The Dreaming Forest (Secrets of the Sorrowood Book One) by L.B. Black

Author:L.B. Black [Black, L.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aqua Regia Press
Published: 2022-12-15T06:00:00+00:00

The Same Mote of Stardust

She was glad her muscles burned so much it was almost as if they were eating through her bones. It forced her to focus on navigating the narrow trails, giving her mind no time to wander to the way the forest came alive with whispers whenever she attempted to listen.

It wasn’t simply the birds screaming to each other, or the fox, who had wept about hunger in a tender voice at odds with her monstrous body. The trees spoke slowly, though they mostly repeated a few messages. The first: The Barrow King has returned.

The Barrow King; Quinn. The trees spoke the words with no emotion or sign of why they were so interested in his presence.

Speaking of fey kings, her soreness was a decent distraction from the way it had felt to collapse against him. It wasn’t just the solidness of his arms and shoulders, no doubt the result of swinging that bardiche around for years. She hadn’t been able to wrap her head around that damn light between them, and it frightened her to admit how much she wanted to feel it again.

It was the one time she’d felt calm since coming to the Green Country and the only time she’d felt safe. Especially considering the other thing the trees liked to whisper was her name.

They’d heard the fox’s high-pitched scream an hour ago—a piercing cry that had meant FINALLY, FINALLY, FOOD—but since then, the woods had been quiet and Isst hadn’t sounded his alarm again.

“Lydia,” Quinn said. She tried not to look at him unless absolutely necessary, but the breathlessness in his voice made her turn. An owl with glittering emerald eyes watched them from a low branch.

“I need to… the fox got in a good blow. I need to stitch myself up,” he said. “There are some medical supplies in the satchel.”

The pallor of his face was startling. Lydia was used to the beauty of the fey by now, even if she secretly preferred Quinn’s features, which were less angular than his cousin’s—a softness and roundness that were a gift from the Lady of the Lower World. But this was the first time she had seen one of the fey look ill. Pale blue veins spread across his throat like a spiderweb, and Lydia remembered the fox’s black spittle. Could it have been venomous?

“My mother’s blood gives me some extra resilience. I’ll be fine. Truly. I just need to tend to the wound,” he said. Lydia was beginning to resent the way he always seemed to know what she was thinking.

“There’s a creek a few yards ahead. It might give us a chance to speak with Isst,” she told him, having checked the book a few moments ago to make sure they were on the correct path.

Quinn nodded, his mouth fixed in a straight line.

The creek was wider than expected, offering a decent view of the sky. She tried to focus on searching for her raven as Quinn unbuttoned his shirt to examine the damage the fox had done.

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