Page 61 of Lady Knight and the Thief

“It’s… Complicated.”

“In what way?”

“We’ve never understood why the Hunt keeps rising. A betting man might say it has something to do with the curse.”

“But not you?”

Torren shrugged. “That remains to be seen.”

Cypress didn’t press further.

Instead, she dismounted her horse in favor of walking for a while. Perhaps the miles ahead would help her clear her mind. While it wouldn’t take her and Torren as long to reach the tomb as it had to get to A’aravos Paravale, the constant movement was taking its toll on her nerves.

Cypress knew the tomb of the Winged Hounds was a few days' ride to the south, but in comparison to the other ones marked, this tomb was far closer than any of the others dotting the map she’d seen in the castle.

When Torren glanced back to verify she and the horses were all still behind him, he also dismounted. Together, they all walked on while the sun inched across the sky, clouds drifting by as the wind whistled through the trees.

“You said once that human women rarely survive childbirth. Does Faerie know why?” Cypress asked some time later, unable to shake free from the curiosity.

“Many of our healers believe it has to do with the baby taking too much from the mother. Too much, they can’t replenish, so by the time the labor comes, they are far too weak to endure the stress.”

“And the others?”

Torren shrugged. “Some say it’s merely the will of the Mother, while others say it is because humans are inferior. I am not inclined to agree with either.”

Cypress nodded, understanding that she’d never know her mother, despite how much the thought ached. She had thought she’d rid herself of the overwhelming emptiness that came with being orphaned, and yet…

“Is there a way to track my Fair Folk heritage?”

“Well, the easiest way would be if you had any powers, which, given your…surpriseat finding out last night, I’d guess you don’t have any.”

“Correct. I’ve witnessed them manifesting in others, but nothing has ever shown itself to me.”

“I’ll take you to see Havanj after we visit the tombs. She’ll be able to determine where in Faerie you hail from.”

“She’ll be able to find my…” Cypress stalled, the word father drying her throat. “Relatives?”

“Possibly, but it is unlikely. At minimum, she’ll be able to confirm Pixie blood. If she’s encountered any of your relatives, Havanj would be able to give you that information, but I must warn ye Lass, if you were orphaned inside of the Keep, there’s a good chance that whoever it was is now long dead.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because children are sacred to the Fair Folk. In the instance that a human mother does not survive childbirth, the babies are often brought back to Faerie to be raised. Since you were not, your father was either gravely injured before your birth and had to leave your mother, or was killed.”

Cypress didn’t know how to respond. Every time they spoke about the Grethnah and Faerie, it seemed like she knew less and less.

Once, Cypress would have said she was intelligent, that she knew about the kingdom, and its people– their histories. Afteronly a few weeks on the road, Cypress now understood she barely knew anything at all.

Torren didn’t say anything else, so the pair walked on through the forest, the path and trees ever shifting, morphing.

Every step further into the Wylds was different. One moment, Cypress would be walking through a bright, airy forest with tall trees, branches only at the very tips, with the barest grass coverage in the dappled sunlight. Next, the forest would shift, closing in around them, gnarled branches reaching like hands to grab at loose fabric, the tips of her hair. The trees seemed to breathe, a gentle inhale and exhale through the leaves. Moss lined the edges of the path, growing along the base of the trunks.

The forests of Grethnah were dense in some areas, though they were mostly made of young, thin trees that one could wrap their arms around easily. These trees, no matter what the forest around her looked like at that moment, were thick. Ancient things that had seen the rise and fall of uncountable sunrises and sunsets.

And all around waslife.Bugs of every size flitted through the branches, munching on leaves. Birds as large as a dog soared overhead through the tall canopies, trilling and chirping in a song Cypress could listen to for an age.

Torren was silent for a long time, only speaking when the ground softened, her boots no longer pounding on hardened, packed dirt. Instead, her heels sank into the dirt, a much-needed respite for her aching feet.

“We will be coming upon Rhoham Brook soon. We can take a rest there and eat something.”