“How long will we walk?” I ask him, already feeling the lethargy in my toffee-like legs. “I’m human—I can’t keep this up for much more without rest.”

  He stops beside me. His quiet footfalls pause and, suddenly, I freeze beside him, my eyes darting around the darkness.

  After a heartbeat, he finally speaks, “Maybe not that much longer.”

  That can’t be right at all. If we are in York, and the darkness came from Scotland, that’s got to be four days at least—without rests.

  “Wait here,” he orders and pushes the duffel bag into my arms.

  I grunt at the added weight.

  For a minute, he does some rummaging around until he finds what he’s searching for in the dark. Sounds like the rope he stuffed in there before we left the flat.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss.

  But silence is my answer, and he leaves me here—he leaves me alone in the thick blackness, just holding a bag much too heavy for my scrawny arms.

  I wait for a few impatient seconds before I hear a familiar sound ahead—and I realise what he is doing. The neigh of a horse cries out, the hush of a soothing sound, then the slam of hooves on the ground.

  And, to my delight, when Cliff comes back, he’s retuned with a tamed horse reined by rope. Must be a farm nearby that it’s escaped from.

  A laugh catches in my throat at our shine of good luck. And though it’s dark, I just know in my gut that Cliff fights a small smile of his own—and perhaps not for the horse, but for me.

  His hand reaches around the small of my back to help me up onto the horse, but instead, I lean into him and my mouth finds his. I plant a chaste kiss on his warm lips before I reel back, shove the bag into his arms, then hoist myself up onto the steed.

  Hey, I have to show him that I know my way around horses. I was raised owning plenty of them.

  Cliff is quick to join me on the steed. He sits snug behind me, pulling the strap of the bag over his chest, then looping his arm around my middle. Loosely, he holds the ropey reins and flops them.

  Onwards we go—and we might just have a shot now, a shot at beating the rest of his unit back to his world, where we might just find some semblance of safety.

  Though that makes me wonder—what exactly is his plan?

  Better yet, do I even want to know?

  49

  Previous experience kicks in within a few trots and I’ve found my comfort zone on the horse. Without the restraint of a dress, I spread my legs easily, finding a reclining posture, and let my back relax against Cliff’s stiff chest.

  The darkness is easier to behold on a horse. Somehow, it feels as though it’s washing over us and soon, we’ll reach the end of it. Of course, I know that with the darkness, there is no end. It extends eternally, all the way into Cliff’s realm.

  When (if) we reach his world, will I still be under his protection?

  With his fight at the post, I would have expected more security between us, but it’s wobbling. He’s given me no reassurance, rushed me along, and when I kissed him, his mouth was still against mine. Cold.

  Maybe these doubts gnawing at my uneasy tummy are what have my hands reaching for his arm looped around my waist. I hold onto him with a gentle touch, as though afraid he’ll tug away. He doesn’t. Yet, no relief finds me.

  Reins in his grip, Cliff carries the ride on in a speedy trot, criss-crossing and zig-zagging what I assume to be areas flooded with rubble and debris. So this country is mostly lost, then. And I wonder, fleetingly, how much of the world is already gone.

  There are some armies still out there—that much he has told me. Some left to spread the last of their destruction through our still-standing villages and towns.

  But what of my destruction?

  Will Cliff be the dark fae to bring that down upon me?

  My hands tighten around his forearm, seeking that reassurance, but as expected, he gives none. He’s too focused on our speedy journey to his realm.

  Eventually, I can’t bite back the questions anymore—

  My voice is small, “You told me you felt nothing. So why fight for me?”

  He doesn’t hesitate in his answer, “I lied.”

  “About which part?” I probe. “Dying for me, or—”

  “Not that part.” His clipped voice tries to sever our conversation down the middle.

  Still, I crave those words he wants to keep locked up and hidden from me; my aching heart needs them to ease the worries tangled into balls beneath my skin.

  “Do you love me?” I ask bluntly. “Sometimes, you kiss me. And I know what that means—unless that was a lie, too.”

  His sigh is quiet, disturbing the hair at the crown of my head. “I cannot discuss these matters yet, Cora-lee. I have one focus only.”

  That’s not a ‘no’.

  “And that’s getting back to your world?”

  “Reach Caspan,” he says.

  My frown crumples in the dark. “Who’s that?”

  “An ally. A friend.” He pauses. “A powerful general who owes me a great favour.” His arm tightens around me in a half-embrace of mild assurance. “Do as I say when I command, follow me closely when I move, and I will get you to safety.”

  My heart sinks to my softening gut. So this is all about me. Get me to safety—not him. He wants to save my life, protect me in ways he swore he couldn’t in our earlier moments.

  And all that fractured those lies was me, about to die at the post.

  I slump against him.

  “No matter what happens to me,” he adds delicately, “you will be safe with him.”

  There it is again—that icy feeling sweeping through every vein in my body. I suddenly feel sick as horrid, torturous images flash in my mind, and Cliff is the victim in all of them.

  “But what will happen to you?” I whisper, afraid of the answer.

  “Perhaps nothing. Perhaps banishment. Perhaps death.” He adds, “Reaching Caspan is the important matter in this moment. It is what will make the difference between our two fates.”

  “And you’re not sure you’ll get to him in time?”

  “There will be warriors between the entry to my realm and the base. We must pass them to reach where we need to go, or reach a more distant passageway and risk the time.”

  My mouth flattens into a grim line as I wrap my arms around his and hold it closer to me. The unease has returned and this time, I don’t think it’s going anywhere.

  “Why did all of this happen?” I ask him something I stopped asking myself a long time ago. “The world—the darkness, your invasion.”

  These might be the last few moments we spend together and, really, if he won’t kiss me or tell me he loves me as I suspect I do him (in a poisoned way, of course), then best get some explanations.

  “Your people were killing the earth,” he says. “We came to take over and let this land heal. In its rebirth, it will be a new world, lost to forgotten histories.”

  “You want to wipe humans out from all the history,” I mumble. “Almost out of existence.”

  “Only the kuris survive,” he tells me.

  “You almost killed me,” I whisper. “When you didn’t know I was a kuri.”

  He is quiet for a long moment. “Still, I was tempted to let you live.”

  I blink away the tiredness weighing down my eyelids. “Even after I shot you and blew up your people?”

  “Even then.” He adds, “We have a name for it in my tongue. Evate.”

  I roll with the sway of the trotting horse. “What does that mean?”

  His arm has looped around my middle more firmly now, as close to a cuddle as I’ll ever get from a stone-cold warrior.

  “To look upon a mate.” His answer is curt. “Once in a lifetime, my kind might experience evate.”

  “Does that mean … we’re meant to be or something?”

  “No. Not all evates end in courtship or bonds. At times, they fade to nothing, or they are destructive and filled with hate, sometimes ending in death.”

  “That’s us, I think.” I turn my cheek to rest on his chest. “The destructive and hate part. But sort of good, too.”

  As I get myself more comfortable, he replies with an end to the conversation; “Sleep. When you awake, we will be closer to my home.”

  That’s as close to safety as we can get—if we can make it to his ally first. I don’t want to think about what will happen if it doesn’t work out that way…

  50

  Cliff wasn’t lying when he said we would be near his world when I awoke, because I stir to him dismounting the steed and disturbing my rest.

  Sleep clings to my heavy lashes and slack face as I try to trace his movements through the darkness, but it’s impossible. For a moment, I wonder if it’s this black in his world, but then I remember what he told me about the grass, fruit, and trees—all illuminated.

  Because I can’t see him, I don’t know he’s reaching out to me until his hand is resting on the small of my back and my muscles jolt beneath my skin. He lifts me up as though I’m a mere feather and plants me down beside him. As if I need his help getting off the horse, but I bite my tongue on those thoughts.

  Right now, I don’t want to spook him into total silence or annoyance. Right now, I need as much of his reassurance as I can get my grubby hands on. They are quite grubby, actually. Don’t think that’ll change anytime soon.

  “Is this the entrance?” I wonder aloud, looking around the blackness as though I’ll spot a doorway tucked between two trees or something.

  “One of many,” he says, and I faintly hear the shift of our bag of supplies. “This will take us closest to Caspan’s manor.”

  Caspan must be his ally. Friend, maybe?

  With a hum, I reach out for him blind. My palm flattens on his chest. I slide it to the side until I get a firm grip on his wrist, one I’m not about ready to let go of.

  Twisting his wrist from my grip, he changes it for his hand instead and holds on tightly. My heart leaps at the feel of his fingers firm against mine. But I know this isn’t a sweet moment—he just can’t afford to lose me right now.

  Before he heads away from the horse, he reaches around me and smacks its behind. A split second later, the sound of hooves is heavy and fast on the dirt ground.

  “Where is this … entrance?” I probe, if only to fill the silence between us.

  He guides us through the black. “In a tree hollow,” he says. “Not the main passageway the armies will use. That might give us an advantage.”

  “How?”

  “Less chance of others patrolling the area,” he answers, his voice low. “Don’t let go,” he adds darkly.

  Then he stops and my stomach turns to lead.

  Guess this is it.

  I hear the crunch of bark right in front of me. My choppy breaths are probably brushing up against the tree as I stand here, squeezing Cliff’s hand blue.

  The snap of twigs crackles the air—Cliff, stepping forward; his grip on me guides me with him.

  With my free hand, I reach out in front of me—and my fingers graze the rough bark of a tree.

  Like he said, it’s hollowed out. Big time.

  From what I can feel, it seems we’ll fit through easily if we go one at a time. And he doesn’t take any chances.

  Manoeuvring himself behind me, his other hand presses on the small of my back, pushing me forward.

  Gingerly, I let go of him and hold onto the rim of the hollow. I pluck a boot from the ground then stick it out, feeling nothing but the thin air inside of the tree where its guts should be.

  Cliff aids me; he presses down the crown of my head to duck me, easing my way inside of the hollow.

  “Stop.” His command comes firm once I’m half-stuck inside. Then he regains his grip on me, this time my wrist, and it’s firmer than any time before it.

  He pushes me.

  The bastard shoves me into the hollow and jumps in after me.

  I expect to land on the roots and dirt—instead, we fall.

  And when we do land, it’s on the cushions of a glittering white bed of flowers, so soft that I bounce as though I fell onto a mattress.

  My arm is twisted back, pulling at my shoulder blade. Cliff landed on his feet beside me, his grip on my hand still firm.

  He leans down with a sigh and hoists me up to stand.

  Then I see it.

  I see the dark realm, the world of the fae.

  It’s just as he said, only far more magickal than anything I could ever describe. Beneath me, the blades of grass are shavings of gleaming moons, firefly-like bugs dance high above and illuminate the whole field, and ahead there are packs of trees whose branches hang heavy with gleaming orange fruits that look too delectable—and remind me of darker stories of the fae and their wicked fruits.

  Haunting in its beauty.

  I’m so lost in it that I don’t notice Cliff distracted beside me until he stuffs a packaged twig of meat under my nose.

  “Eat,” he orders, and I faintly recall him telling me to obey all that he says in this last stretch of our journey.

  I take the meat snack and unwrap it, handing him the packaging. Feels wrong to litter here, and it’s not like there are any bins in sight.

  He stuffs it into the duffel bag.

  Hand on mine, Cliff veers off the bed of flowers to the gleaming blue path that curves alongside a row of gloomy trees. Beneath our boots, the flowers don’t crumple I realise. They spring back to full bloom instantly, and I’m in awe of the magick so alive here.

  “Is this what my world will become?” I ask.

  “It might evolve differently,” is all he says before we reach the path.

  As we walk the path, I wander my gaze around as far as I can see. Deep in the shadows ahead, an ordinary stone fortress-like building stands alone on a patch of stone surrounded by a glowing moat.

  “Is that the base?” I wonder aloud.

  He confirms with a grunt.

  Not in a chatty mood, then.

  I fall quiet by his side and shadow him for what feels like hours. I’m long since finished my meat snack, already craving another, feeling the burn of my boots at my heels, and letting my shoulders slump.

  Finally, I spot another building in the distance. This one is straight ahead, perched on the tip of a hill, gleaming white as though it’s made from moonstones.

  And Cliff unribbons relief throughout me when he says, “We are here.”

  51

  On a grassy mound ahead, sits a glowing white terrace-faced house. More like a castle, I think, with its pearlescent pillars coming up at the rear and its mammoth size.

  We come up the side of it, and so I can better see what looks like a gleaming vineyard spiralling down the rear of the home. Big, bushy trees hang low with fruits the size of watermelons, grazing the grassy ground.

  I suspect we still have to stay hidden since we don’t move for the path on the far right side of the hill, the one that leads up to a glimpse of double doors. Instead, Cliff leads me around the back of the hill, where the vineyard spirals all the way down.

  The hike up between the rows of grapevines—so strong that the stink itches my nose—is a tiring one, and silent too. Cliff speaks no words to me, even when we reach the midnight-blue courtyard at the rear of the home, tucked between two lattice-bordered doors and the vines, he is silent.

  In the shadows of the doorway, I spot two silhouettes standing with their swords drawn. Instinctively, I sidestep into Cliff and grapple for his arm.

  Still, ribbons of relief unwind throughout my whole body. We are soon out of the shadows, soon to be revealed to the guards ahead.

  But the relief is short-lived.

  52

  Out of the darkness, a horde of warriors come creeping out. Swords drawn, their bootfalls are silent and soft.

  They have been waiting.

  Under his breath, Cliff mutters a stiff, harsh word—just one. And I don’t need to understand his language to know it’s a curse.

  My muscles seize up one-by-one, clamping up my spine. Tingles ignite all over my skin, prickling my flesh and even crawl over my scalp as though spiders run free through my hair.

  I shudder, my hand clenching tight around Cliff’s.

  He doesn’t draw away.

  Fear spikes through me as his fingers entwine around mine and he holds on so firmly that I feel my bones creak.

  One of the shadowy soldiers steps forward, announcing himself as the leader of the foursome. None of them spare any looks my way, but I’m all too aware of what I’ve spotted in two of their grips. Those damned chains that Cliff kept me restrained with for so long.

  There are two sets—one for Cliff … and one for me.

  The leader of the guards extends his hand. In his leathery grip, there’s a sheet of folded parchment pinched tight between his fingers.

  Cliff takes it with his free hand, keeping me close to him.

  Expertly, he flicks open the wax seal with his thumb, then reads the ink markings in the dark. His face hardens. So does his grip on my hand.

  “Run.”

  The command is spoken so quietly that at first, I don’t hear it. But when it sinks into my bones with realisation, I freeze for a moment—a moment pulsated by a throbbing heartbeat.

  Then it all erupts.

  Cliff releases my hand and pushes me so hard that I fly across the path. I land on a tangle of vines. Thorns bite into my flesh.

  Pushing up from the ground, I throw a look over my shoulder, wild-eyed.

  Cliff … he doesn’t fight.

  He holds out his wrists for the ringleader, prepared for the rope. But one of them is breaking off towards me, twisting the rope around his hands.

  Cliff’s command echoes in my mind.

  Run.

  Scrambling up from the ground, dirt gets trapped beneath my fingernails and leaves stick to my loose hair. I turn my wide eyed ahead, up at the mouth of the manor—the manor of safety.

  My feet scuffle on the disturbed dirt, arms flailing at my side. But I make it one leaping step before I’m tackled back down to the ground.