the concentric, impenetrable towers guarded an impressive mountain where the royal family lived. Where the fortunate lived. Most of us scavenging on the outskirts were banned for one reason or another from passing through the magic-clad ivory gates.
Shaking my head, I quickened my pace. Though the royal family’s jurisdiction technically covered the continent of Lendria, everyone knew that law didn’t apply past those glistening stones. Out here, magic and darkness and questionable dealings reigned supreme. Iky let out another private whine, and my gaze jumped to the forest line. My stalker was back. Invisible to me, but not hidden from my beast’s senses. My destination was the train station, but if this lurker was from the Council, I didn’t want them getting a whiff of the Myad and stealing my beast. I needed to deal with the threat first.
I know you’re there, creep.
Flipping the collar of my jacket up, I picked my way down the winding dirt path away from Wilheim and the train depot. Lure them out, trap them, free and clear. Easy enough. The descending sun crept toward the riotous treetops of the Kitska Forest. Steeped in shadows, the dark leaves shivered in the dusk air, and a small whistling met my ears. The sheer density of the woods invited a certain level of hysteria to the unfamiliar—out here, one couldn’t tell the difference between a pair of eyes and oversize pinesco pods.
Needles and mulch crunched beneath my knee-high boots, and my feet screamed at the ache of unbroken leather pressing against my joints. Soon enough, I’d wear the boots in and be wishing for more bits to replace the holes.
A twig snapped in the distance, and I splayed out my right hand. One of the forest’s many monsters, or my stalker?
The Charmer’s symbol, a barren rosewood tree on the back of my right hand, exploded to life. A crisscross network of roots inked down my knuckles and wrapped around my fingertips in gnarled directions. Iky responded to the flux of power and distanced himself from me. Searching. Pursuing. The lack of his watery scent left me unnerved, but I needed to give my lurker a chance to strike. Then Iky would snare him.
A frigid breath skated along the back of my neck.
I whirled, thrusting my hand forward and focusing on the well of power humming beneath the surface. But Iky had done his job without fault. Just beyond my reach stood a tall, slender man dressed entirely in black. With a voluminous pompadour, thin-rimmed silver specs, and freshly polished dress shoes, he looked suited for a night in Wilheim—not a stroll in the Kitska Forest. His arms pressed flush to his sides, he was rendered immobile, and an unused, glittering black knife limply dangled from his gloved fingertips.
I dropped my hand, and the ink work along my skin receded. “Iky, be a dear.”
Iky materialized at last. Tall and amorphous with see-through skin, he adjusted his body constitution, color, and shape to suit my needs. With elongated arms, Iky had wrapped the man in a bundle, pressing him so tightly his chest struggled to inflate.
“Give him a bit more breathing room.”
Iky loosened his arms, and the man let out a sharp gasp. The shadows clinging to the forest’s limbs seemed to darken.
“Who are you?”
No response. Harsh ice-green eyes speared me. The high planes of his face sharpened, and a small vein throbbed along his temple.
“Why were you trying to kill me?” I glanced pointedly at the knife. He dropped it to the ground, and Iky nudged it toward me with a newly formed extremity. It receded as quickly as it appeared, folding back into his body mass with a quiet splash.
The man pursed thin lips, and a rattling breeze ushered in more thin shadows. It was no secret that these woods were cursed, but this darkness was thicker. Unfamiliar. Something else was going on here.
Deal with the threat, and get the hell out.
“Iky?” I nodded toward my beast. Iky’s arms tightened, and the man sputtered. “If you don’t tell me something, this is only going to get worse.”
The sharp snap of a splintering rib broke the silence. He wheezed, words I couldn’t make out intermingling with pained gasps. I glanced at Iky, and he stopped.
Murder dripped from my would-be killer’s glare. “I’d never dream of telling you a damn thing.”
My brows furrowed. “That so? Iky, you know what to do.” A new extremity formed, wrapping its way around the man’s pinky finger. With a sharp and fluid motion,