“I’m out. Camille, too,” Delilah said.
Venus shook his head. “I have no need.”
Roz gathered up a handful of coins. “This will serve me well to replenish the firebombs and whatever else we might use of mine on this trip.”
Bran slowly stood, then walked over to me. He held up a necklace that looked to be of obsidian beads, pearls, and a sapphire pendant. “I would gift you with this.” He held it out. “Consider it my repayment for my churlish nature.”
I wasn’t going to take it, but that would probably make him irritating and difficult to work with. “Thank you,” I finally said, accepting the necklace. “It’s beautiful.” I tucked it away in my pocket until I could put it in my pack.
He held out the dagger to Delilah. “You like blades, I can tell. This, I have no need of.”
She started to say no—I could see it on her face—but then she must have reached the same conclusion I had, thanked him, and gracefully accepted.
Bran made gifts to Smoky—the chalice, to Venus—a ring, and to Roz, another bag of coins before filling his saddlebags with the rest of the treasure. I wasn’t sure what to think, but maybe we were rubbing off on him. One could only hope.
Bran tossed the chest back in the pond, where it sank within seconds, and then we mounted the horses. Having disposed of the kelpies, we set off again, back to Shade, Chase, and Trillian.
As we rode through the forest, the enchantment that the kelpies had woven around the area was broken, and now the trees loomed dark and chaotic around us. We were in an area of Thistlewyd Deep where it would be unwise to stray from the group. The energy was restless, and I could hardly wait until we were through to the mountains.
Chapter 12
WE HAD SPENT more time than I wanted to on the kelpies, but Bran hastened the pace and we began to make up the miles. He assured me this would only put us an hour or two behind and that we would still reach our destination before night.
“That’s a good thing,” Trillian muttered. “We’re going to need to find food for dinner, because there isn’t much left in the way of cookies or protein bars.”
I didn’t say anything but I was in full agreement. Our midmorning snack was a single granola bar and frankly, that wasn’t enough to sustain my good mood. I had no intention on going to bed without dinner. If nothing else, we should be able to find some handover roots, and some of the early berries were in season. It would take some foraging but we could have some sort of meal for dinner, but we couldn’t see to forage in the dark.
We wound further into the Deep, taking a secondary path shortly after our fight with the kelpies. “It will save us time,” Bran said, “even though the trail is a rougher ride.”
“Rougher ride” was correct. We bounced along, our horses steering around the roots and stones that littered the narrower path. The trail felt closed in, the trees looming closer on either side. While I loved being in the woods, I was starting to feel like we’d never find our way through. The mood was oppressive, weighing heavily like a stone around the neck. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw that Delilah looked just about as overjoyed as I felt, her mouth set in a grim line.
I nudged my horse to the side, swinging in again beside her. “This part of the Deep feels dangerous.”
“Oh, we’re being watched, all right. Panther is right at the surface, very close to making an appearance, which wouldn’t be a good surprise, given I’m astride a horse. I’m doing my best to rein her in, but I won’t guarantee that when we stop, she won’t appear and run off to find out who’s following us. Because we are being followed.”
I closed my eyes, reaching out to try to sense whoever was out there. But there were so many things—so many sensations that muddied the energy. I could tell there was definitely somebody trailing us, but I couldn’t pinpoint the source. Just a general sense of watchfulness.
“Yeah, we are. I’m going to tell Smoky. I don’t trust telling Bran. He just waves me off when I voice concerns.”
“That’s because he’s still pissed at you. And I think he’s attracted to you and he doesn’t want to be—and it makes him all the more angry.” Delilah gave a little shake of the head. “I know we need to accept his help, but Camille, keep one eye open around him. Always. He’s a lot like Shamas, only with a twisted bent.”
“You’re right about that, actually.” I hadn’t made the connection before, but now that she mentioned it, I realized that Bran did remind me of a petulant, perpetually angry Shamas. And Shamas had been petulant enough. Bran just multiplied that entitled mentality ten times over.