sprouting from the ground. Between the folds of their bark, she saw flowing silver, moving as if alive. Silveroots, she knew—a rare type of Farhaven tree whose sap was pure silver. The cry sounded again, louder this time. So close, she thought. Suddenly Darius’ cormac— Mirkal —took off into a full gallop as if sprinting after the sound.
“Darius!” Gray said, reaching for the reins, but he was too slow.
“Help!” The rogue cried out in surprise, but then he was gone.
Ayva spurred her cormac hard, and Gray did the same. They raced through thick trees, ducking beneath low-hanging branches until they heard another sharp scream. Darius. They parted the last stand of trees. Ayva pulled hard on her reins to slow the animal’s gallop, but before she could, the cormac stopped dead still, nearly catapulting her over its head. When she settled, she took in the scene.
Darius hung upside down in the air, suspended from a bough high above by a thick rope that was wrapped around his ankle. Before him was a woman with fiery red hair spilling over her shoulders. Horror and anger warped Darius’ face, and Ayva realized the woman held a dagger to his throat.
“You fool!” the woman seethed. “You let her get away!”
“Let who get away?” Darius stuttered, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
Her dagger pressed closer.
Gray quickly dismounted, striding toward the woman. Ayva saw he held Morrowil—its tip aimed at the woman’s nape, ready to cut. “If your blade moves another hair, you will find your head and body no longer joined. Now, let him go,” he ordered. Ayva shivered. For all the world Gray pretended to not be Kail, sometimes… he sounded… No, she thought, refusing to think of the mad legend as Gray.
The woman, hearing the threat in Gray’s voice, slowly backed away from Darius.
Quickly, Ayva threw her leg over the saddle and fell to Darius’ side. She eyed the ropes on his ankle. Ayva had seen some knots in her time, but nothing like this. It would make Ole’ Rubis, Lakewood’s weaver, flounder in red-faced confusion.
“Get me out of this cursed thing—all the blood is rushing to my head.” Darius pulled himself up to untie his bonds.
“I wouldn’t…” the woman whispered.
Darius paused. “Why?”
Ayva ignored her and moved to help him.
“If you untie him, you will die.”
“Is that a threat, stranger?” Gray asked stepping forward and pressing Morrowil to the woman’s slender throat.
Ayva took her in finally. Though a dark, dust-cloak hid her frame, it did nothing to detract from her looks. Fiery red hair framed a heart-shaped face. It fell in waves like a waterfall across her shoulders. Her eyes were light brown, soft on anyone else, but on her, they were russet daggers. She eyed all three of them like curious playthings. The woman was gorgeous, in a rough-hewn, hard way. If anything, it only made her all the more attractive, like a flower that bit back.
“My name is Faye. And it is the simple truth. The rope is oiled with a poison, and anyone who touches it will die.” She said the words so plainly, as if speculating whether there would be rain or sunshine.
“Then we can just cut it with a sword…” Gray looked to Ayva. She nodded, unsheathing her dagger. It blazed white, sucking in the clearing’s light.
“Well, that’s not a bad idea on its own,” Faye mused, “but still he will die.”
Ayva hesitated, hand wavering.
“Spit it out,” Gray ordered. “Why?”
The woman nodded to three different points, “In the bushes there, there and there, are fine poisonous darts aimed directly at your friend here. If anyone dares so much as breathe upon that rope, they will fire, triggered by a pulley system. It’s a fairly simple trap, but an effective one.”
Ayva ground her teeth. “Enough. You created it, so you know how to disarm it. Tell us.”
Faye raised a single brow, eyeing Morrowil’s point. “May I?”
“Throw your blade on the ground
“Darius!” Gray said, reaching for the reins, but he was too slow.
“Help!” The rogue cried out in surprise, but then he was gone.
Ayva spurred her cormac hard, and Gray did the same. They raced through thick trees, ducking beneath low-hanging branches until they heard another sharp scream. Darius. They parted the last stand of trees. Ayva pulled hard on her reins to slow the animal’s gallop, but before she could, the cormac stopped dead still, nearly catapulting her over its head. When she settled, she took in the scene.
Darius hung upside down in the air, suspended from a bough high above by a thick rope that was wrapped around his ankle. Before him was a woman with fiery red hair spilling over her shoulders. Horror and anger warped Darius’ face, and Ayva realized the woman held a dagger to his throat.
“You fool!” the woman seethed. “You let her get away!”
“Let who get away?” Darius stuttered, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
Her dagger pressed closer.
Gray quickly dismounted, striding toward the woman. Ayva saw he held Morrowil—its tip aimed at the woman’s nape, ready to cut. “If your blade moves another hair, you will find your head and body no longer joined. Now, let him go,” he ordered. Ayva shivered. For all the world Gray pretended to not be Kail, sometimes… he sounded… No, she thought, refusing to think of the mad legend as Gray.
The woman, hearing the threat in Gray’s voice, slowly backed away from Darius.
Quickly, Ayva threw her leg over the saddle and fell to Darius’ side. She eyed the ropes on his ankle. Ayva had seen some knots in her time, but nothing like this. It would make Ole’ Rubis, Lakewood’s weaver, flounder in red-faced confusion.
“Get me out of this cursed thing—all the blood is rushing to my head.” Darius pulled himself up to untie his bonds.
“I wouldn’t…” the woman whispered.
Darius paused. “Why?”
Ayva ignored her and moved to help him.
“If you untie him, you will die.”
“Is that a threat, stranger?” Gray asked stepping forward and pressing Morrowil to the woman’s slender throat.
Ayva took her in finally. Though a dark, dust-cloak hid her frame, it did nothing to detract from her looks. Fiery red hair framed a heart-shaped face. It fell in waves like a waterfall across her shoulders. Her eyes were light brown, soft on anyone else, but on her, they were russet daggers. She eyed all three of them like curious playthings. The woman was gorgeous, in a rough-hewn, hard way. If anything, it only made her all the more attractive, like a flower that bit back.
“My name is Faye. And it is the simple truth. The rope is oiled with a poison, and anyone who touches it will die.” She said the words so plainly, as if speculating whether there would be rain or sunshine.
“Then we can just cut it with a sword…” Gray looked to Ayva. She nodded, unsheathing her dagger. It blazed white, sucking in the clearing’s light.
“Well, that’s not a bad idea on its own,” Faye mused, “but still he will die.”
Ayva hesitated, hand wavering.
“Spit it out,” Gray ordered. “Why?”
The woman nodded to three different points, “In the bushes there, there and there, are fine poisonous darts aimed directly at your friend here. If anyone dares so much as breathe upon that rope, they will fire, triggered by a pulley system. It’s a fairly simple trap, but an effective one.”
Ayva ground her teeth. “Enough. You created it, so you know how to disarm it. Tell us.”
Faye raised a single brow, eyeing Morrowil’s point. “May I?”
“Throw your blade on the ground
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