“Some of them.”
A tremor coursed through me.
“I told you not to look.”
“I know.”
But I had.
Just like I couldn’t close my eyes now. The red leaves glistened in the fading sun, looking like a million leaves had captured tiny pools of blood. It was a sight as horrifying as it was disturbingly beautiful.
The horses slowed, and Airrick’s mount reared, shaking its head, but he pushed forward. We advanced, my heart thundering as the branches stretched toward us, their slick leaves rippling softly, seeming to beckon us forward.
The temperature dropped the second we passed under the first branches, and nearly all the sun that remained couldn’t penetrate the leaves. Goosebumps pimpled my skin as I looked up. Some of the branches were so low that I thought I could possibly reach up and touch one of the leaves shaped like the ones found on a maple tree. I didn’t, though.
No one spoke as we fell into line, two by two, side by side, following the path that had been worn into the ground. Everyone kept their eyes peeled. Since there was no crunching, I felt safe looking down.
“No leaves,” I said.
“What?” Hawke leaned into me, keeping his voice low.
I scanned the rapidly darkening floor of the forest. “There are no leaves on the ground. It’s just grass. How is that possible?”
“This place is not natural,” Phillips answered.
“That would be an understatement,” Airrick added, looking around.
Hawke leaned back. “We will need to stop soon. The horses need rest.”
Pressure clamped down on my chest, and my grip on Hawke’s arm increased. I knew my fingernails were beginning to dig into his arm, but I couldn’t make myself let go.
I exhaled raggedly and saw my breath in the air.
We rode for another hour, and then there was nothing but silvery streaks of moonlight when Hawke signaled to the group. The horses slowed to a trot and then eventually stopped, their breathing heavy.
“This seems like a better place than many to camp,” Hawke commented.
The strangest urge to giggle hit me, but there wasn’t anything funny about what we were about to do.
We were going to spend the night here, inside the Blood Forest, where the Craven roamed.
Chapter 30
I didn’t think I’d ever been this cold before.
The bedroll did nothing to stop the chill from seeping up from the ground, and the blanket, as heavy as the fur was, couldn’t fight back the iciness in the air. My fingers felt like ice cubes inside my gloves, and no amount of shivering warmed my skin.
It had to be at least twenty degrees cooler at night inside the Blood Forest, and I imagined if it rained, it would turn to snow here.
For the last twenty or so minutes, I’d tried to will myself asleep. Because if I were unconscious, I wouldn’t be so worried about turning into a chunk of ice. But every crunch of grass and stir of wind had my hand going to the dagger stowed under the bag I was using for a pillow. Between the cold, the possibility of free-roaming barrats, and the threat of a Craven attack, there was no way I was getting any asleep tonight. I didn’t know how anyone would. I’d barely been able to eat any of the food during our quick, quiet supper.
Four guards slept. Four guards stood watch several yards away, one at each corner of the camp. Hawke had been speaking to one of them, but now he was striding toward me. A tiny part of me thought I should pretend to be asleep, but I had a feeling he’d know.
Stopping in front of me, Hawke knelt. “You’re cold.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, teeth chattering.
A moment later, I felt his ungloved fingers brush my cheek. I tensed. “Correction. You’re freezing.”
“I’ll warm up.” I hoped. “Eventually.”
He let his hand dangle between his knees. “You’re not used to this kind of cold, Poppy.”
“And you are?”
“You have no idea what I’m used to.”
That was true. I stared at the shadowy shape of his hand. For such rough, callused hands, his fingers were rather long and graceful. Digits that belonged to an artist and not a guard. A killer.
Hawke rose, and for a moment, I thought he might walk off to join the others keeping watch, but he didn’t.
Holding the coarse blanket as close as I could around me, I watched him unhook the rolled blanket from his bag and then drop the bag on the ground. Without saying a word, he stepped over me like I was nothing more than a log. Before I could take my next breath, he was lying down behind me.