Wyld Heart (Wyld Heart 1)

Chapter 17 - Wicked

RED

The woman was stunningly beautiful, with slanted, upturned eyes as green as her gardens, shot through with grey shards that reminded me of the mountains beyond them. They were lined with some kind of black ink that brought out the splash of colour in her lips and complimented the honeyed tones of her hair, swept up in an elaborate knot at the back of her head.

Her smile faltered. I was dimly aware, through my peripheral vision, that she was dressed in a black silk kimono embroidered with pink cherry blossoms. But I could not seem to tear my eyes away from hers; from the slitted pupils that gleamed as they darted for my throat, dilating as they fixed on my jugular it reminded me all too much of a cat ready to pounce.

"Where did you get that necklace?" she asked softly, her voice like the whispering of a match before a woosh of flame.

I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound came out. I couldn't think of the right words; a good way to explain that I had stolen it, from the deathbed of the man who'd fed and clothed and sheltered me all my life. That the arrow that killed him had become my symbol of hope these past few days.

The guilt must have shown in my face, because all of a sudden her hand was grasping my throat, lifting me into the air. I choked, eyes bugging out of my head and legs flailing for purchase as she lifted me higher and higher. Too high, I realised with a stab of terror, gripping onto the invisible clamp at my neck for dear life. Not a hand; she was stringing me up through pure force of will. And if she let go, I'd splatter on the ground like a bug.

Or perhaps I was becoming one. My vision was going dark at the edges, but I was more concerned about the light leaking out of my pores. It was the same buttery yellow as the fireflies bobbing around my head, and the pressure around my throat was starting to spread, creeping along every inch of my body. I strained against the spell for all I was worth, refusing to be crushed like a grape, but it squeezed the air out of my lungs and the sense out of my head. I went limp, head lolling and eyes drifting towards the iron cottage, now just a blurry streak against the orange sky.

I was going to die.

I supposed I deserved it for knocking on the door of the Witch of the Wylds. I cursed my stupidity, for not seeing the danger from a mile away, like the others had. I'd become arrogant after my recent successes, almost all of which were thanks to the silver wolf I could hear fighting valiantly below, no doubt trying to come to my rescue yet again. It had felt so good to return the favour with the Orchid Mantis, but this was a foe beyond my imagining. Beyond his capabilities, too, from the sounds of the struggle below.

Still, to be reduced to this...

The slitted vents in the door, the windows, swam before my eyes. I almost died from sheer embarrassment when I realised her house really was an oven in disguise. And I was going to choke to death out here before I even had the chance to burn alive inside it, like all the children in Brollo's stories. My tongue was already swelling, my veins seconds away from popping. Useless, useless -

A sharp yelp filtered through the roaring blood in my ears, followed by an incomprehensible series of snapping sounds. My heart lurched up into my throat. For so many bones to give way so quickly --

Heat tore through my body. My skin rippled like molten ore as the light oozing from my pores changed from a buttery yellow to a blazing gold. "Leave him alone!" I shrieked, wrestling even harder against my invisible bonds. I could have sworn I felt them slacken just the tiniest amount. "I'll kill you. I'll kill you --"

"Enough!"

A man's voice sliced through the air like a steel blade, forged in the flames of fear and fury. I couldn't see who it belonged to, but the pressure on my body eased a little, as if the witch was pausing to listen to what he had to say.

"It's my arrow," the man said, voice hoarse and strained. "I'm the one you want, not her. Let her go."

A drop of silence fell, only to splash against the witch's icy words. "How, exactly, did it come into your possession?"

"I stole it," he admitted, mulch crunching as he took a step forward. "I needed an ashwood weapon and heard the Witch of the West was in the business of carving them. So I set fire to her workshop and made off with a bow and a full quiver while she was busy trying to salvage the rest of her stock."

"I believe it," the witch said slowly. I almost breathed a sigh of relief when she added: "I believe that you are all good for nothing thieves."

The band around my throat constricted, crushing my windpipe. The man roared, a sound that was quickly cut off. I could only assume from his strangled cry that he was bound by magic, too. Thunder cracked open the sky, but Eddy's lightning was drawn straight to the metal rod on the cottage roof, zinging along the iron shingles and down the walls before channeling to the hidden heart of the structure. It hummed with power.

"Do you think me a fool?" the witch hissed, a sound like swarming bees. "There are enough holes in your story to pass it off as a watering can! There is no quiver or bow upon your back. No explanation for why you would tear the arrowhead from the ashwood shaft that made it valuable in the first place. No," she snarled, lifting me even higher in the air. My stomach lurched at the drop below my swinging legs. "My sister gave you a symbol of her favour. And you were stupid enough to flaunt it while you tried to knock down my door!"

There was no point in trying to explain that I had knocked gently, in hopes of asking for directions. I could barely breathe, let alone think. Yet somehow the man below found the strength to do both.

"I sent that arrow flying into the heart of the Blood Moon Alpha," he snarled. The words sank deep into my skin as I realised who was talking. Who I had been travelling with all this time; who had lied to me. "I was waiting for news of his death when I saw her climb over the walls and make a run for it, that arrowhead swinging from her neck. I've been following her ever since."

"And your ashwood weapon?" the witch demanded to know.

"Stashed in the hollow of a tree, deep in the Rotten Sea. I left it there so we could travel quickly, once I realised she was being pursued."

He knew. He knew the Blood Moon Pack had sent someone after me, to bring me home, and not once had he shifted to warn me! Tears of frustration burned behind my eyes, adding to the building pressure in my head. It wasn't that I felt cheated of a choice; I would have forged on to the mountains regardless, with or without the knowledge that Hunter was on my tail. As I had chosen when I heard those signalling howls echo across the Ashen Plains.

But to know that the Wraith had worked so hard to keep me at arm's length, and only to keep me from the arms of his enemy's son...

Tears flowed down my cheeks unchecked. I was surrounded by people, and yet somehow felt more alone than ever.

"What do you think, wyvern?" the witch asked my remaining companion, who was probably delighted to see me hanging from invisible gallows. "You've been awfully quiet through all of this."

Lady Midnight hesitated. "Why does it matter what I think?"

"Because I saw you flying overhead just a day ago," the witch said. "Which means you haven't been in their company for long and are likely to vouch for their true character. So. Do you believe their story?"

I arched my neck, straining for a glimpse of the people on the ground. I just managed to catch a sliver of Lady Midnight's upturned face, creased in a frown.

"I do," she said, sounding surprised by her own words. "I don't know about him," she admitted, jutting her chin at the Wraith, who stood just beyond the limits of my vision. "But I trust her judgment. She has a kind heart."

The witch paused. "I see."

The stars in her eyes were the last thing I saw before mine rolled into the back of my head.