Artemis

  The forest was still.

  I’d been awake for hours, long before the first pale light began to creep through the branches. Sleep hadn’t been an option. Not after yesterday.

  The horses shifted now and then, ears twitching at sounds too soft for Celeste to hear. She was curled beneath the blanket, her breathing steady. If she’d dreamed, the forest kept them.

  I let my gaze sweep the shadows between the trees, listening for anything out of place. The air felt heavy. Not with threat, but with the knowledge it could return at any moment.

  No birds yet. No wind stirring the leaves. Just the faint trickle of the creek, somewhere behind us, the slow warmth of the sun pressing at my back.

  I’d seen quiet like this before. The kind that lasted only because no one had found the trail yet.

  It had been one of the harder fights I’d seen in years. Not the worst, but close.

  Protecting Celeste had made it harder.

  I’d gotten used to fighting for myself alone, with no one else to worry about but me. Yesterday, I’d had to guard someone else from every direction. Shrapnel from Earth and Wind Casters, molten rocks, the flare shots. Always tracking where she was, with some close calls on being hit.

  It had slowed me. Pulled at my focus.

  I told myself I could keep her safe. That I could hold the line, keep her on her feet long enough to end it. But even now, the thought crept in like a splinter I couldn’t’ shake.

  What if I couldn’t?

  She was quick. Determined. Smarter than she let on. But she’d never fought anything like that before.

  And they’d been strong. Stronger than the last lot.

  If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the stronger they send, the more they’ll keep sending. Someone out there wasn’t going to stop until she was back in chains.

  And maybe that was the real danger. Not the bounty hunters. Not the casters.

  Her.

  She was too much like me for it to be coincidence. The way she healed. The way the Light bent to her hand like it had been waiting for her. If I was right… walking away wasn’t going to happen. Not for me. Not for her. But I wasn’t ready to tell her that. Not yet.

  And it had been decades since I’d fought this hard for anyone but myself.

  The last time, I was young enough to believe that sheer will could keep someone alive. Young enough to think loyalty meant something in the end.

  It hadn’t.

  I’d paid for that mistake in chains of my own, and when I finally broke free, I swore I’d never tie my fate to another’s again.

  A sharp crack splintered the stillness.

  My head turned toward the sound before I even realized I’d moved. The forest had been quiet for hours, too quiet. And then, something was pushing through the undergrowth.

  I stayed seated for a moment, listening. The forest was still except for the faint rustle of wind in the high branches. Then it came again, heavier this time, a low press of weight through dry leaves.

  I eased up onto one elbow. The sound wasn’t close, but it wasn’t far enough to ignore either. I rose to my feet in silence, scanning the black between the trees.

  When the shape finally broke cover, my grip loosened.

  A young buck, antlers still in velvet. It froze when it saw me, ears twitching, then dipped its head to nose at a patch of frost-covered leaves.

  I stayed still, letting it pass, but the sight left a knot in my gut. First a boar, now a deer, both wandering farther south than they should be this time of year. The war might’ve driven them from their ground. Or maybe something else had.

  When it finally bounded off into the dark, the unease didn’t.

  I glanced down at Celeste. She hadn’t stirred, her breathing steady in the pale dim light. Too deep asleep to notice me standing over her.

  Leaving her, even for a short while, scraped at every instinct I had. But dragging her along when she was half-spent and healing was worse.

  I crouched beside my pack, pulled free the charcoal and small leather-bound notebook from its side pouch. Flipping to a blank page, I wrote in tight, quick letters:

  Stay put. I’ll be back. –A

  I set the book where her hand would find it if she stirred, weighing it down with my gloves so it wouldn’t blow away.

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  Then I was moving quick through the trees, feet barely breaking the frost. The cold air burned in my lungs, but I didn’t’ slow, not until I covered enough ground to circle back along the way we’d come yesterday. If anyone was out there, I’d find them before they found her.

  Tracks found me before I found them. Not fresh, but not old either. Heavy boots, maybe three sets. A drag mark here, a snapped branch there. The kind of trail left when someone’s moving fast and doesn’t care about hiding it.

  I crouched, fingers brushing a broken twig, still damp at the break. Hours old at most. They’d passed through, heading south. Same direction we’d taken.

  No shouting. Not metal on metal. Just the hush of the forest.

  I didn’t like it.

  If they’d been bounty hunters, they were moving too fast for a search party and too light for a capture. That left two possibilities.

  Either they weren’t after us, or they hadn’t found us yet.

  Neither made me feel better.

  I stood, scanning the tree one more time before cutting west to avoid following my own trail back. No sense leading anyone straight to her.

  The wind was shifting, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke from somewhere far off. That wasn’t good either. With winter settling in, every fire meant people. And people meant questions, blades, or both.

  By the time I made it back, the clearing looked exactly as I’d left it. Celeste was still curled in the blanket, one hand half-tucked under her chin, breathing slow. Peaceful.

  The notebook was still set beside her, charcoal still tucked in the binding, the words scrawled across the page: I’ll be back.

  It wasn’t much, but if she woke before I returned, it’d keep her from panicking. At least for a minute.

  I took one last look at her, then melted into the trees again. If someone was hunting this deep, I needed to know before they found us sleeping.

  Then I slipped back into the forest.

  I kept low and fast, letting Wind hug me close around my calves to quiet the brush. The ground here dipped and rose in uneven breaths, old roots knuckling through the front. I crossed a narrow game path, then another, widening the circle until I was past the line we’d cut yesterday.

  A scuff on bark pulled me up short. I palmed the trunk. A fresh scrape, sap still sticky. Someone had shouldered through here in a hurry. A pace farther on, a thread of dark cloth clung to a thorn. I rolled it between my fingers. Tight weave. Not homespun.

  Boot signs returned in a shallow dip where the soil kept night moisture. Two heel marks overlapped. One with a wide, squared ridge pattern, the other narrower, the center worn smooth. Three bodies at least. Maybe four. They’d broken south or southwest.

  I followed another fifty paces and stopped at a narrow run of stones half-buried in moss. Someone had stepped here and paused long enough to leave a deeper print. I eased off the line and cut across the slope to a stand of dark fir.

  The air tasted faintly of oil. Not from a meal. Metal. I crouched and fanned my palm lightly over the ground until my knuckles brushed something cold. A short brass tube lay in the dirt, crimped on one end, black soot staining the rim.

  Flare casing.

  It was the kind you load and fire fast. I’d seen them before, on walls, in fields, lighting the sky over men who wouldn’t see morning. This one had a tiny stamped mark near the seam. Not a maker’s flourish. An issue mark.

  Regulation.

  I slid it into my coat and let the forest settle again. No voices. No movement. Only the slow bleed of cold into my fingers and the distant creek talking to itself.

  I should have turned back there. I knew it. Celeste was alone, and I’d already stretched the line too far.

  Trading speed for silence, I pushed another hundred paces. A split branch, splinters clean and pale. A shallow divot where a knee had hit. The sign thinned, vanished where the ground went to stone and dead needles.

  Smart. Whoever they were, they knew how to lose a tail.

  I breathed once, slow, and let the urge to keep hunting drain out. The rule was simple: protect Celeste.

  I angled west, then north, keeping my own trail crooked. By the time I came back to our hollow, the first gray had started to lift the edges of the trees. The world wasn’t brighter so much as less black.

  Celeste hadn’t moved much. The blanket had slipped off one shoulder. Her arm lay across it, hand open. The note sat where I’d left it, the tail of the A smeared from where she must have dragged it across.

  I checked the horses. Ears forward, eyes clear, breath steaming. I loosened a cinch and ran my hand down a foreleg to check for heat, then eased back to the tree I’d been using for a spine. I didn’t close my eyes. The quiet felt too thin.

  The sun took its time. When it finally pushed a weak line through the branches, birds started in short, uncertain calls. Celeste stirred with them. Her fingers brushed the notebook. She blinked down at the page, then turned her head, finding me where I sat.

  “You left,” she said, voice rough.

  “Didn’t go far.” I kept my tone easy. No point in passing along fear that wasn’t going to help. “Checked our back trail.”

  She pushed up on an elbow, winced, and hid it by tucking hair behind her ear. “Anything?”

  “Signs,” I said. “Boots. Three at least. Hours old. They kept moving south.”

  “After us?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” I met her eyes. “Either way, we don’t linger.”

  She sat up fully, the blanket sliding to her lap. The wound in her arm was still open, still oozing.

  “Let me see it,” I said.

  “I’m fine,” she lied.

  I crouched beside her. “You’re not. That arm’s going to slow you, and we can’t afford slow.”

  Her gaze flicked to mine. “You barely slept. You’ll burn yourself out–”

  “I’ve got enough in me.” My tone sharpened before I could temper it. “Better you’re whole in case steel finds us before nightfall.”

  She hesitated, fingers curling in the blanket.

  “Celeste.” I didn’t look away. “I’ve fought half-dead and won. I’m not letting you try it.”

  Reluctantly, she extended her arm.

  The skin was hot around the wound. I pressed my palm to it, let the familiar pull start. Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away. The light spilled between my fingers, warm and steady.

  As the light faded, the wound vanished, leaving only clean, pink skin.

  She flexed her arm slowly, then looked up at me. “That feels… different. Not like when I do it.” Her brow furrowed. “It’s strange, having someone else heal me. I’m so used to doing it myself.”

  I didn’t answer right away. Of course it felt different. I’d been doing this longer than she’d been breathing, had pushed my gift to its edges and dragged it back again, reshaping it with every scar. My well was deeper, my control sharper. But saying that meant pulling loose threads I wasn’t ready for her to see.

  “There,” I said instead, straightening. “Now if you have to fight, you won’t bleed yourself to death doing it.”

  She studied me for a long moment, as if she could read what I wasn’t saying. Then she nodded once and drew the blanket back over her legs.

  “You should rest,” she murmured.

  “Later.” I stepped away, letting the trees swallow the last of the light. The air was colder now, carrying the faint bite of snow from somewhere north. We’d need to move soon.

  She pulled the blanket tighter and settled back, eyes closing but not drifting far from wakefulness.

  I stayed where I was, scanning the spaces between the trees. The cold sank in, sharpening every sound, every shadow. Somewhere far off, a crow called once, then fell silent again.

  The forest felt like it was holding its breath.

  For now, we could steal a little sleep, safer than we’d been before. But soon, we’d have to move, before whatever lingered out there closed the distance.