‘But it is.’ Merry glanced at Jack’s sleeping form. ‘I did love him; I told you that. I loved him enough to free him from Gwydion’s curse by allowing him to die. And now he’s here, and as far as he’s concerned, none of what we went through together ever happened.’ She shivered, pulling her cloak more tightly about her. ‘This isn’t the Jack I knew. But he still looks more or less the same, and he still sounds the same and sometimes …’ The knots of tension in her stomach got worse. ‘I mean, how would you feel if Cillian came back to life, but he didn’t recognise you? If he looked at you like you were a stranger?’
Finn’s face sort of … shut down.
Merry wished she knew a spell to unsay what she’d just said.
‘You knew Jack for how long?’ Finn demanded. ‘A few weeks? A few months at most. And you’re comparing his death to me losing my brother?’
‘Honestly, I didn’t mean to—’
Finn threw up a hand, silencing her. ‘Just don’t, Merry. Don’t say any more. I need some sleep.’ He lay down, facing away from her, and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head.
Merry stared at his back, willing him to turn round.
‘Finn?’
He didn’t answer.
‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. But grief … it isn’t rational or – or – measurable. And Jack’s not the only person I’ve lost.’ Finn still hadn’t moved, or given any sign that he’d heard her. A gust of cold wind stung her eyes. She got to her feet and went to find some more firewood.
Just after dawn, Jack shook her awake. Finn was standing next to Blossom, waiting for her to mount, but he didn’t speak to her. They rode for what felt like hours through another forest before he finally leant forward to whisper to her, his lips brushing her ear.
‘I didn’t mean that my grief was somehow worth more than yours. I just … I miss my brother. That’s all.’
‘Of course. It’s OK.’
‘No, it isn’t. I came here to help you, Merry, to try to make up for what I did at the Black Lake. You mean a lot to me. But you don’t owe me anything. And I have no right to be jealous of Jack. Jealous of the feelings you had for him. Or have for him.’
‘I don’t have any feelings for him, so there’s no reason for you to be jealous. That was what I was trying to explain yesterday. Very badly.’ Merry gazed at Jack, riding a few metres in front of her. ‘Seeing him alive has brought back the memories of the person I loved. But I can’t be in a relationship with a ghost. If we survive this mess, you’re the one I want to bring home to meet my mother, so to speak.’ She twisted round so she could look at Finn. ‘You. Not Jack.’
For a moment, Finn stared at her, his grey eyes wide. Then he slid one hand round her waist, pulled her against him and kissed the back of her neck gently. ‘Thank God. I thought I was going to have to challenge Jack to a duel.’ He laughed softly. ‘And I’m not one hundred per cent certain that I’d win.’
Merry smiled and rested her head back against Finn’s shoulder. They rode on for a while in a comfortable silence.
Jack, still a little way ahead of them, seemed to be getting slower and slower. He kept turning his head, scanning the woodland on either side of the path, riding with one hand on the hilt of his sword.
‘Jack,’ Merry called, ‘is anything wrong?’
‘I do not like this forest.’
Merry looked around. To her, the forest seemed like most of the other woods they’d been through since she arrived here. Damp – chilly – the trees crammed so closely together that, even in their leafless winter state, there was hardly any light filtering down to the track they were following. The still air, heavy with dust, reminded her of something. The forgotten corner of a museum, or an abandoned church. A crypt. She shivered and rubbed her hands together.
Jack slowed his horse until he was riding next to them. ‘I know I haven’t been here before. Yet somehow, if I close my eyes, I remember riding this path, a group of mail-clad knights around me, until we were attacked …’
A long, low growl coming from the trees off to the left made the hair on the back of Merry’s neck stand up. Both horses snorted nervously.
‘What was that?’ Finn was craning his neck, peering into the undergrowth.
‘A wolf.’ Jack drew his sword. ‘Can you ride faster? We must escape this wood before it is too late.’
‘It’s already too late.’ Merry pointed ahead. Not just one wolf, but many – too many for her to count – were stalking through the trees towards them. The animals were advancing purposefully, evenly spread out, almost in ranks. The horses were terrified. Jack still had Sorrel under control – just – but Blossom seemed to be trying to back away and sideways at the same time, tossing his head and rolling his eyes. Finn was leaning forward, gripping the reins and swearing but it didn’t seem to be helping. ‘Let me down,’ Merry insisted.
‘Are you crazy? You can’t – dammit –’
She didn’t waste time in arguing. Squishing her right leg up in front of her and cursing her long skirts, she twisted and slid underneath Finn’s arms and off the horse.
The wolves were only a few metres away now, almost encircling them. Merry realised a shielding spell wouldn’t be enough. She would have to drive them off.
Clenching her hands into fists, she began to sing. A stinging hex, basically. But Merry added more. She wove into the hex the words of a spell to control lightning, keeping the power coiled within her fingertips until the pain of it almost took her breath away.
As if responding to a signal, the wolves attacked.
Merry threw up her hands, releasing the spell. Behind her she could hear the horses screaming and Jack and Finn yelling, but she ignored them, concentrating on the magic coursing through her outstretched arms. She had to spin and duck, aiming the spell, making sure it hit every wolf hard, hard enough that the animal was no longer a threat.
And it was working. The wolves were howling, writhing on the forest floor. Some of them managed to escape, limping away as fast as they could, melting back into the shadows. More of them didn’t. Merry kept going, out of breath, murmuring the spell now rather than singing it. But almost all the wolves had fled or collapsed and she was nearly done, nearly—
‘Merry!’
She swung round to see a huge blond wolf leaping at her, brought up her hands—
Jack’s sword flew past her head and buried itself in the wolf’s chest. The animal crashed to the ground.
Merry let the spell fade and lowered her arms, breathing heavily, grimacing: the air stank of burnt fur.
‘Are you hurt?’ Jack, still leading Sorrel, wrenched the sword out of the dead wolf. He had bloody claw marks along one arm. ‘Merry?’
‘No. Just tired.’ She flexed her aching fingers and looked around. ‘Where’s Finn?’
‘Blossom bolted. I’ll find him.’ He jumped on to Sorrel’s back and rode into the forest.
Left alone, Merry crossed her arms and looked around her at the ring of dead wolves. The snow was stained with blood. When Ronan had killed a wolf back in the woods near Tillingham, she’d buried it – covered it with a mound of roses. But there were no roses here. And far too many bodies …
But what else could I have done?
One of the bodies was twitching; she moved closer to investigate. This wolf was alive. It gasped for air, trying feebly to get back up on its feet. And then Merry saw one of its paws, and froze.
It