Page 36 of A Touch of Shadows

Elodie had never elaborated on what those terrible things might be, but after last night Wren could guess. If Finn had not been there…

That power had filled her almost to breaking point. She’d felt herself teetering on the edge. Anything she wanted could be hers, if she listened to the song in the darkest places of the shadows, if she let it in. She could be strong, safe, loved… if she just gave in.

He could be hers.

Just like the voice in her dreams had promised.

And she almost had, she realised. For Finn. To save him. To make him hers. She couldn’t say what had stopped her. Perhaps just Finn, the way he had looked at her.

She couldn’t do that to him.

As they continued to walk in silence, Wren turned the events over and over, tried to examine the feelings running riot inside her. But she kept coming back to the feeling of his body against hers, his kiss, the blind and all-consuming need she had felt. And still felt.

It was not as strong, but each time she so much as glanced his way, she felt it. A hunger. A want.

It wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be feeling this. He’d been hurt and in danger, and she had taken advantage of that. But she’d felt him respond.

They ought to talk about it, but she was not brave enough to bring it up.

Sometime after midday Finnian called a stop. They ate meagre rations in silence.

‘I’ll check out the path ahead,’ he said abruptly. ‘We must be nearly at the southern road. I want to make sure there are no surprises awaiting us.’

Surprises, like witchhunters, Wren supposed.

Part of her wanted to argue that it was too dangerous to split up, that they ought to stay together, but she no longer had the energy. Everything hurt and the constant guilt inside her made her miserable. So she just nodded.

‘Stay here and stay hidden,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ He made to leave but glanced back at her, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t define. Like he didn’t want to leave her here. Like it might be the last time he looked on her. The thought sent a pang of alarm through her.

‘Finnian,’ she said. ‘Please, Finn… take care.’

He hesitated, and his lips parted in surprise. Perhaps he meant to say something in reply but then thought better of it. Instead, he offered her a bow and then he was gone.

Sitting alone in the clearing, Wren closed her eyes, listening to the forest around her. All was good. The birds sang, and the leaves whispered their own songs. No danger then. No threats. She was deep in the greenwood and nothing could harm her here. It would warn her, if danger threatened. She just had to wait.

But the moment she let her mind relax, she could feel the insidious touch of the man from her dreams. His voice whispered in her ear, the voice of the darkness, promising such things. Ghostly lips trailed down the side of her throat, teasing the sensitive skin there.

Let go, little one…

Wren’s eyes shot open, but there was no one near her. The world around was still undisturbed. Shadow kin couldn’t come at her in daylight, and the fragments tangled in the shadows beneath the trees were too weak to do any harm.

What had she just heard?

She had to do something, something to keep her mind occupied and her magic-hungry body under control. Then she remembered the diary. She dug it out of her pack and held it in her shaking hands. Were there answers in here? There had to be. Or could Elodie use it to make contact with her again? That was a hope, albeit a desperate one. She didn’t want to share it with Finn, as the words inside belonged to Elodie and he had enough suspicions about her already. A queen. Really.

And yet, she could half believe it. Elodie had often acted as if everyone needed to jump at her command. Wren knew that better than anyone.

The lost queen of Asteroth was a legend. Queen Aeryn had died fighting the Nox and it suited the regents’ council to pretend she still lived in order to maintain power. A romantic story that didn’t hold up to reality.

Elodie didn’t like to talk about history, but the story was well known. Wren had heard it many times in Thirbridge. They’d never linked it to the hedge witch, but that was hardly surprising.

Here, in her hands, there might be some answers. If not about the fate of the lost queen, then about where Elodie herself had come from. It felt like an invasion of privacy, but Wren didn’t know what else to do. It wasn’t like she could ask permission.

Opening the soft leather cover, she began to read.

Elodie’s writing looped gently over the paper, and Wren was put in mind of her voice, of the way she told stories, especially when Wren had been small. When storms had raged outside and rain slammed against the shutters, when Elodie had snuggled her close and told her there was nothing to fear.

She could almost imagine she could feel Elodie’s arms around her now.