Page 125 of In Rising Tides

The ship’s sail caught the wind and sped away, disappearing over the horizon once more.

“What do you think that was about?” Wilder asked, turning to look at Otto.

He had remained seated, but he was miles and miles away.

Otto’s eyes swirled like liquid smoke. “We need to send a guard …” Otto’s voice was distant and hollow. “A message on the tree.”

Ridge squatted down beside Otto and gripped the top of his shoulder. “Which tree?”

“A hawthorn.”

Oron had drawnthe short stick.

Armed with a broadsword, he crept through the Valewood in search of a hawthorn tree with a message.

Otto hadn’t been able to give any more information. And whatever he had seen or had gone through to be able to see had depleted his energy.

He sat in the plush armchair by the back window, a steaming cup of tea in one hand, his head in the other.

Jordania sat across from him. Something was gripped in her fist, and by the sounds of it, Wilder assumed they were stones.

They clacked and clicked together as she moved her hand in small circles.

“And that was all you saw?” she asked in a low voice.

Otto grumbled something too quiet for Wilder to make out from the kitchen.

Jordania leaned forwards, her chestnut hair falling in waves over her shoulder as the stones tumbled from her fist and onto the low-lying table.

Wilder didn’t catch a glimpse of them before she had scooped them up again.

“They must have stayed outside the ward. I wasn’t alerted,” she frowned.

Maelys breezed in through the front door. Her golden-brown hair plaited back, and a flush of pink on her freckled nose.

She hoisted a basket of greens onto the table. Dirt rained down from the freshly picked vegetables, and she wiped her hands off on her sage-green tunic.

“That garden is in need of a reaping,” she muttered more to herself than to anyone.

Before Wilder could question if Ridge could attend to it, he stumbled in through the front door. His eyes were bright, and his shirt was disheveled.

“Was there much sowing?” Wilder asked, a hint of mischief quirked his lip up in the corner.

The tips of Maelys ears turned bright red before she turned around and began unloading the basket into the small wash basin.

“What’s going on?” Ridge asked.

Wilder was about to make another jest at their expense before he caught Ridge’s line of sight to see Jordania stand abruptly, her face ashen.

“He’s back,” she said. “Oron’s back.”

There was something about the gold in her eyes that led Wilder to believe she was seeing more than they were. But it was the grimace on her lips that made his stomach drop.

He couldn’t bear the weight of someone else getting hurt—at his expense.

Wilder tore out of the cottage, heading towards the road that led into the Valewood just as Oron appeared on the tree line. His legs moved so swiftly it was as if his magic carried him on the wind.

Oron appeared uninjured, his gait strong, and shoulders leveled.