately.

“Answer the actual question,” I warned, holding its gaze.

Not knowingly, Vex replied after a moment.

My fingers tightened near the knife.

“Do they know I’m here?” I asked.

No, Vex answered, watching my face.

“Do they know I’m an Omega?” I asked.

Not yet, Vex replied.

My hand moved from the knife to the strap crossing my chest instead.

“What are their secondary genders?” I asked Vex, though I had already started suspecting I wasn’t going to enjoy this part.

Vex looked directly at me.

Alphas, it said.

For a second, I didn’t move.

“All four?” I asked Vex.

All four, Vex confirmed, lowering its head slightly.

I stepped back from the southern side of the ward.

“Absolutely not,” I said, gripping the leather strap while I tried to decide which part of this was currently the worst.

You seem unhappy, Vex observed, standing and stretching its front legs.

“What gave it away?” I asked the fox, staring down at it.

Your face, Vex answered, looking up at me. I pressed my lips together and decided not to give it anything else.

“Are they dangerous?” I asked Vex instead, crossing my arms beneath my chest.

Yes, Vex replied immediately.

“To me?” I asked, holding its gaze.

Vex paused.

They could be, it answered.

That wasn’t reassuring, but it was clear enough.

“Where are they?” I asked Vex, looking south again.

South of us, Vex answered, turning toward the same direction.

“How close is the nearest one?” I asked.

Less than two miles, Vex replied, both ears shifting forward.

I looked down at it. “The nearest one? They aren’t together anymore?”

No, Vex answered.

“Why did they split up?” I asked, listening for any movement from deeper inside the forest.

Injury and pursuit were the important reasons, Vex replied.

I looked back at the blood, that explained part of the handprint.

“Is the one who left this still alive?” I asked Vex, pointing toward the stone.

Yes, Vex answered.

“For how long?” I asked, studying the amount of blood again.

Vex tipped its head.

If nothing changes, not long, it replied.

I rubbed my thumb over the strap across my chest while I stared at the handprint. A dead man inside the wards would be a problem. A dead Alpha being pursued by someone else would be an even larger one.

“I am not going after him because I care whether some strange Alpha lives,” I told Vex, mostly because the fox had been quiet long enough that I knew it was thinking something irritating.

I didn’t say you were, Vex replied, and the amusement returning to its voice confirmed my suspicion.

“If someone finds his body inside my wards, they’ll search,” I said, glancing toward the deeper trees. “If somebody is already chasing him, they’re probably coming this direction anyway. I’d also prefer not to discover what four unknown Alphas are doing in my forest by waiting until one reaches the cottage.”

Those are all sensible concerns, Vex said, sounding pleased that I had worked through the practical problem.

I frowned down at the ward stone again because there was still something that bothered me more.

“Why didn’t the Blackroot stop them?” I asked Vex, resting my fingertips against the granite one more time.

The amusement disappeared from Vex’s voice.

Because it opened for them, it answered.

My hand went still.

“What do you mean, opened?” I asked Vex, looking down at the fox.

The southern path cleared, Vex explained, turning its head toward the deeper forest. They crossed the boundary, and the forest closed the path after them.

I stared at it.

“No,” I said, shaking my head while I looked around at the trees surrounding us.

Yes, Vex replied.

“The Blackroot doesn’t allow strangers through the wards without warning me,” I said, lowering my gaze to the dark roots crossing beneath the stone.

It did this time, Vex answered.

“I didn’t let anyone in,” I said, hearing the frustration in my own voice.

I know, Vex replied, keeping its attention on me.

I looked directly at it. “Did you?”

No, Vex answered immediately.

That frightened me more than anything else it had told me. The Blackroot had ignored me before. It had hidden sections from me, altered paths without warning, and refused to let me go certain places no matter how long I searched for another route.

It had never deliberately allowed strangers across my ward line.

Certainly not four Alphas.

I stared south through the trees while the low vibration continued beneath my boots. Then the inside of my left arm became warm. I looked down. For a second, I thought the wool sleeve had shifted against my skin differently, but then the warmth spread from my wrist toward my elbow.

I shoved the sleeve up.

The black and gold marks were no longer cold beneath my fingers. I touched the lowest section first, then moved my hand higher. There was no pain and no visible glow. The markings were simply warm, and the temperature continued increasing gradually beneath my skin.

My marks had not reacted to another person in nine years.

The last time they had done anything close to this, my father had been standing behind me with one hand pressed between my shoulder blades while royal agents entered our house.

I could still remember how hard he pushed me toward the rear door and his voice telling me to run, not stop, and not look back.

I had listened to the first two.

I had failed at the third.

The marks had burned that night. Afterward, once I reached the Blackroot, they went cold and stayed that way around every person I encountered during supply runs and every tracker who ever came close enough to threaten the ward.

Until now.

Vex moved several steps nearer.

Interesting, it said, staring at my exposed arm.

“Don’t,” I warned Vex, pulling the sleeve down before it could keep inspecting the marks.

I was only observing— Vex began, lifting its head toward me.

“Observe quietly,” I interrupted, tugging the cuff over my wrist and pressing my palm over the fabric. The warmth continued moving beneath the wool, reaching my elbow before slowly spreading toward my upper arm.

I looked down at Vex.

“Which one caused this?” I asked it. Vex tipped its head, its attention staying on my covered arm.

I don’t know, Vex answered.

I stared at the fox. “You don’t know?”

No, Vex replied, still studying me. There was no deliberate pause or careful wording.

It actually didn’t know.

That bothered me more than one of its evasions would have.

I turned toward the cottage.

Where are you going? Vex asked, appearing beside me after I had taken only a few steps.

“For my bow,” I told it, increasing my pace while my boots slipped over wet leaves.

Are you planning to shoot someone? Vex asked, keeping up easily beside me.

“If necessary,” I replied, stepping over a fallen branch without slowing.

Which one? Vex asked, glancing toward me while its paws barely disturbed the leaves.

“Whichever one gives me a reason,” I said, pulling my coat free when the hem caught against a thorny vine.

You haven’t met any of them, Vex pointed out.

“That isn’t helping their case,” I told it, shoving a broad fern away from the path before it hit me in the face. Vex continued beside me for several yards before speaking again.

The injured one is getting worse, Vex said, and there was less amusement in its voice this time.

“Then I suppose he should have considered that before bleeding inside my wards,” I replied, though my pace had already increased.

You don’t mean that, Vex said, stopping behind me. I made it several more steps before realizing the fox was no longer beside me and turned around.

Vex stood in the middle of the path watching me.

“Four dangerous Alphas entered a ward that has kept me alive for nine years,” I told Vex, gripping the strap across my chest while the marks continued warming beneath my sleeve. “The forest let them through, hid their trail, and my marks reacted to them. Something is chasing them, and one of them is hurt badly enough that you think he might die. I’m allowed to be unhappy about this.”

You are, Vex answered, and for once there was no amusement in its voice. The simple agreement stopped me for a second before I turned and continued toward the cottage.

Vex followed without speaking again.

By the time the clearing came into view, the cold air had worked through the damp sections of my trousers and my hands were beginning to ache. I climbed the two shallow steps, pushed open the door, and went directly to the wall beside the table.

My bow hung from two wooden pegs. I pulled it down and ran my thumb along the string to make sure the damp weather hadn’t weakened it. The string was dry and held the proper tension, so I strapped on the quiver and counted the arrows automatically while checking the fletching.

Fifteen.

Enough unless the four men were considerably more troublesome than I hoped.

I took my better knife from the table and slid it into the sheath at my hip. The second went into my boot, where I could still reach it if someone got close enough to make the bow useless.

Then I crossed to the shelf beside the stove and picked up a small packet of wound powder. My hand had already pushed it into my coat pocket before I stopped and looked down.

“No,” I said aloud, frowning at myself while my fingers remained against the wool.

No what? Vex asked from the doorway, where it had settled onto its haunches with its tail stretched across the floorboards.

“I’m not treating him,” I told Vex, pulling my hand away from the pocket.

I didn’t suggest that you were, Vex replied, watching me while I crossed back toward the table.

“I know what you’re doing,” I said, pointing one finger toward the fox.

Currently, I’m sitting in your doorway, Vex answered, glancing down at its own paws. I stared at it for a moment before shoving the wound powder deeper into my pocket.

“If he dies, he dies,” I told Vex, tightening the buckle on my quiver and tugging once to make sure it wouldn’t slide if I had to run.

That is possible, Vex replied, remaining exactly where it was.

“If he works for the crown, I’m leaving him there,” I added, drawing my knife halfway from its sheath to make sure the leather hadn’t swollen from the damp.

Vex’s tail moved once.

You already established that none of them currently serves the crown, Vex reminded me. I stopped with the knife halfway back into the sheath.

“Fine,” I said, irritated that it had caught me repeating myself. “If he tries anything, I shoot him.”

That sounds more useful, Vex replied, looking mildly entertained again. I slid the bow strap across my body and adjusted it until I could draw the weapon easily without getting tangled in the quiver.

“Stop enjoying this,” I told Vex, giving the fox a pointed look.

No, Vex answered as it stood and moved aside from the doorway.

I paused.

“That might be the most direct answer you’ve given me all morning,” I said, stepping past it.

You should ask better questions more often, Vex replied, following me onto the porch.

I looked down at it with an expression that probably communicated exactly what I thought of that advice.

Then I looked up and stopped.

The southern path usually began at the far edge of the clearing.

Today, it began directly in front of my cottage.

Two black trunks that had stood close enough together yesterday that I had to turn sideways to move between them were now several feet apart. Ferns had shifted away from the center of the trail, no large roots crossed the ground, and even the thorny vines that normally tangled through the southern edge of the clearing had pulled away.

The path continued straight between the trees farther than I could normally see from the porch. The Blackroot had given me the easiest route south.

I hadn’t asked it to.

My fingers tightened around the bow.

“Has it ever done this for anyone else?” I asked Vex, watching as the fox stepped onto the first section of cleared ground.

Vex stopped with one front paw lifted and stared down the path.

Not while you’ve been here, Vex answered before lowering its paw.

The marks beneath my sleeve became warmer. I could stay home. I could close the door, reinforce the cottage wards, and let four strangers deal with whatever trouble had followed them into the Blackroot. I had spent nine years surviving by refusing to involve myself in other people’s problems.

Then I pictured Crown trackers following an Alpha’s blood to my ward line. I looked down the open path again.

The Blackroot had already involved me.

“Fine,” I said, adjusting my grip on the bow before stepping off the porch. “But if this goes badly, I’m blaming both of you.”

That seems unreasonable, Vex replied, glancing back at me while it started south.

“You’ll survive,” I told the fox, falling into step behind it.

Probably, Vex answered, its tail moving once through the damp ferns at the edge of the path.

The trees remained still while we continued deeper into the Blackroot. The trail was almost unnervingly easy to follow. Normally, I had to step over roots, push through brush, or stop when a fallen tree forced me to find another route.

Now there was nothing in the way.

I kept the bow in my left hand and my right near the quiver as we followed the clear path south. We had gone less than a quarter mile when Vex’s head lifted sharply and both ears turned forward.

You need to move faster, Vex said, stopping long enough to listen to something I couldn’t hear.

“Why?” I asked it, stepping over a shallow depression filled with wet leaves.

The nearest one stopped moving, Vex answered, its attention remaining fixed on the trail ahead.

My hand tightened around the bow.

“Good,” I said, though my pace had already increased before the word left my mouth.

Vex looked up at me.

You’re doing it again, it observed while it began walking faster beside me.

“Doing what?” I asked Vex, lengthening my stride to keep pace.

Spending effort on something that cannot repay you, Vex answered, and I could hear enough satisfaction in its voice to know it had been waiting to bring the beetle back into the conversation.

I looked down at the fox.

“He hasn’t gotten anything from me yet,” I told Vex, adjusting the quiver against my shoulder as I started moving faster.

Vex’s ears tipped forward.

Mm, it replied, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. I opened my mouth to ask what that meant, then closed it again.

For once, I had learned something.

The Blackroot kept the path open ahead of us, and beneath my sleeve, the marks stayed warm.