“Remember what your mother said about not accepting any deals. Take nothing,” Father warned as he walked her to the door.
“I remember.” She bussed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it. What could go wrong with Mama’s magical cloak?” She gripped the red fabric and flared it.
Papa turned grim. “Be careful. There and back. Accept no gifts, not even the most benign. Offer nothing.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
Famous last words.
CHAPTER NINE
Briar Forest was terrifying.
Alva had never traveled far within it before. Just the outer edges in the fall with her mother, collecting plants her father could dry for use over the winter.
She’d been struck by how dark and stark the forest stood against the bright blue sky where the sun shone. Except on Briar Forest—so called because, according to an old fable, the woods contained a great evil, sleeping behind a barrier of thorns. She’d yet to hear a single person claim to have found one briar, let alone a dense wall of them.
She took a deep, lung-filling breath before stepping under the boughs, heavy with snow. There was a faint path under the branches, an area trampled from use. Even in the winter, the woodcutters had to collect fuel for those who didn’t before the cold set in. Hunters still went out to find winter roosting birds or wandering game.
The baker’s daughter carried a basket on her arm, wearing a cloak that screamed, “Look at me!” through some woods that, while quiet, proved ominous for the lack of human voice. The absence of color and noise made glimpses of it jarring. The sudden crack of a branch as it succumbed to the weight of the snow had Alva jolting so hard she jerked into a tree, and snow dumped on her head. Shaking the cold loose, she pulled up her hood to prevent any more from sliding down her back in a snaking line to her buttocks.
Not the greatest sensation.
Trudge. Clomp. Every step sounded too loud, and the farther she went, the deeper into the cloak she wrapped herself, wishing she’d not been so insistent on making this journey. Surely, if Grandmother missed a delivery just this one time, it wouldn’t be so bad—extenuating circumstances and all.
It sure was tempting to turn around. Alva didn’t like the woods. Not one bit. She chewed her lower lip as she paused and glanced behind her.
What would she say to Papa? “I was scared.”
A shame Guntar hadn’t been home when she’d swung by on her way out of town. Then again, what would he have done that she couldn’t? He had a sword. She had a knife. She could scream. Animals hated loud noises.
Maybe Mama had told the truth, and she did wear a magical cloak. Either way, she had to stop being a ninny. The faster she moved, the quicker she’d be there and then headed home for a nice hot cup of cocoa.
Crunch. Crunch. Her feet crushed fresh snow, the woods on either side showing no signs of passage since the snowfall. Not even pawprints. A good thing, right?
A fork in the path was barely discernible, but per papa’s instructions came back to her. She kept left. The woods drew tighter around her, many of the trees coniferous with branches sweeping low and bushy, making it harder and harder to see.
The path continued, a sinuous trail that she marked with the huffing frost of her breath. She angled to go around a tree. That was when she encountered it.
A giant, furry form crouched on the path, lips pulled back to show sharp teeth. Its eyes held baleful hate. Its fur was mottled black and tan.
“Grrr.”
It didn’t come from the wolf in front of her.
Whirling, she beheld yet another behind her, its fur dark as night.
Penned between two wolves, she had only one thought.
I’m dead.
CHAPTER TEN
Caught between the jaws of death, Alva did the only thing she could. She tucked her cloak tighter and screamed. Loudly. So loud, a bird startled overhead and dumped more snow on her as it took flight.
The mottled wolf yipped before it ran away, leaving the larger beast with his ebony fur and striking blue eyes. It stared at her, unperturbed by her screaming.
Not good.
“I don’t suppose you want cake?” she muttered. She could swing the basket if it attacked. But then what? One whack of the woven slats might startle it but not do much harm, she’d wager.
It leaned in her direction, getting closer without moving. It sniffed.
Did it smell the basket of goodies? Or was it looking at Alva, thinking: Yummy, meat?
If only she’d thought to put treats in her pocket.
Wait. She had a knife. Holding the basket with one hand, she slid the other into the pocket and grabbed the hilt, even as she softly murmured, “Nice wolf.”
“Grrr.”
“Bad wolf, then.”
It cocked its head. Surely, it didn’t understand.
“I really don’t have time for this. I have a delivery to make.” She hoisted the basket.
It crouched and snarled.
“It’s baked goods, not a threat. Unless it’s to your belly. Too many, and you’ll be like my papa. His shirt had to be let out at the seams again.” She babbled, stupidly, but riddled with terror, she could think of nothing else.
Good news, the beast didn’t go for her throat. Not yet.
“You’re awfully big.” She’d seen the pelts hunters brought back and didn’t recall them being this large. And did all wolves have the most amazing eyes? The specimen watching her had clear blue irises. Those of the mottled one that’d run off had appeared more yellow.
“Your eyes are just like someone I used to know.” Her lips turned down. “He didn’t turn out to be the man I thought.”
The creature chuffed and swung its head away.
“Am I boring you? Probably.” She sighed. “Welcome to my life.”
The wolf uttered the strangest sound, and her brows rose. “I swear you just said yours is worse. Which is crazy. Must be these woods.” She glanced overhead. She wanted to be home before darkness hit.
“I really need to deliver this.” She took a step, and the wolf surged with a snarl.
“Seriously? Respect the cloak.” She waggled the fabric. “This means you can’t eat me. So, out of my way. Shoo. Scram.” Where she found the courage, she couldn’t say. But to her surprise, the wolf paused, and its gaze flicked past her.
Before she could whirl, he knocked her aside. She hit the ground hard, barely managing to keep the basket upright. Don’t wreck the cake. Never mind her sore bottom.
A glance showed that the mottled wolf had returned, and the dark one took chase. They sprinted down the path.
She didn’t waste time and bolted quickly in the opposite direction. Her running steps soon had her emerging from the thick band of trees into a clearing that was warm and snow-free.
She froze mid-step, her mouth opened wide as she uttered a dumbstruck, “Huh?”
A glance around showed winter had stopped as if an invisible wall existed in a perfect circle. The snow cut off abruptly for green clover. A tree within the protected circle hung heavy with leaves and red fruit. She even saw bumblebees and butterflies flitting from flower to flower.
Impossible. And at the same time, she could see, smell, and even touch it. She dropped and ran her hand over the foliage. Real.