Divine Rivals (Letters of Enchantment, #1)(108)

“So we’re going to walk all the way to Oath?” she asked, a bit snidely.

“Yes. Until it’s safe to board a train.”

They traversed the next few hours in silence, until her brother was ready to make camp.

Perhaps Forest would finally explain himself here.

She waited for it, but her brother remained quiet, sitting on the other side of the fire from her. She watched the shadows dance over his lean, freckled face.

Eventually she could bear it no longer.

“Where’s your company, Forest? Your platoon? A lieutenant wrote to me, explaining that you joined another auxiliary force.”

Forest stared at the flames, as if he hadn’t heard her.

Where is your uniform? she inwardly added, wondering why he had gone to such lengths to steal one of Roman’s jumpsuits. Although it was becoming more evident that her brother was a deserter.

“They’re gone,” he replied suddenly. “Every last one of them.” He threw another branch on the fire before lying down on his side. “You can take the first watch.”

She sat quietly, her mind racing. She wondered if he was speaking about his Fifth Landover Company. The one that had been slaughtered at Lucia River.

She didn’t feel it was right to press him for clarity, and so she thought of other things.

Attie and Marisol most likely got away in the lorry. They would be driving east. Iris knew she could eventually find them at River Down, with Marisol’s sister.

But she wasn’t sure about Keegan’s fate.

She wasn’t sure about Roman’s.

Her stomach ached. Everything within her ached.

The fire was beginning to burn low.

Iris stood and brushed pine needles from her backside, looking for a new stick to add to the flames. She found one on the edges of the darkness, a shudder racking her spine as she returned to the camp, feeding the fire.

Forest was awake, staring at her over the sparks.

His gaze startled her at first, until she lowered herself back down to the ground. Her brother shut his eyes again.

She realized he thought she was attempting to run.

Dear Kitt,

I returned to the field to find you. I crawled through the gold, felt the grass cut my hands to ribbons. I strained my eyes for a glimpse of you, and only found traces of your blood and a circle in the dirt that I can’t explain.

Are you safe? Are you well?

I don’t know what happened after my brother took me away from Avalon Bluff. I don’t know if you survived the gas, and while it seems impossible, I feel like you did. I feel like you are sitting somewhere safe, wrapped in a blanket and sipping a bowl of soup, and your hair is even more tangled than before, bordering on rogue at the moment. But you are breathing beneath the same moon, the same stars, the same sun as me, even as the kilometers are growing between us.

In spite of all of that hope, my fear is sharper. It’s a knife in my lungs, cutting me a little more, a little deeper with each breath I take. I fear I will never see you again. I fear that I won’t get the chance to say all the things I never said to you.

I don’t have my typewriter. I don’t even have pen and paper. But I have my thoughts, my words. They once connected me to you, and I pray that they’ll reach you now. Somehow, someway. An old trace of magic in the wind.

I’ll find you whenever I can.

Yours,

Iris

On the fourth day of traveling with Forest, the road came into view. Iris tried to tamp down her excitement, but it must have been evident when she suggested they walk along it.

“It’ll be faster, Forest,” she said.

He only shook his head, as if he was loath to be seen by anyone but her.

He made sure to pull them deeper into the woods. And while they could hear the lorries rumbling by, Iris couldn’t see them.

Attie and Marisol.

Their names rolled through her like a promise. She hoped Attie hadn’t waited too long for her. That Attie had sensed the awful truth—that she and Roman weren’t coming—when the minutes had continued to pass without them appearing. Or perhaps Attie had found Roman, and he was currently with them.

I will find you at River Down, Iris thought, watching the wind whisper through the trees. Keep going, Attie. Don’t slow down for me. Don’t worry about me.

That night, Forest moved slowly when he built the fire. He moved like he was wounded, and when patches of blood began to seep through the chest of his jumpsuit, Iris jumped to her feet.

“Forest … you’re bleeding.”

He glanced down at the bright red spots. He winced but waved her away. “It’s nothing, Iris. Eat your dinner.”

She stepped closer to him, dismay eclipsing her thoughts. “Let me help you.”

“No, it’s fine, Iris.”

“It doesn’t look fine.”

“It’ll stop in a moment.”

She bit her tongue, watching him touch the blood. “I didn’t know you were wounded. You should have told me.”

Forest grimaced. “They’re old wounds. Nothing to worry about.” But his voice was ragged, and she was sorely worried about him.

“Sit down,” she said. “I’ll fix your dinner.”

To her relief, Forest heeded her. He settled close to the fire, his shoulders hunched as if he was holding the pain close.