White Witch, Black Magic

The next morning, I feel different. Calmer, I guess. But considering I’m about to plunge into an uncharted forest, I doubt this kind of feeling is good. The forest is called The Sylvian Woods, but I remember Will nicknaming it the Woods of Death. Which does nothing to reassure me.

I dress in the travel clothes Zoë laid out for me and find my way to the kitchen. I eat my breakfast there, not daring to reenter the dining room. Zoë discoveries me by the fire and escorts me to the front of the castle, where I meet up with Wren and Avaysia.

Wren is wearing the same thing I am: sturdy boots and a traveling cloak over a cotton shirt and britches. Avaysia, on the other hand, is decked out in a frilly pink dress. She has little jewels in her hair, and a bracelet around her wrist that is probably worth more than my whole house. She has a showy purple cloak draped about her shoulders and sparkly gold slippers on her feet.

“What is she wearing?” I ask Wren.

“An outfit worth more than half the homes in my village put together,” he replies.

“She’s going to freeze in that! The forest is going to be cold.”

Wren shrugs. “The filthy rich will be ridiculous. They have to appear beautiful at all times.”

“Who’s she going to impress in the forest? The trees?”

Wren shrugs again.

The squat man from the tournament is back. He approaches Wren and me, walking purposefully.

“You must arm yourselves,” he says. “Come.”

I say, “Excuse me, what’s your name? You never told us at the tournament.”

“Henry. Now, follow me.”

Wren and I allow Henry to lead us to a rack of weapons. Unlike the ones at the competition, these are real. I select a silver sword. It’s light enough to carry around without hampering me and it feels good in my hand. I also take a dagger and strap it to my right side.

Wren arms himself with a bow and a quiver full of arrows. He has more arrows and an extra bow in his pack, as well as a dagger like mine. At the last minute I grab an extra knife.

Henry hands me an ornately carved stick, gives a little bow, and backs away reverently.

“What’s this for?” I ask him.

“You are a witch! That is your wand! Formed from the wood of the strongest, tallest oak in the kingdom!”

I think of how the little balls of light formed without the use of a wand. Then I remember the reaction that my pathetic little stick had invoked at the tournament. I twirl my hair around the wand and smile at Wren.

“If you need a magic wand, how did you create those balls of light last night?” Wren asks.

“I don’t need a wand. But you saw how people reacted yesterday. Anyone we meet is sure to feel the same way. And it’s not like I won’t be able to do magic because I have it.

Wren contemplates this. “I guess.”

We’re walking off towards the woods with a procession of well-wishers following us when Wren stops me.

“What did you put in your hair?” he asks.

“A stick.”

“No, there’s something else there.”

“I didn’t do anything. What’s it look like?”

“It’s all…” it takes him a moment to think of the right word. “Glittery.”

“Glittery?” I say.

“Yeah. Like it’s got dew drops in it.”

“I have no idea,” I tell him.

Suddenly, a little girl in the crowd lets out a gasp. “Look Mama!” she cries. “The girl with the sword! Her hair—it’s glowing!”

“Glowing?” I ask. “You said it was glittering.”

Wren shrugs. “Glowing, glittering. Same thing. It’s reflecting the sunlight, like it’s laced with dew drops.”

Heads are turning in my direction. Everyone is staring at my sparkling hair. I don’t like being the center of attention. One woman shouts out, “It’s the mark of a witch!”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Did the king really find a witch to escort his daughter to her wedding? Wasn’t there a rumor about a witch at the tournament? Is this her?

This continues as we make our way to the edge of the woods. Finally, mercifully, we reach the dense foliage. Avaysia rides up on her snow white mare, sitting sidesaddle. Strapped onto the horse behind the saddle is a bedroll. Saddle bags clearly hold supplies.

“Here are your horses,” a man says.

He leads two horses over to Wren and me. One is a dusty gray, the other a chestnut. A third horse stands off to the side, behind the others, as if this man doesn’t want us to see him. But as he’s a huge black stallion, he’s sort of hard to miss.

“I thought Dusty for you, sir, and Ginger for you, miss,” the man says.

“What about that black one?” Wren asks. “He would be nice to have on the trip; we could use the extra strength and power.”

“Oh,” he says nervously. “That’s Neverard. You don’t want him.”

“Look at him. Such a beautiful animal. Why wouldn’t we want to take him along?”

Without waiting for an answer, Wren marches over to the stallion and swings up into the saddle. Almost immediately, the animal rears, throwing Wren into the dirt. The other horse, a dapple gray mare, snorts nervously and breathes in Wren’s face.

I help Wren to his feet. The stable hand doesn’t look please.

“Neverard is a tough horse to handle. I tried to warn you, sir. The king insisted we see if you could manage him, though he has yet to be broken in. Please don’t be mad.”

“Mad? Why should I be mad at you?” Wren asks. “I’m the idiot that climbed into the saddle without heeding your warning, and the king is the one who wanted me to try.

The man looks relieved. “No one has been able to stay in Neverard’s saddle yet. I’m Erin, by the way, and I help with the horses. The chestnut, Ginger, she’s nice and gentle. Will she do for you, Miss?”

“Please, call me Emma.”

“Alright then, Emma. Up you go.”

“Wait. May I try riding Neverard?”

Erin shrugs. “If you really want to. I wouldn’t advise it, though. Every boy in the stable has tried without success.”

I pat Neverard on the head. He tosses his mane and snorts angrily. I don’t know why, but I really want to try to ride him. Even though my head barely comes up to his shoulders. Even thought I might get seriously hurt if he throws me.

I take off my sword before attempting anything, not wanting it to get damaged. I place one foot in a stirrup that’s almost as high as my chest. Wren looks impressed that I can get my foot that high, regardless of whether or not I can actually get up. I jump, swing my other leg over Neverard’s back, and haul myself into the saddle, unassisted.

Just as he did when Wren mounted him, Neverard rears. I start to slip off and throw my arms about Neverard’s neck, barely managing to stay on his back. When Neverard is again on four feet, he seems surprised to find me still sitting on him.

He kicks his back legs into the air, but he can’t throw me. Somehow I stay on. Neverard cocks his head to one side and whinnies in a frustrated sort of way. I can feel how tense the muscles beneath his skin are. Neverard prances backward and forward, tossing his head. I gently rub his head between his ears.

“Good boy,” I tell him. “You’re a good boy.”

“Would you look at that,” Erin says. “You’re nuts, Emma.”

“She is a witch,” Wren explains, pulling himself into Dusty’s saddle.

Erin does a double-take. “You-you’re a witch? I heard rumors, but I figured they were just that—rumors. Can you really do magic?”

“A little,” I say.

“Show me!”

Why can’t the king act like this? I think. If only he’d said, ‘That’s so cool, show me some magic tricks, have a nice trip, here’s a ton of gold.’ That have been easier than ‘Ahh! A witch! Steal her family!’

“Okay, but then we have to go,” I tell Erin.

I form one of the little balls of light that I discovered how to make in the dungeon. It bobs around by my head, less impressive in the light than it had been in darkness. Erin doesn’t seem to care. He’s completely enthralled.

“What else can you do?”

“I don’t know,” I confide. “I only just realized I was magical yesterday.”

“Oh, do something else!” Erin begs. “Please?”

“I can try. But no promises.”

I hold my hand out to my sword, which is propped up against a tree. To my amazement—and Erin’s—it flies through the air and into my hand. I buckle it on, smiling.

“Since when could you do that?” Wren asks.

“Since two seconds ago.”

“Are you two ready yet?” Avaysia asks, riding up to us on Winter, a beautiful white mare.

“Yes, princess,” Wren says.

“Ready when you are,” I tell her.

Avaysia spares me a single nasty look before turning her gaze back on Wren. She is clearly still upset about what happened at dinner. I can’t say I blame her, but we’d better patch things up quickly. We have a long journey ahead of us.

The king rides up on a chestnut stallion with a white star and two white socks. He kisses his daughter good-bye on her left cheek. Then he turns to us.

“You keep my Avaysia safe, you hear? Deliver her to Prince Alexander safe and sound, and you shall be rewarded. Your family will be returned their freedom, witch. Money will be showered upon both of you. Good luck.”

He steers his horse off and the queen comes over. She throws her arms around her daughter, nearly knocking Avaysia off of Winter. Queen Dana’s long black hair obscures her face as she whispers something to her daughter.

“I know, Mother. I will,” Avaysia says.

I notice Avaysia’s voice has softened, and she isn’t nearly as stiff or proper. She kisses her mother on the cheek before pushing the queen back into her saddle.

Queen Dana’s fingers brush back a lock of Avaysia’s hair. “Promise me?” she begs.

“I promise, Mother. Good-bye.”

“Stay safe! Farewell!”

Queen Dana backs away, and Avaysia’s little siblings file past, oldest to youngest, Tatiana, Charles, and the twins, Luin and Leatta. Avaysia kisses them all and tells Charles and Luin to watch over their sisters now that she won’t be there to take care of them.

King Dominic and Queen Dana wave us off. Queen Dana and Princess Leatta are both crying. Prince Luin is patting his twin’s hand. Tatiana and Charles sit stiffly on their horses, watching their big sister go. I wonder if they are thinking of how little time they have before they are married off, too. I’m so glad I’m not a royal. They marry to form alliances, not for love. I have the privilege of choosing whom I marry—and when.

Wren leads the way into the woods. People behind us shout words of parting, but the trees soon blot them out. We’ve barely gone twenty paces when the thick web of branches block out both the sun and the others. My home, Regnum, is gone. We are completely alone in these woods. And that’s how it’ll stay for the next twelve days.

I hope.

As my eyes adjust to the gloom, I make out a small path, twisting and turning around the trees. It’s just wide enough for a horse to fit, but Neverard is going to have to squeeze because he’s so big.

“It’s dark,” Avaysia states, like we hadn’t figured that out for ourselves. “I don’t like it.”

Her voice has a hard edge to it again. It’s piercing in the quiet, and I immediately glance around for predators.

“Hush, Princess,” Wren says. “Talking is not advisable. Anyone, or anything, could be listening.”

“Like what?” Avaysia demands. “It’s not like the trees have ears.”

“Bears, trolls, ogres…I’ve heard there are werewolves in here,” I tell her. “They’ll find us because of your noise.”

“Emma! Don’t terrify her. We have to spend twelve days in these woods.”

“Twelve days?!” Avaysia squeals.

“Shh!” Wren and I tell her in unison.

“Well, aren’t you two here to protect me?” Avaysia asks.

“Be that as it may, it would still be advisable not to attract unwanted attention,” Wren explains.

“Wren, we’re going to have to go single file. Do you want to take the lead or bring up the rear?” I inturrupt.

“I’ll take the rear for now. We can switch later.”

It takes us a moment to organize ourselves. The woods are eerily quiet, and for a while it unnerves me. Every snapping twig and every sigh from Avaysia makes me jump and look around. But after a while, I become accustomed to the quiet. Not too long after that, I realize I’m actually enjoying it.

When I glance back at Avaysia and Wren, I can see how well—or, in Avaysia’s case, not well—they’re adjusting to our new surroundings. Avaysia’s head is snapping back and forth, her fingers clenched tightly on Winter’s reins.

Wren, on the other hand, seems even more comfortable then I am. Dusty is plodding along contentedly, munching on grass whenever Wren lets her. Wren is leaning back in the saddle, his bow slung over his shoulder next to his quiver. His eyes flick around, taking in everything.

We make our way steadily through the woods for several hours. The trail twists and turns, and is very difficult to follow. Neverard seems to know exactly where he’s going, though, and I’m not particularly worried.

I’m looking at the sky, trying to gauge the time of day, when Neverard stops. I sit up straighter and peek over his head. On the ground in front of us is a large tree that fell across the path.

“Wren,” I hiss into the silence.

“Yes?” I can tell by the tone of his voice that I made him jump.

“We’ve got a road block. We’ll have to go over it.”

“You mean we’re going to jump it?” Avaysia asks squeakily.

“Yes. Do you know how to jump on horseback?”

“No,” Avaysia replies. “I’m still a beginner rider. And a princess is supposed to have a carriage at all times. Can’t we go around it?”

“And risk falling into something?” Wren says. “No, that’s far to dangerous. Any number of things could be lurking around the trees. We must stay on the path. Which means we have to go over.”

“Avaysia, you’re going to have to join me on Neverard. He can carry us both over; I’ll keep you on. Winter can make it on her own, and Wren can follow.”

“I’m not riding with you! And you should address me as Princess!”

“No one cares if you’re a princess. Not in here. In fact, it makes you an easier target for robbers,” I tell her. “Weak. Scared. Probably carrying a fortune, too. In here, you’d be better off as just Avaysia. We don’t want to broadcast that we’re traveling with royalty. Got it?”

Avaysia sniffs. “Fine.”

“Good. Now get off of Winter and let me help you onto Neverard.”

Avaysia slides out of her saddle and I haul her up behind me. We back up a bit, so Neverard can have a running start. I can feel Avaysia shaking slightly and know she’s terrified.

I pull my feet free and scoot as far forward as I can. “Put your feet in the stirrups,” I instruct. “Lift yourself out of the saddle, but only slightly. And hang onto me tightly. Okay?”

Avaysia squeaks, which I decide to take as a yes. Neverard moves forward as I urge him into a trot, then a canter. He leaps into the air, catapulting himself over the fallen tree.

We land smoothly. I rein in Neverard and turn back to Wren. He’s tied a long rope to Winter’s bridle. He tosses me the other end, which I tug on it until Winter grudgingly breaks into a trot.

Winter reaches the tree and stops, despite my insistent yanks. She tosses her head and knickers. I sigh. Winter isn’t going to jump, that’s for sure. I slide down from Neverard and hand Avaysia the reigns.

“Stay right here. Don’t wander off. I’m going to convince Winter to come over.”

Wren unties the rope from Winter. He holds one end and I grip the other. The tree is level with my chest, and has no handholds. I brace my feet against it and walk myself up, hand over hand, leaning back against the rope.

Wren pulls me over the top and I slip down the other side. He puts the rope away while I climb onto Winter. After sitting on Neverard for so long, I feel short. The jump suddenly seems a lot bigger.

I click my tongue at Winter and steer her forwards. She’s cantering when we reach the tree. “Come on girl,” I whisper. Winter leaps into the air and we clear the tree with several inches to spare.

Avaysia and I switch back while Wren jumps the tree. Then he guides Dusty into the lead. Neverard and I bring up the rear, which Neverard doesn’t seem too like much. I can’t blame him.

After about another hour, Avaysia seems to relax a bit. She sits more comfortably, letting Winter’s movements rock her. She doesn’t clench her hands around the reigns quite so tightly, either.

I hear a rustling in a nearby tree. My sword is instantly in hand, and Wren has already sent an arrow flying. There’s an almost inaudible thump and the leaves rub together again.

A squirrel falls out of the tree, the arrow protruding from its eye. As it falls towards the ground, I reach out and catch it. I pull the arrow free. Avaysia looks at me like I’m crazy, but Wren seems to understand.

“Dinner,” I say, smiling.

“Ever had squirrel soup, Avaysia?” Wren asks.

Avaysia wrinkles up her nose. “No thank you. I’ll stick to my rations.”

“We’re going to save those rations for later. There may be a time when food is scarce.”

“Fine,” Avaysia snaps. “But we should stop for the night soon.”

“In a few hours, yes,” I tell her. “But for now, we keep going. Well, we’ll continue after the squirrel.”

Wren and I clean the kill and roast it over a fire. We eat quickly, supplementing the little bit of meat with some of our rations. We move out as soon as possible. Night is starting to fall, but we press on. I want to cover as much ground as we can.

After a few more hours, though, we’re forced to stop. None of us wants to set up camp in complete dark, so we find a small clearing, about six paces across. I tie Dusty, Winter, and Neverard to a low tree branch and set out some water for them while Wren sets up the tent.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Avaysia asks.

“No,” replies Wren. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m not sleeping with her. I have to have a tent of my own.”

“Then you can set it up on your own,” Wren snaps. “You’ll be fine. I’m sure her common blood won’t rub off on you while you sleep.”

“If you don’t do it, I’ll scream as loud as I can,” Avaysia warns.

I can tell she means it too. I step between them to intervene before things get nasty. As Wren starts to snap at Avaysia again, I step between them, one hand outstretched to each of them. Wren’s eyes are flashing dangerously, and Avaysia’s hands are balled into fists.

“Avaysia,” I say, “screaming would be stupid. And you aren’t going to do it. I’ll set up your stupid tent, okay? So will you both just calm down? We’ve had a long day. Let’s try not to do anything rash.”

I summon up a few lights so I can see what I’m doing and begin to assemble Avaysia’s tent. I think it’s a waste of time—and space—but she is a princess. So I do it. Wren has strung a hammock up between two trees and is already cocooned in his sleeping bag.

“There,” I say. “That’ll have to do, Avaysia.”

Avaysia sniffs and tosses her hair. “I suppose I can make it work.”

“Good. Wren, I’ll take the first watch.”

I settle down to protect our camp. My little balls of light flicker at intervals around the perimeter of the camp, providing enough light to see by. My shift is boring, and it’s all I can do to stay awake.

When I estimate half the night to have passed, I stumble to Wren’s hammock. But he isn’t there. I glance around and risk hissing his name a few times. There’s no response from him.

“Wren! Where are you?” I call into the night as loudly as I dare.

In the following silence, I hear the bushes rustle. I draw my sword and level it with the shrubbery. Wren emerges from them. When he sees me he looks startled. I breathe a sigh of relief and lower the sword.

“Where were you?” I demand.

“Um….” Wren shifts from foot to foot. “I had to go and, ah, use a tree.” His face is glowing. I hardly notice his embarrassment, though. I’m too sleepy.

“Oh. Well, it’s your turn to keep watch. I’m going to bed. I’m so tired,” I say, yawning. “Night.”

“Good night,” Wren says.

He slings his quiver over his shoulder, nocks an arrow, and leans against a tree. His eyes dart over the camp, taking in everything. I head to the smaller tent and unroll my sleeping bag. I slide inside it, not bothering to change out of my clothes. I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow.

When I wake, the woods are lighter. Greenish sunlight does it’s best to illuminate the world. I pull on my boots and pack up my gear before emerging from the tent. Wren isn’t sitting by his tree like he’s supposed to be.

I walk over, wondering where he went. I find him, sprawled across the ground, bow unloaded and at least a foot away from his outstretched hand. His light brown hair hangs in his face, moving every time he exhales.

I prod him with my foot. “I feel really safe with you watching out for us,” I say.

Wren looks guilty. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Guess I dozed off.”

“How soon should we wake Avaysia?”

“I think she woke herself.”

Sure enough, Avaysia comes stumbling out of her tent, bleary-eyed and groggy. She trips over her own feet and tumbles to the ground with a high-pitched shriek. Her cry startles a bird from a nearby tree. It takes off and has an arrow protruding from its neck before it’s flown two feet. Wren moves almost as fast as thought.

“You cook, I’ll break camp,” Wren says, retrieving his arrow. “Princess…just try to stay out of trouble.”

Avaysia sits up and folds her arms across her chest. Her hair is tangled and looks nothing like the lush blonde curtain that hung around her face yesterday. Her gown’s hem is muddy.

“I have to change,” she declares. “But I want breakfast first.”

I serve her a portion of the bird and she goes off to get herself dolled up. I wonder if she really thinks that what she looks like makes that big a difference to the woodland creatures and the trees.

Wren and I eat quickly then finish packing everything up. I saddle the horses and we leave, following the trail.

The woods look exactly the same as they did yesterday, and I begin to wonder if we’re heading the wrong way. I reign in Neverard and we all stop. I turn to face Wren, who already has an arrow loaded, ready for whatever danger I’ve paused for.

“What is it?” Avaysia asks, her fingers trembling on her reins.

“Everything looks to same as it did yesterday,” I say.

They both relax visibly.

“So?” Wren questions.

“I think we’re heading back the way we came.”

Wren pulls out a gold circle and flips it open. I chew my lip, frustrated. If the canopy of leaves weren’t so dense, I would be able to distinguish direction in a heartbeat. It’s easy to follow the sun, gauging time and direction off of shadows and the like. But here everything is mildly green, the lighting the same no matter where the sun is.

“That’s the way we need to go,” Wren says, nodding back down the path. “You were right. We did start off in the wrong direction.”

We turn our horses about—a difficult feat on the narrow confines of the forest—and plunge on. We move at a brisk clip, desperate to make up lost time. We have to reach the other kingdom, Flumen, in time for Avaysia’s wedding. I suddenly realize I know nothing about our destination. I glance back at Avaysia, who’s sure to know something on the subject.

“So, Avaysia,” I say. “What’s Flumen like?”

Avaysia shrugs. “I’ve never been there. I know it borders the ocean, though.”

“What’s the royal family like?”

“King Louis and Queen Margaret are nice enough, but I can’t really judge. I’ve only met them once, after all.”

“What about your betrothed?”

Avaysia fidgets in her saddle. “Prince Alexander? He’s….um…” She struggles for words for a moment. “He’s—what was that?”

Avaysia stops speaking and looks around nervously. Dusty and Winter are stomping their hooves. Only Neverard stands his ground. I know what’s making them so uneasy. The ground is shaking beneath us. And somehow, I don’t think I want to meet whoever is creating the vibrations.

“Wren, do you have any idea what’s causing this?” I ask, trying not to sound terrified.

Suddenly, the quaking earth stills. Wren let’s out a squeak I wouldn’t have thought him capable of producing. He points off in the distance. I follow the line of his finger and almost fall off Neverard when I realize what I’m looking at.

“I’m guessing it was that giant,” Wren says.

“What do we do?” Avaysia whimpers.

“Um…either we run for it,” I say.

“Or no one moves,” Wren concludes.

The giant grunts and looks around. His gaze lingers on Wren, Avaysia, and me. That’s when I know that we’re cooked. He comes straight for us, shaking the ground with every step.

Forest creatures flee the giant. I see deer darting in between trees and squirrels scampering away. I’m torn, trying to decide if we should stick to the path or follow the animals.

“Trail or animals?” I shout to Wren.

He seems to understand my meaning. “Follow the animals! They know where they’re going!”

“But how will we find the trail again?” Avaysia wails.

“We’ll figure that out later,” I tell her. “Let’s get out of here. Preferably before we get squished.”

Neverard wheels about and we charge off the trail. The only trouble is, the horses don’t fit through the trees very well. As Neverard plows out a path, I see a small black cat dart along. I briefly wonder where it came from, but then Avaysia screams and I whirl around. The giant is catching up with her, so close I have to lean way back to see his head.

The giant is huge, at least forty feet tall. His head is shaped like a fat watermelon and is covered with a mop of matted hair. His eyes are as big as my head, his hands large enough to lay spread-eagled on.

He reaches for Avaysia. She and Winter scream in unison. Winter runs faster, but she’s no match for a giant. The giant stretches out a hand and plucks Avaysia off Winter. The horse dashes away, running for her life.

“We have to go back for her,” I tell Neverard.

He tosses his head and snorts as if to say, “Are you nuts, lady?” but turns back just the same.

Not knowing what else to do, I head towards the giant. I see Wren shooting arrows at him, but they just bounce uselessly off his thick hide. I point my finger at the hand holding Avaysia and imagine fire scorching him. A thin red streak shoots from my finger and burns the giant.

He howls and drops Avaysia. She manages to catch a branch that slows her fall before breaking off. She snatches at another, which cracks as well. Then Avaysia hits a bough that holds. She dangles there, struggling not to fall.

“Owie,” the giant says in a booming voice that shakes the trees. “Dat hurt!” He rubs his hand where I burned him. “Where Pincess Witchy?” he asks.

No one answers him. Why would we? He roars out his question again, and Avaysia slips from her branch. She plummets towards the ground—right into Wren’s waiting arms. She bursts into tears and buries her face in Wren’s shirt, clinging to him.

Wren wraps one arm around her protectively and uses the other to dig out his rope. He tosses me an end and makes a circle motion in the air with his hand. I can guess what he’s trying to tell me.

I grip my end of the rope and spur Neverard on. I go one way and Wren guides Dusty the other. Together, we loop the rope around the giant’s ankles twice. I have the bigger horse, so whenever we cross paths, Wren has to duck.

“Now!” Wren shouts.

We turn and speed in opposite directions, tightening the loops around the giant. His feet snap together and he overbalances. He falls, smashing trees as he goes. Wren and I scramble out of the way. The giant hits the ground with an almighty crash, blowing all three horses off their feet.

I pick myself up and make sure Neverard is okay. When I’m certain he’s alright, we go in search of the others. Wren, Dusty, and Winter are fine, but Avaysia is unconscious.

“Probably better that way,” Wren says. “She was in hysterics when I caught her.”

“Can’t blame her. She did almost get carried off by a giant.”

“True.”

We leave Neverard, Dusty, and Winter clustered around Avaysia while we check on the giant. He’s drooling on the ground. The fall must have knocked him out. I place my hand on his grimy head and wipe the last ten minutes of his memory. Or at least, I think I do. This whole magic thing is still new to me.

“What are you doing?” Wren asks.

“Modifying his memory.”

“Since when could you do that?”

“Since two seconds ago. I don’t want him waking up and chasing us down again. There, that should do it.”

“Ready? We need to clear out of here as soon as possible.”

Wren and I secure Winter to Neverard. Then Wren mounts Dusty and I hand Avaysia up to him. He hauls her into the saddle in front of him and rests her head on his shoulder. I mount Neverard. Wren and I are going to switch who has Avaysia, at least until she wakes up. I hope that when she does, Wren is carrying her.

“Do you know why a giant would attack us?” Wren asks me.

“No. The only thing I know about giants—other than that they’re huge—is that they’re really stupid. So I don’t think he decided to come after us on his own.”

“Unless he just thought Avaysia’s dress was pretty.”

“That is a possibility. But how did he know she’s a princess? And he seemed to know who I am, too.”

The giant gives a snore that shakes the forest. Wren and I spur on our horses and we hurry away. It isn’t long before I realize we have a problem. When we ran from the giant, we lost the path. Which way do we go now?

“Um, Wren?” I say.

“Yes, Emma?”

“Which way was the path?”

“Uh-oh.”

“Are we lost?”

Wren nods. “I suppose we could follow the compass east.”

“I thought Flumen was west of Regnum.”

“All right, we go west then.”

“But what if it was east? What if we go west and end up back in Regnum? Or worse, come out someplace else, like Collina?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to guess.”

“Maybe Avaysia knows. Try to wake her.”

Wren gently shakes Avaysia’s shoulder and says her name until her eyes flutter open. She blinks up at him, confusion and fear playing across her face.

“The giant! W-what happened?”

“It’s all right. You’re safe now,” Wren assures her. “But we need to know what direction Flumen is in.”

“The west. Why?”

“We’re lost,” I say.

“Lost?” Avaysia squeaks.

“Not really,” Wren cuts in, shooting me a look. “Emma is just trying to scare you.”

“I am not! I’m telling her the truth. We got off the path while running from the giant. By definition, we’re lost.”

“No, we aren’t. We go west, and make our own path. We’ll end up in Flumen eventually.”

“Or Montanum,” Avaysia says.

“Or the ocean,” I add.

“Emma! Not helping,” Wren snaps.

I shrug. “Well, I guess we just forge on then, huh?”

“I suppose,” Avaysia agrees.

She slips from Dusty’s back and mounts her own horse. Winter knickers and rubs her head against Avaysia’s leg. Wren takes the lead and we follow his compass west. It’s a little scary—wandering through the unfamiliar woods, guided only by a compass.

Conversation is practically nonexistent. We manage to sneak in several more hours of traveling before the sunset stops us. As before, Avaysia makes me set up a separate tent for her.

We have a quick dinner of rabbit with a bit of chipmunk. Wren takes first watch that night. I grin at him and say, “Don’t fall asleep on us again.”

Wren grimaces and climbs into a tree. “Now I’ll wake up if I doze off,” he says.

“Just don’t fall and break your neck.”

I line the campsite with the balls of light again before slipping into bed. Before I drift off, I think about all that happened today. And I can’t help but wonder: if we were facing giants today, what could possibly be lying in wait for us tomorrow?