Amalthea's Arc

Chapter 6 of 9

Corvus opened the door before she knocked. He wore his black cloak, the raven feathers stirring as he moved. Dark veins climbed one side of his face, but his eyes were soft. "Your father let you come," he said. It was not a question. Amalthea nodded. "On his terms. I take the hound. I send word." Corvus glanced down at the armored beast at her feet. "Then we should ride. A month is not much." Outside, a second animal waited. It was not a horse. It stood taller than one, black-furred, with a wolf's lean body and a warthog's tusked snout. A worn saddle sat across its back. Corvus rested a hand on its flank. "Faster than any horse," he said. "It carries twice the weight. We will need both." But speed meant nothing without a direction. Amalthea stopped in the yard. "Where do we ride, Corvus? A true seer is not sitting in the nearest town. Chase the wrong rumor and we lose days. Lose enough days and your month is gone." He was quiet. She saw the same worry in his face. "I hoped you knew," he admitted. She did not. But she knew who might. "There is a witch," she said slowly. "She lives in a tower past the marshes. My father speaks her name like a curse. The village folk say she sees true things." Amalthea met his eyes. "If anyone can name a real seer, it is her." "A witch your father fears," Corvus said. "You would go to her?" "I would waste a week guessing, or spend two days getting an answer. I choose the answer." Corvus helped her onto the saddle. She gripped his waist as he swung up in front of her. He whistled once, low. The tusked mount lunged forward, and the armored hound raced alongside. The castle shrank behind them. Wind tore at her white hair and lifted his cloak like wings. They rode hard through the day. By dusk the ground turned soft and gray. Reeds hissed against the animal's legs. A crooked tower rose from the mist ahead, its stones black with age, half its roof caved in. A woman stood in the doorway before they stopped. She was thin, with silver hair and long fingers that curled around the frame. Her black gown hung in torn strips. She did not look surprised to see them. "The cursed prince," the witch said. "And the horned king's daughter. You want a seer." Amalthea's heart jumped. "You know already." "I know the road ends at the Ashen Fen," the witch said. "The last true seer lives there. She reads what others fear to read." A smile split her thin face. "But she does not read for free. She will ask a price from one of you. And she chooses which." Amalthea climbed down, her boots sinking in the mud. She had her direction now. She also had a new fear. Somewhere in the fen waited an answer, and it would cost.