The Hunt for Havarlorn Hills (The Fate of the World Tree Book 2) by Mirajane

Author:Mirajane [Mirajane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-23T16:00:00+00:00

19

Avery

The goat at my side bleated out a sad melody as if it knew what awaited it at midnight. I scratched its side, offering what little comfort I could give while reminding myself it was virtual. Bea sat on the bank of the river, her hunter’s eyes scanning for danger. It was the longest afternoon of my life, feeling the tension radiating from her every second that we waited for Fossegrim to appear.

If I had any faith she’d follow through, I’d have asked her to leave. But she was loyal to a fault, and I knew she wouldn’t break Rowan’s orders easily. I stared at her through the darkness, her lean body curled in anticipation of whatever trick lay in wait. If only I could make her see that I wasn’t her competition.

“Keep hold of that thing. The cold is settling.” She didn’t look at me when she spoke, but I tightened my grip on the rope. Waiting for Fossegrim was oddly more stressful than fighting a dungeon. I remembered waiting for the giant spider, Ora, only to be ambushed by The Seventh Sun. My eyes flicked across the forest, noticing for the first time how odd it was that not a single Sprite had shown up for the event.

“What are you doing?” Bea asked, irritation obvious in her voice when I stood up and peered into the forest. I ignored her, quieting my breathing so I could hear any sound the woods offered. A twig snapped and I froze, only to realize it was under my own foot. The anticipation choked me until, exactly at midnight, a dissonant chord bled through the still night.

Turning for the river, with my heart pounding out a punishing rhythm in my chest, I saw where he stood on the rock, holding an intricate fiddle. Bea was a thorn in my side, but I had to applaud her tracking skills. She stood on the bank with an arrow drawn, but he made no move to strike.

Fossegrim was impish and filled with obvious mischief. He stood three feet tall at most, his ears pointed back like the Elves, but he didn’t have their proud, straight-backed stance. Instead, he hunched like a gremlin, his pointed nose and gleaming eyes just this side of terrifying.

“What do I do?” I asked him.

“How in the hell should I know?” Bea answered. I rolled my eyes at her. Fossegrim looked at her bow warily, and I gestured for her to lower it. She did, but he still looked bothered by her presence when he beckoned to me. I took the goat in my arms and stepped toward the river.

“It could be a trap,” she stated, grabbing my arm on my way past, and I shot her a glare.

“Then you’ll be glad to be rid of me.” I shook her off and stepped into the water, wading toward the center rock with my eyes fixed on his deep blue skin. His hair fell in wisps of black to his shoulders, and he dropped the fiddle from his shoulder, reaching out for the goat.

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