Chapter 26: Unclean Slates - The Shadow of a Vicious King

POV: MAX

The Bloodraven crest shines scarlet over the front door of the witch hut, the upside-down tree painted in dried blood over the wood. Nick traces the mark lovingly before pushing in, and we quickly search the premises. The small cabin is stocked with the bare minimum of nonperishable food. Wards are etched into the beams to keep out the Reds and mask the place from anyone but a Bloodraven witch.

E grabs a worn, knitted blanket from the bed and wraps it around his frame. The fabric disappears in his grip, vanishing inch by inch as he pulls it tight around his shoulders. The way the yarn dips and curves before it vanishes completely steals my breath.

I force myself to look away as Nick spreads the map across the square table in the raggedy kitchen, smoothing the creases with his palm.

Red lines spider toward the center of the Red Forest, thin at the edges, then growing thicker as they converge.

“The Red Forest has four distinct borders. To the north, there’s the Dark Sea,” Nick starts.

“An endless expanse of cold, deep waters. Full of things that don’t want to be found,” I add quickly. “We’re not heading north, that’s for sure.”

He drags his index finger east. “Wintermere’s glaciers feed the Red Forest’s rivers from the south-east, while the water from the Summerlands flows from the south-west.”

E’s fingertips leave shallow grooves in the parchment as he touches the western border. “And to the west, the Solar Cliffs.”

Nick nods. “Every river that runs through the Red Forest originates from one of those three kingdoms. They flow inward, widening as they go.”

We all study the red-inked channels.

“Why is the water red, though?” I ask. “If it comes from outside the Red Forest.”

“The mountains are full of iron. Also, hematite, clay, and copper,” E explains. “The water’s clear at the source, but it stains as it moves downhill. By the time it reaches the capital, it’s blood-red.”

Nick exhales through his nose. “Another one of your instincts, eh?”

E brushes off the accusation and traces one river as it thickens. “Every single channel appears to lead to the same place.”

Nick taps the dark knot at the center of the map. “Lorntre’s Hollow. The heart of the Red Forest. If we follow the rivers downstream, they’ll take us there. To the center of our power, the Lorntre tree.”

My brother’s voice trembles with something dangerously close to greed.

“Only what’s left of it,” I counter. “And the Reds’ capital stands in between.”

Nick swallows hard, a range of emotions flickering across his face. “Lorntre Hollow was scorched, and an entire way of life was erased right there.” He studies the markings again. “The whole area’s sealed off. A warded stone wall was built after the fire to keep us from our roots and away from the source of our power.”

“Or to keep some dark, ancient power inside,” E mumbles.

Nick slides his hand back up the closest river and examines a small area on the south-west border where the Summerlands begin, specifically the province of Eterna, the capital of the entire Fae continent.

“Lysandra and her kin made camp here,” he says. “Right on the Summerlands border.”

“So to reach them, we have to climb the rivers upstream,” E sums up.

An eager grin curls my brother’s lips. “That’s the plan. Judging by this map, and depending on the terrain, I’d say it’s a two—maybe three-day walk. Just as we thought.”

“Sounds reasonable,” I admit.

We’ve packed enough provisions for a week, but we’re still very naïve about what could be waiting for us in these woods. Whatever Nick says, we haven’t set foot in Faerie since we were kids. And while the temperature is above freezing, it’s not a tropical forest by any means. Good thing we know how to pitch a tent.

My attention drifts to the center of the map again. “I know it’s silly, but a part of me wonders what would happen if we headed east instead. Seems ridiculous to turn away from the center…”

There’s a strange tickling in my gut that tells me we should head east, toward the Lorntre. Closer to the hollow, a second network of lines appears. These don’t follow the lay of the land. They don’t descend from mountains or obey gravity. Instead, they loop and coil around Lorntre Hollow, wrapping around it in slow, deliberate curves.

“I feel the same way. If we followed the water down…” Nick trails off.

I meet his gaze. “It would take us straight to the Reds.”

I brush the borders of Lorntre Hollow with shaky fingers. Up close, the red lines no longer look like rivers at all. They look like veins and arteries encircling something alive, something pumping in the middle of the forest.

A heart.

The open wound left by the Reds still bleeds, which means the forest still lives. That it can still be saved.

I clear my throat. “It’d be way too dangerous, of course.”

Nick scratches the back of his neck, blinking as though he’s just been pulled from a trance. “Right. The Summerlands’ border is safer.”

“Are you two all right?” E asks wistfully.

“There’s just something intriguing about this place.” I press a hand to my sternum. “Ever since we stepped foot on red soil, I’ve felt a current in the ground. In my blood. A mix between a sense of euphoria and an electric jolt. That strange humming yearns for me to head east and find the heart.” I shake my head. “It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I feel it. And there’s a sort of mournful ache in my chest at the thought of turning my back on the Lorntre tree.”

“It howls for us,” Nick mutters with a sharp nod. “It wants us to come home.”

I nod. There’s no better way to say it.

E bristles. “Hold on there before getting lost in the woods, Hansel and Gretel. I don’t like how you two suddenly sound like eager disciples of a sentient tree. That’s definitely not how dark possession stories begin. Tell me, who should I slap first?”

The dry humor helps shake off some of my malaise.

“Err—right. Let’s organize ourselves and leave this hut before this strange pull overrides our free will,” I say with a forced chuckle, unsure if I’m joking or not.

We search the cabin, just in case, but it hasn’t been used in years. Maybe decades. The flour in the pantry has gone sour, clumped, and is crawling with mealworms fattened on damp grain and neglect. The roots of the neighboring tree chewed into the wood, growing straight through the floorboards. Mice have made a home in the thin walls, their nests packed tight with shredded paper and old blood wards long since drained of power.

There’s ink and paper on the desk, neatly stacked and untouched, but no unfinished letters, no names, and no sign of who, besides Mabel, ever passed through here.

“We should leave the crate here,” I suggest.

Nick’s brow knits together. “But we only just found the spindle. Why leave it behind?”

“It’s heavy, for one thing. And let’s be honest, we’re a bunch of newbies walking straight into a world we know very little about. This spindle is our only leverage. We should repaint the protective wards and leave the crate in the pantry. That’ll ensure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands if we walk straight into a Red patrol.”

Or if Nick’s friends turn out to be Red spies—but I don’t say that part out loud.

My twin chews on his bottom lip, clearly torn between logic and instinct. He hates that I’m right. He hates the idea of letting go of the one powerful relic we’ve managed to secure. “But isn’t that like leaving it in enemy territory? If this house were so safe, Mabel would have done this herself.”

A sigh wheezes past my lips. “It’s a tie. E?”

“Oh, give me a break,” Nick snaps. “The ghost doesn’t get a vote.”

I lift my chin. “And why not?”

“Because one, he’s not alive, and two, he’ll vote with you just to stay on your good side.”

I bare my teeth. “I don’t have a bad side, dear brother, yet you always disagree with me.”

Nick mirrors my grin, all challenge and teeth. “I just think my idea is better. I say we take the crate along. If this artifact is supposed to be powerful enough to destroy destiny itself, it could come in handy in a fight.”

“You want to stab the first Red on our path with the pointy end of the Spindle of the Gods?” I ask dryly.

“Why not? The sharp end almost looks like a stake.”

I scoff. “Reds aren’t vampires.”

He combs a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Aren’t they sucking the life and blood out of our forest?”

“So you want to kill them all? No questions asked?” I balk.

“They deserve it.”

“You’re being totally reductive.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

We both freeze, our childish instincts rising to the surface. People always assume twins are inseparable in some serene, mystical way. With Nick and me, the closer we are, the harder we fight. We’re united by a love that runs deeper than reason, yet constantly clashing over the smallest, stupidest things. It feels both comforting and wrong to fall back into that rhythm.

Fire and blood.

I’ve always believed that if we ever truly agreed on something, we’d be unstoppable. Instead, we choose opposite sides almost by reflex, eager to spar simply because that’s what we’ve always done.

“I thought you wanted to kill the Red Queen and find our mother’s murderer,” I press. “Not that you’d want to slaughter every Red Fae we cross paths with just for wearing a uniform.”

“Don’t be daft, Max.” Nick shrugs dismissively, like I’m being way too sentimental. “Reds are all the same, and they want us dead. Why shouldn’t we defend ourselves?”

“Defend ourselves by attacking first, you mean.”

E stops our fight cold by saying, “Just give me the spindle, and I’ll carry it.”

Nick balks. “Say again?”

“I might be dead, but I have a body now. I can slip it into my pocket and carry it along. That way, if you’re caught, it won’t fall into enemy hands.”

Nick’s face wrinkles. “So you’re not naked under there? How does that work?”

E’s voice hums with amusement. “I’m not entirely sure.”

“Och, that’s a relief. But you carrying the spindle is out of the question.” Nick blinks one too many times, suspicion flashing across his face before practicality wins out. “Alright. We leave it here, then.”

I pump my fist. “Yes.”

The tension ebbs as we dig through our overstuffed bags for paintbrushes. Nick and I repaint the protective wards over the old ones, layering fresh lines of blood in steady strokes until the symbols thrum faintly beneath the wood. The crate is then secured into its hiding place, and I press my palm to the pantry door for a moment, feeling the magic seal click into place.

Afterwards, we gather our bags and set off for our adventure. Nick fastens E’s lantern to his backpack now that he doesn't have to carry the crate, which frees my hands.

The forest swallows the small cabin the moment we turn the bend in the creek, as though it never existed at all. Our greatest leverage is now hidden where only Bloodraven witches can reach it, far from the Mist King’s grasp.

A smile tugs at my lips.

Max: One. Nick: Zero.

“You did that on purpose,” I whisper to E.

“What?” he whispers back.

“You suggested taking the spindle so Nick would change his mind and agree with me.”

He pauses for a breath. “I might have discerned that he would dislike the idea of me touching it more than the idea of leaving it behind.”

A soft chuckle escapes him, and a big grin threatens to show on my face.

I nudge him with my hip. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The path ahead dips toward a larger river, the breeze carrying a metallic aftertaste. Sunlight pours through the canopy in molten ribbons, igniting the leaves overhead in tones of amber and garnet and bruised gold. The trees are impossibly tall, their trunks the deep, dark color of old wine. The bark of the tallest, oldest-looking tree peels in thin curls, revealing patches of sap that have long since coagulated beneath—scars from old fights, remnants of a violent past that never quite healed.

If we were to encounter a Red patrol here, we’d either be killed on the spot or dragged in chains to the capital.

“What were you talking about yesterday? When you said something only happened once, and that Nick should stop holding it over you?” E asks.

His breath stirs the fine hairs behind the shell of my ear. He’s so close, so…solid.

I avert my gaze, even though I can’t see him. “Oh… That’s a long story.”

“We have a long walk ahead.”

He says it lightly, but the nearness of him feels anything but casual. I’m still not used to the way his shoulder brushes mine, to the subtle shift of his weight over uneven ground.

The upper branches of the canopy curl in the wind, and my cheeks flush. “I can’t speak of it. Not now.”

He grazes my shoulder. “Here, since I have a body now, let me at least carry your bag.”

I grip the straps of my backpack and sidestep away from him. “I’m okay.”

“As you wish,” he says, and the sting of rejection echoes in every syllable.

To be honest, I’m not sure why I refused. Maybe out of pride, because I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own backpack. Maybe out of fear that it would tire him and make him vanish again. Who knows? My heart is all knots, too complicated to untangle.

I don’t want to admit that I once fell for a Red’s tricks, too. That the only true friendship I made growing up—the only person aside from my family who ever saw the real me—turned out to be one of them. Just like Lillivere. That the betrayal still burns, even though I never speak of it. Never let myself think of it.

I don’t want him to know I almost single-handedly brought doom upon my entire coven because I was tired of feeling lonely.

The forest leans inward as we walk, branches knitting overhead.

“So,” I murmur, keeping my voice low because everything feels amplified here. “Does being in Faerie bring back any memories?”

“Not memories, no, but there’s something about this place,” he croaks.

“Do you think you’ve ever come here before?”

“Here in Faerie, you mean?” he gives a sharp nod. “Yes.”

The certainty in that single word unsettles me more than it should.

“Careful, or I’m going to start teasing you about those instincts of yours. You sound awfully confident for a ghost with amnesia.”

His warm hand finds the small of my back below the backpack. “And only getting more confident by the minute.”

It’s not the warmth of his touch that unravels me, but the weight of it. The pressure of his hand is firm and intentional. His fingers slip under the elastic band of my stretchy pants, and heat spreads outward from the contact.

I tilt my head, forcing my voice to sound unbothered. “Should I be worried?”

“Only if you mind my company,” he answers without hesitation. We walk in silence for a few minutes before he adds, “I have this strange intuition. That this place remembers me more than I remember myself.”

“For me, it felt like coming home after a long voyage,” I admit, my voice thinner now. “Like the land was greeting me back to my rightful place. Did you feel any of that?”

“No.”

The word is flat. Final.

The longing in my blood pulses with every step we take, threaded with anger and want and the unfairness of it all—of him being able to touch me now, when he’s probably already inextricably bound to someone else. I can’t help but fear he might regret his feelings for me when the truth comes out.

The image of his hypothetical wife crowds my thoughts. A woman might be waiting for him somewhere beyond those mountains. A strong, beautiful Fae princess. Someone who once stood beside him, and who may be linked to him forever in ways I don’t understand.

Boasting a title I could never wear.

Ruling a kingdom that could never be mine.

Or worse—caring for a family that still mourns him.

The thought slices clean through me, and I shudder. E’s hand moves across my back, meant to soothe, but the reassuring touch only sets my blood ablaze.

Nick shoots us a look over his shoulder. “Are you two done whispering?”

I lift my palm innocently.

E’s hand slips inside my back pocket—deliberate, grounding, impossible to misread.

My pulse swirls, heat pooling low in my belly. My body doesn’t care about hypothetical crowns or wives. It doesn’t care about mistakes and consequences. It only responds to the new reality of him, to the way he touches me like I’m his welcome-home present.

Ahead, the trees thin as the river snakes around a small, barren island.

In the distance, the Solar Cliffs rise to the west. The impressive mountain range stretches high and uneven, its upper reaches swallowed by a heavy crown of clouds that hides how tall it is.

“Wow. How far do you think they go?” I say, mesmerized by the beauty in front of me.

E removes his hand from my pocket, and the loss is immediate. I press my lips together to stifle my sigh.

“What do they say?” he muses. “That you can never go home again?” He pauses for a breath. “Whatever home I had here,” he continues, “it’s not waiting for me. And I’m not the one who left. I won’t be going back to the same place, or with the same mind. And I’m not just talking about memories and amnesia. Decades go by. The land changes. You change. Irrevocably. So you can’t pick things up where you left off, and yet it’s not a clean slate either…”

I hear the fracture in his voice, along with the jealousies and insecurities I pretend not to feel.