Celeste

  The gelding’s breath was ragged beneath me, each stride jarring as I pressed him harder down the rutted track. Wind tore at my hood, the field and hedgerows blurring past, but I didn’t ease him. The Castellan’s words still clung like thorns in my mind. Two gold coins for the truth I’d bought. The soldiers had come through that very morning, and when they tried to take men, he barred their way. He told their Lieutenant, conscription here would take the High Lord’s word, not his.

  So south they’d gone, toward Orvain and the Governor’s Hall.

  Dusk had begun to settle, bleeding purple and gray through the branches overhead. The trail narrowed to little more than a deer path, hemmed in by trees that leaned close enough to brush against my cloak. The gelding’s breath came heavy, his ears flicking back with each stride, foam clinging white to the bit.

  I loosened my grip on the reins, guilt pressing sharp as I felt the tremor in his stride. He was young and sturdy, but no creature could keep pace forever, not with me urging him after every league. My thighs ached, my back screamed, and still I pressed him on.

  Part of me whispered to stop, to find some hollow off the trail where we could both rest. But every time I let myself think it, I saw the faces of soldiers in the dark, Art somewhere among them. Every hour I paused could be an hour lost to him.

  I tightened my knees against the gelding’s sides, urging him through another bend.

  “You’re doing well,” I murmured to him, though my throat rasped dry. “Better than I deserve.”

  The trail dipped, shadows thickening between trunks, but I could almost believe I was close now. That the road was narrowing between me and them, that for once I wasn’t wandering blind.

  For the first time since starting this journey to free Art, the hope felt real, fragile, but real.

  The gelding’s stride faltered as the ground narrowed, hooves clattering against stones half-hidden in the dirt. I leaned forward, urging him on, hope burning sharp and bright enough to drown the ache in my limbs.

  Then the silence fractured.

  An arrow hissed past my face, close enough that I felt the wind of it cut my cheek. It buried itself in the trunk beside me with a solid thunk. The gelding shrieked, rearing hard, and I clung to the saddle, my heart lurching in my throat.

  Figures burst from the trees ahead, shadows with bows drawn, blocking the path with grim certainty. Another arrow loosed, whistling past my shoulder.

  Panic clawed at me, but fear sharpened too. My hands shot out before I could even think. Light surged in my palms, bursting white-hot and blinding, flooding the trail with brilliance. The men cursed, stumbling back with hands raised to shield their eyes.

  The gelding lunged forward, driven as much by terror as my heels in his flanks. We barreled through the gap, branches whipping against my cloak. Behind me, the shouts rose – orders, curses, and the pounding thunder of hooves as they gave chase.

  I risked a glance back. More shadows poured onto the trail, their arrows flashing in the dusk. I couldn’t count them all in the chaos, but the press of sound told me enough.

  Too many.

  The gelding’s breath came ragged. He bolted as though chased by fire, but he was green, unused to the rhythm of pursuit, veering at every snapped branch and shifting shadow. My mare would have flown, straight and sure. This one fought the bit, stumbled wide on the bends, and my grip on the reins tore free.

  Another arrow struck the ground beside us, spraying dirt across my boots. One more zipped close enough that the gelding twisted sideways in panic, nearly throwing me.

  Voices shouted from behind, their pursuit hammering like war drums through the trees. The trail was narrow, mercifully so. They could only ride two side-by-side, their numbers strangled by the press of trunks. But even two at a time was enough to kill us if I faltered.

  The geldings fear was raw and untrained. I yanked him straight, cursing, the reins burning against my palms. Every stumble gave the men behind a chance to close.

  Another arrow sliced past, low enough I felt the fletching brush my boot. I whipped one hand free, light sparking hot in my palm, and flung it behind me. The flare burst against the dark, searing bright, but the gelding jerked sideways at the same instant. The shot went wide, cracking uselessly against a tree.

  The men shouted in anger, horses screaming at the sudden light, but their chase didn’t falter.

  “Straight, damn you!” I hissed, dragging the gelding back into the path as branches clawed at my arms.

  I threw my hands out again, light bursting in both palms this time, flooding the trail so bright it turned dusk into day. The shouts rose sharper, curses, fear, and I heard the thunder of hooves falter for a heartbeat. Long enough to breathe.

  The gelding lunged harder, foam flying from his mouth, lungs rasping ragged with each stride. My pulse hammered in time with his hooves. I twisted in the saddle, pulled Ardor to my hands, and flung it down the trail at the dark shapes behind.

  The Light arced, but the gelding stumbled at a rut and the bolt split high, shattering through the branches instead of flesh. Sparks of brilliance rained down uselessly.

  I gritted my teeth, flared Light when I could, blinding bursts that made them curse and duck their heads, horses screaming at the sudden glare. It was desperate, half-mad, but it kept them at bay just enough.

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  And yet, for every league the gelding stumbled forward, I could feel it slipping. His strength waning, their aim sharpening, and the trees closing tighter around us.

  We’d left the trail without meaning to, cutting through the forest now, branches whipping at my face as we crashed between trees.

  Another arrow hissed past my ear. A second followed…

  And this time struck.

  The gelding screamed, a high, panicked sound that split through the trees. He lurched sideways, blood spraying from his flank where the shaft jutted deep. My stomach heaved, but I forced him on, pressing heels to his ribs, even as his stride faltered into a stagger.

  “Run,” I whispered through clenched teeth. “Just run.”

  I flared Light behind us again, both palms bursting white-hot. The men cursed, their horses shying at the glare, but still they came.

  The gelding stumbled, nearly dropping to his knees, and I hauled him upright with the reins. I held the reins tight, leaning low, my other hand already pressing to his wound. Warm blood slicked my palm. I pushed Healing Light there, pure instinct, no focus. With my other hand, I cast Lights of Ardor behind us and into the dark.

  For a breath, it worked. The bleeding slowed, the pulse beneath my hand steadying as the glow crawled under his skin. Hope rose sharp within me.

  …Then the second arrow struck.

  This one slammed high into his shoulder, the force of it ripping him sideways. His legs tangled, and the world spun.

  And then the ground came up hard and fast. I was thrown from the saddle, crashing into earth and stone, the air tearing from my chest.

  The gelding shrieked again, thrashing in the dirt, his hooves gouging the earth as he tried to rise. Blood streaked his shoulder, his flank, his eyes rolling white with terror. His scream cut through me.

  I scrambled on hands and knees, lungs burning, the shouts of men closing in. My horse flailed, crying like a creature half-dead, and I could do nothing. Nothing but watch as the only legs I had left to carry me after Art buckled beneath me.

  For a heartbeat, everything narrowed to the sound of his ragged breath. The ache in my ribs. The rush of hoofbeats through brush.

  I pushed to my feet, dragging in a breath that tasted of blood and dirt. Light answered before thought could form.

  The first rider broke through the trees, bow drawn, eyes catching the glow. I raised one hand and let fly. The bolt of Ardor struck him square, throwing horse and rider sideways into the brush in a burst of glare and flame.

  The second came fast, shouting, sword raised high. I met him with the other hand and blew a hole clean through his neck, nearly severing his head.

  The forest went still.

  The echo of the last blast hung in the air, bright and thin. Smoke curled between the trunks where the first rider had fallen, his horse still kicking weakly before collapsing into silence. I turned, breath tearing at my throat, eyes straining against the dark.

  Nothing moved.

  They’d pulled back.

  No more shouts, no more hooves, only the soft creak of saddles somewhere beyond the tree line and the low rasp of someone whispering orders.

  I turned slowly, Light still burning faint in my palms. The trees around me swayed with the wind, shadows stretching long and uneven.

  Then a voice carried low through the dark.

  “Spread out.”

  Branches rustled. A man’s whistle cut the air.

  They were rotating.

  I shifted my stance, pulse hammering, the glow in my hands flaring brighter as I scanned the trees. I could feel them now. Over a dozen men from the sounds of it, maybe double that.

  The gelding lay still behind me, breath shallow. I kept one heel braced against his shoulder, grounding myself as I turned, listening.

  A brush cracked to my left and another to my right. They were circling, keeping just beyond the reach of my Light.

  A streak of flame burst through the dark. I threw up my arm, Ardor surging to meet it. The fireball shattered against my Light, sparks spraying wide. The shockwave rattled the branches above, raining ash and leaves.

  My chest heaved.

  “Come closer!” I shouted.

  Then, quieter, almost to myself, “Go on. I dare you.”

  No one answered.

  Then arrows came.

  The first hissed through the dark, missing wide. The second buried itself in the dirt at my feet. The third struck true – a hot sting across my shoulder. I bit back a cry, yanked it free, and pressed my palm flat against the wound. Light flared, sealing skin slick with blood.

  Another fireball tore through the dark from the opposite side but missed by a few paces. They were alternating, trading places, never revealing the same position twice.

  I threw Light toward the sound, a bright lance cutting through shadow. The blast tore bark from a trunk, leaving the forest glowing white-hot for a heartbeat.

  Another arrow whistled through the dark. I twisted too late, and pain lanced through my side, sharp and deep.

  The air tore from my lungs. I staggered, hand going to the shaft, the heat of blood already slicking my palm. For an instant, all I could hear was the hiss of my own breath and the distant creak of bows being drawn again.

  Something inside me cracked.

  Light flared wild and uncontrolled, spilling from my hands in ragged bursts that scorched bark and split branches. I turned on the spot, firing blind, each blast flashing white against the trees. Another shot, then another. Bolts of Ardor lanced in every direction. The forest became a storm of glare and smoke, each pulse driving back the dark for a heartbeat before it swallowed me again.

  The air smelled of sap and burning. Leaves caught fire overhead. The nearest trunk glowed red at their edges, shadows dancing wild between them.

  Pain dragged sharp across my ribs, stealing my breath again. I slapped a hand over the wound and shoved Light inward, not gentle or careful. A brutal surge.

  “Come on!” I screamed, voice breaking. “Come on, then!”

  An arrow sang past, close enough that the wind of it brushed my cheek. I spun and fired again, the Light leaving streaks across my vision.

  Then, a cry. Not far, somewhere between the trees. A man’s voice, raw with pain.

  I froze, chest heaving, every muscle trembling. The forest rang with the echo of it, then went still again.

  A slow smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. I lowered one hand, breath shallow.

  “I hit you,” I whispered, the words barely sound.

  The forest held its breath.

  The echo of that single cry faded, leaving only the soft hiss of fire eating through leaves. My hands still burned with Light, but the glow was flickering now, dimming between attacks.

  I could feel it, the pull beneath my ribs, that hollow ache that came when I’d gone too far. Enervation. I’d burned too much. Too fast.

  My vision blurred around the edges, colors smearing into gray. The night felt heavier now, the shadows thicker, pressing close.

  Branches shifted again in the dark. Voices rose, careful and quiet this time. They weren’t shouting anymore.

  I took a step back, but my legs buckled. The ground met me hard, breath leaving my chest in a short, broken sound. I caught myself on one hand, with the other still glowing weakly at my side.

  Through the blur of smoke and ash, I saw them moving between the trees. Not rushing but stalking. Figures took shape one by one, bows drawn but steady, their eyes catching the faint light off my hands.

  The nearest man called out, his tone almost amused.

  “You done shining yet, little Caster?”

  Their laughter followed.

  I tried to lift my hands again, but the Light faltered. The power was still there, burning and waiting, but it pulled at me now, heavy as lead. I knew if I kept pushing, if I lanced a few more shots, the dark waiting at the edges would take me.

  So I held still. Breathing hard. Watching.

  They began to move closer, testing the distance, knowing what I knew.

  The Light flickered once more across my palms, just enough to show their grins as they crept from the trees.

  And I steadied myself to meet them.