Ahead of us the enormous raven that was Roman swooped down.

“Hold on,” Teddy Jo said.

“I thought I’d throw my arms up like on a roller coaster.”

“Your funeral.”

“Better not be. I die, you might never get your sword back.”

We dived. Wind whistled past my ears. The ground rushed at us.

Below us, the raven twisted back into a human.

The ground hurtled toward me at an alarming speed.

We are all going to die . . .

Six feet above the grass I decided to take my chances. I jumped out of the swing—the ground punched my feet—and rolled upright.

Roman clapped.

“What the hell?” Teddy Jo asked, landing. “I would’ve set you down.”

Legs unbroken, arms unbroken, and best of all, solid ground under my feet.

“I’m okay.”

Roman laughed.

“Don’t laugh.”

“Can’t help it.” The smile slid off his face. “It might be the last time. Nothing good will come from your entering this forest. This isn’t a place where normal people are welcome.”

“I should be right at home, then.”

“I’m serious, Kate. Here the old powers rule. Elemental powers. It’s not too late to turn back.”

“It’s always too late,” I told him.

“Do you remember how to talk to the gods?”

“Don’t ask for anything, promise nothing, and accept no gifts.”

Roman sighed. “We shall go, then.” He headed into the woods. We followed, picking our way through the underbrush along a narrow trail.

“Why didn’t Chernobog tell you that he wanted to talk to me?” I asked. “It would’ve made things a lot simpler.”

“He did,” Roman said. “Sometimes he wants things and I talk him out of it. I thought we had agreed to let you be. You have enough on your plate.”

“Your god went around you,” Teddy Jo said.

“He did. I tried to tell him it’s a bad idea, I tried to tell Kate it’s a bad idea, and nobody listens to me. And so here we are.” He waved at the darkness in the woods.

“You didn’t try very hard to talk her out of it,” Teddy Jo said.

“I respect her,” Roman said. “She knows what she’s doing. If she says she wants to talk to my god, then so be it. Besides, if Chernobog wants to talk to you, he’ll find a way.”

Speaking of respect . . . “I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Oh?”

“Did you send my father a wedding invitation?”

“Of course I did.”

“Did you clear it with me?”

Roman bent an eyebrow at me. “You weren’t available.”

Around us black woods crowded the path: black trunks, black leaves, black roots. You’d never know it was noon and a few dozen feet above us, the world was bright and full of sunshine. Here darkness ruled. There was something primal about it. Something primitive and old. Things with narrow glowing eyes stared at us from the black brush. This forest gave me the creeps.

“My father called me, all offended on my behalf that the wedding dinner isn’t sufficiently feastlike.”

“Umm,” Roman said.

“Curran is also now offended because my father referred to him as a pauper.”

“Umm,” Roman offered.

“And then you called over to the Keep and offended the dress designers, so they hunted me down this morning and invaded my house.”

“You do need a dress.”

“You’re not a wedding planner, you’re a menace. Stop planning my wedding.”

“I’ll stop when you start.”

“There is nothing to plan.”

Roman turned to Teddy Jo on the trail next to him. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”

“What does this wedding look like in your head?” Teddy Jo asked me. “Is it like the family gets there and then this Russian shows up and marries you?”

“Pretty much.”

“No,” Teddy Jo said.

“It’s my wedding. It’s for me.”

“No, your wedding night is for you. The wedding is for everyone else.”

“I told her,” Roman said. “Weddings require preparation. It’s a significant, hopefully once-in-a-lifetime event where you swear to love and cherish another person, not casually but through thick and thin. It’s a promise that is meant to be kept forever. Honestly, Kate, do you want to get married? It’s a serious question.”

I sighed. “I want to get married. And maybe I would like to be there to pick the flowers and choose the dress and select the menu. But war is coming. My future is on fire and I have to put it out if I hope to have any future left . . .”

They weren’t in front of me anymore.

I clamped my mouth shut. The two men had disappeared. I stood alone. Ahead of me the trail nearly vanished too, all but melted into a bog about fifty feet wide. On both sides, black water slicked blacker mud. Massive black trees bordered the bog, their branches braiding high above me like the fingers of two hands interlaced into a single fist.

Apparently, Chernobog wanted privacy for this conversation. Calling for either Roman or Teddy Jo would do no good. This was his forest and he made this happen. I could stand here, at the edge of the bog, or I could move forward and get on with it.

I stepped into the mud. It squelched under my weight with a wet sucking noise. Step, another step, a few more . . .

Something watched me from the depths of the woods. My skin felt too tight from the pressure of its gaze.

When alone in a dark forest waiting for an audience with an evil god, the most prudent course of action is to be quiet and wait. “Prudent” wasn’t one of my favorite words.

“Hello? I’ve come to borrow a cup of sugar. Anybody? Perhaps there is an old woman with a house made of candy who could help me?”

“Marrying for love isn’t wise.”

The voice came from somewhere to the left. Melodious, but not soft, definitely female and charged with a promise of hidden power. Something told me that hearing her scream would end very badly for me.

I stopped and pivoted toward the voice.

“Marry for safety. Marry for power. But only fools marry for love.”

When a strange voice talks to you in the black woods, only idiots answer.