tone became dangerous. “Don’t think you can keep it for yourself.”
He paused again, and then his voice dropped an octave and made Lukasz’s blood run cold.
“Any of it.”
25
THE LESHONKI WOKE THEM EARLY the next morning, whooping and hollering as they tugged them back to the dining table. Breakfast comprised heaping dishes of literally every food Lukasz could imagine, but he could barely eat a bite. Across the table, Ren avoided his eye and talked to Jakub and Koszmar. It left him furious, and he couldn’t decide whether it was with her, with the Leszy, or with himself.
He decided it was all three.
After that, with predictably chaotic glee, the Leszy led them through the tunnels. The little god enjoyed dancing far ahead and disappearing, leaving them to flounder in the dark. He found it especially hilarious to then surprise them—either by plummeting from the ceiling like a psotnik or by popping out of the ground—usually snatching off Koszmar’s helmet or pulling Król’s tail. Once—very bravely, thought Lukasz—he even snuck up on Ren.
Unfortunately, Lukasz was in her line of fire on that one and almost lost an eye to her claws. More disturbingly, she seemed genuinely disappointed to have missed. All in all, he was grateful when they finally erupted, around midday, into the open.
Only it was not open at all, but dark and poisoned. Black slime dripped from the surrounding trees, and horseflies the size of hummingbirds droned in the shadows. A few feet away, Koszmar stepped in something syrupy black and cursed like a sailor while Felka and Jakub dragged him back out of the sticky pool.
Leszy checked on them one last time, ensuring they were adequately supplied with provisions, bad couplets, and sarcastic remarks. Then, as abruptly as he had appeared, he simply melted back into the forest.
“What happened?” demanded Koszmar, whirling around and nearly tripping into the black goo again. “Where’s the little devil?”
But the forest was watchful, pathless, and empty. It was mostly a testament to his unease, but Lukasz almost missed the little madman.
Lukasz left Felka to reassure Koszmar and wandered over to where Ren was adjusting the girth on Król’s saddle. She gave him the kind of look that would have caused a less courageous, more sensible man to retreat.
Lukasz was neither.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“Ren, I—”
A few feet away, Ducha took a direct nosedive from the treetops and tackled a psotnik to the ground. The creature hissed as it died, like air escaping a bellows.
Felka sidestepped the dying monster and joined Ren at Król’s saddle. Lukasz wondered if she was intentionally running interference.
“Ren, do you ever get the feeling,” she said, pointedly excluding Lukasz, “that this forest isn’t on your side?”
Then she bent out of sight, buckling a saddlebag to the saddle. When she reappeared, she clarified: “Like, do you ever worry it might not be worth saving?”
Ren looked at her. Then she looked at Lukasz.
“Well,” she said coolly, “I am regretting a few things I’ve saved.”
Lukasz knew he deserved that.
Still, he leaned down, and he wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but Ren’s hand went still on the saddle. It might be his only chance. He could tell her the truth. He could tell her about his hand. He could tell her that it was all for Franciszek.
But he didn’t.
“Forgive me, Ren,” he said quietly.
He wished they could start again. He wished he hadn’t lied. He wished there weren’t nine dead brothers and a Dragon standing between them. He wished he hadn’t pulled out that lighter on the riverbank, and he wished she hadn’t run.
He wished she had been the one to kiss him.
Their breath hung in the air between them, then mixed, and finally, drifted up to join the fog overhead.
“If you keep asking me that,” she said, “one day, I’ll stop saying yes.”
The day went quickly. Ren gave Felka her clothes, transformed into a lynx, and walked most of the way with Czarn and Ry?. She was avoiding him, and Lukasz knew it. Even when they set up camp, in the trees just beyond the river, she avoided him. She curled up between Felka and her animals, but he saw her watching him, one green eye open and accusatory.
Lukasz gave up. He left the camp to join Koszmar at the river. When he got there, the blond Wrony was nowhere to be found, and he took a moment to reexamine the wound on his shoulder. The cuts had fully reopened, and their edges were purple. They wouldn’t stop bleeding.