by Sarra Cannon
The one person who could rescue me was the one shoving my head beneath the waves of the political storm he had helped conjure. I didn’t understand his motives. Why not hold me down until the Unseelie hound arrived? If Raven killed me, Unseelie House would rule Faerie and break the Seelie’s centuries’ long reign.
“This way.” Rook changed directions and hauled me after him. “Faster.”
“This is as fast as it gets.” I was in shape, I had to be for hunting fugitives, but Rook was pro-athlete fit. That or his powers included being as fleet of foot as he was swift of wing.
Through another endless hall we ran, our footsteps covered by the echo of eager hound song. We burst through a boarded door and then staggered out into the snow.
Rook snapped his fingers, and a single black feather appeared between them. “I summon the Morrigan.”
“Your mother?” I squeaked. “How are we going to pay her?”
The Morrigan expected payment in flesh for the indignity of answering anyone’s summons.
“This feather represents a debt she owes me,” he said. “This squares us.”
When an earsplitting caw rent the sky over our heads, I covered my ears. “I hope she agrees.”
A gargantuan crow landed several yards away. It was larger than the dragons from earlier, and her outstretched wings blotted out the sun.
“That’s new.” I flinched when she clacked her beak together.
“Mother has many forms.” The feather turned to ash in his fingers. “Some, like this, are bound to Faerie.”
Good thing too. It was easy to picture her swooping over cities and devouring the citizens if given the chance. She was not a benevolent goddess by any stretch of the imagination. The Morrigan personified war and strife and misery. She reveled in pain, basked in agony and thrilled in the anguish of others.
Taking that into consideration, the notion of the Morrigan as our rescuer was giving me an ulcer.
“Can we trust her?” Not to eat us.
“She will do as I ask.” He dusted his hands clean. “After that, we have no guarantee she won’t fly straight to the Huntsman and tell him where she dropped us.”
We approached, and the great crow’s beak opened.
The Morrigan’s raspy voice issued from its throat. “Rook.”
“Mother.” He inclined his head. “The favor I ask of you is your aid in escorting us safely to the edge of Autumn.”
“You ask much of me, my son.” Her beady eyes raked over me. “Thierry Thackeray. You have been good to me. Therefore, I will grant this one-time aid. I will fly you and my child to the edge of Autumn, where I must leave you to your fate.” She rustled her feathers and puffed up at Rook. “Are these terms agreeable to you?”
“They are.” Rook kissed his pointer finger and faced it toward her in salute.
I fumbled for the right words to frame my gratitude. “Your help is much appreciated.”
“Oh, it is more than worth it to me.” A cackle rose from her throat. “I owed Rook a debt much larger than the paltry favor he is content to redeem it for. Had he asked first, I might have done this for free.”
“You do nothing for free,” he said lightly. “Let us not pretend otherwise.”
He boosted me onto her back and then climbed up behind me.
The Morrigan vibrated beneath us with her laughter. “Now, son, you’ll give Thierry the wrong impression of her mother-in-law.”
I glared at Rook over my shoulder and mouthed, We aren’t married.
A tight smile stretched his lips as he linked his hands at my navel. The caress of his thumbs sent quivers through my stomach. I was queasy. That was it. Or grateful, which was worse. He was not tempting me. Well, okay, tempting me to wring his neck, yes. Tempting me to jump his bones, no. Just so we’re clear.
“Hold on.” The Morrigan spread her vast wings and launched into the sky.
Beneath us, frustrated barks stung my ears as a dozen hounds loped after us.
One hound leapt, snapping his jaws close to her tail. Without warning, she cried out and swooped, catching the dog before its front paws hit the ground, tossing her head back as she gulped him down with a satisfied chirrup. Price paid. Belly taut with dog flesh, the Morrigan soared.
— —
Whirling snow gave way to flurrying leaves below us as the frigid air warmed by several degrees. I had a bird’s-eye view for the changing of the seasons, and it was breathtaking. Soaring over the seasonal divide was like flipping channels from black-and-white melodrama to full Technicolor extravaganza.
Red and orange treetops popped against the browning grasses. Autumn was, as far as I could tell, one endless forest. What an ideal place for a hunt.
Rook’s arms tightened around me before I sensed the subtle variance in our altitude.
“This is as far as I will go,” the Morrigan said. “Have a care, son. Die well, daughter.”
The great crow dipped lower, until her wake made the leaves tremble.
“Hold on to me,” Rook murmured against my neck. “This is where we get off.”
Scenery zipped under us. “Um, she isn’t slowing down.”
His sympathetic look might have earned him more points if his mother hadn’t chosen that exact moment to disembark us by executing a barrel roll. I fisted her feathers and held on for dear life. She squawked and shrugged, sending us into a tailspin. The harder I yanked, the faster we dove.
Rook’s hands covered mine. “We have to jump.”
“Are you insane?” I screamed. “She won’t kill herself to get rid of us.”
“You don’t know my mother. Death is a temporary inconvenience as far as she’s concerned.”
Meaning she came back the same as Macsen did. Great. Everyone here was immortal but me.
Even with the ground racing up to meet me, I stubbornly clung to her back.
“Let go.” Rook yanked on my hands, ripping out fistfuls of feathers. “Thierry, please.”
Fingers sweaty, I lost my hold. He clasped my hands before I could grasp another anchor.
“Good girl,” he breathed, tightening his grip on me and letting go for both of us.
For an eternity, we dangled from the Morrigan’s back by the strength of my thighs as I clenched her sides, but Rook was heavy and so was I. The material of my pants conspired against me, and our weight sucked me from the back of the great bird and sent us hurtling downward toward the spiky treetops.
Leaves swatted me in the face and limbs caught my hair. Rook drew me closer, tried to protect me from the worst of it, but the fall was harsh. Landing was worse. Rook hit flat on his back, winded but whole. Impact jarred my right side, and that arm went numb. I coughed against the damp ground.
“Is anything broken?” He still rested on his back, gazing into the canopy of trees.
“I can’t feel my right arm.” I rolled onto my back, grinding my teeth while I flexed my fingers. When that didn’t kill me, I raised my arm. “Not broken.” I twisted my head toward him. “How about you?”
“I’m fine.” He sat up with his left arm tucked against his chest. “We have to move.”
I pushed onto my knees, drew back my left arm and punched him square in the nose. “That was for lying to me.”
Blood trickled over his lips, down his chin. “Are you finished?”
“For now.” I shoved onto my feet. “I reserve the right to change my mind later.”
Rook rolled onto his feet too, still cradling his arm.
“You aren’t fine.” I shook out my hand. “Your arm is broken.”
“It will mend itself.” He drew his cloak around him. “We must keep moving.”
He set out, certain I would follow. And I did. What choice did I have?
With a sigh, I trailed after him. “I don’t understand the game you’re playing.”
“I can scarcely keep track of it myself.” He didn’t slow to welcome conversation. “I regret drawing you into this plot, I regret deceiving you, but your father’s d
isappearance presented the High Court with an opportunity, and they used me to seize it.”
I slowed as a thought occurred to me. “Was the Morrigan in on it?”
He chuckled. “Who do you think taught me how to cross the threshold?”
Oh snap. The conclave would have kittens over this.
Still amused, he asked, “Is there anything else you would like to know?”
As a matter of fact… “Tell me about the hunt.”
“That’s rather grim, don’t you think?”
“Is the lore true?” I pressed. “One prince from each house will take the form of a hound?”
“Yes.”
“Back there—that was more than two hounds.”
“The princes are made honorary pack members during the hunt. The Huntsman runs them all for the thrill of it, and to ensure their prey doesn’t escape. Macsen knows Faerie better than anyone. If it was an honest fight between him and the princes, well, Faerie would have been under his rule since his awakening.”
Huh. I never considered he could win but chose not to.
Though I guess a sacrifice wasn’t a sacrifice unless you paid for it dearly.
“Once the pack corners their quarry,” he continued, “the princes fight it out among themselves for the right to make the crown-winning kill. Assuming both princes have survived to that point. Both princes don’t always live to the end.”
“Okay, so the princes are the real threat.” That was unexpected good news. “Raven is the Unseelie hound. Who is the other?”
“Riordan.” Pity laced his tone. “King Moran was his father.”
“Great.” Heirs were never more dangerous than when grieving or desperate to restore their family to glory. “Have I mentioned how much I appreciate you dragging me into this mess, Rook?” I snorted. “If that is your real name.”
“You heard my mother call me by that name,” he said flatly. “She is full-blooded and can’t lie.”
“Maybe not, but someone told me once fae tell the truth so well it might as well be a lie.”
“I deserve your distrust, but can’t you accept I want to help you? Haven’t I given you proof?”
“The more proof you show me, the closer I have to inspect the fine print.” Rook had proven to me where his loyalties lay. “Have you helped me? Yes. Do I believe you burned a favor from the Morrigan to rescue me out of the goodness of your heart? No. Your brother is a hound. He’s hunting me even now. If he kills me, your house will rule. You must want that. Why else would you drag me into this?”
He whirled on me. “I am your coimirceoir.”
“My guardian, I got that.” I shoved him. “That was very slick how you managed to make sure you got stuck with me out here. It will come in handy for leaving breadcrumbs for your brother to follow.”
“You don’t understand. That’s not how this works.”
“Explain it then, because I’m a little confused about what the hell it is you think you’re doing.”
“As your husband, you are safe from me.” He exhaled. “I can’t be used against you again.”
“Then why claim guardianship? If naming me as your wife absolved you, why take out extra insurance?”
His lips mashed into a stubborn line and held for so long I was almost startled when he spoke.
“If your mother is returned to you unharmed, and you yourself return unharmed, then I have done no wrong for which I should be ashamed.” Rook bent closer and whispered in my ear, “My plan, wife, is to find your father before the hounds find you. He can trade places with you. He can run the hunt, die as the new prince is crowned and then rise to snarl over your involvement later.”
Dangerous hope sparked in my chest. “Do you know where he is?”
“No.” He jerked his chin in the direction we had been going. “He was last seen near here.”
Gooseflesh rippled over my skin. “Why are you doing this?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Reasons you won’t share.”
“Either you accept I mean no harm or assume I am as treacherous as I have given you every reason to believe.” He rolled his shoulders. “Either way, I’m not waiting for the hounds to reach us. The princes might want you in particular, but the others will be less choosy. You must decide if you can trust me that far or if you should go your own way.”
Rook left me standing in dappled sunlight. The turning leaves were no longer beautiful to me. The oranges were too bright and the reds called to mind the blood that would soon spill.
I wrapped my arms around myself and wished Mai was here. A sly fox would know how to outsmart those hounds. Wishing wouldn’t make her appear, so I filled my lungs with crisp fall air and exhaled out my fears and doubts.
Think. Frame this problem like it was an exercise dreamed up by Shaw.
Rook might help me find Mac. He might not. Safer to bet not. It seemed to me that if Rook or anyone else knew where Mac was, I wouldn’t be here. Nails biting into my elbows where I cupped them, I forced my shoulders to relax. Lowering my arms, I swung them to limber up and tugged on my glove from habit.
My glove.
My runes.
I could rend and devour souls. If I defeated the princes, I might survive the hunt. At least until the next set of heirs were named. Then the consuls would have to renegotiate terms with me, right? I hadn’t agreed to substitute eternally, just this once.
Weak as it was, that sounded almost like a plan.
I might not be kibble yet after all.
Chapter 22
Rook must have anticipated my change of heart. That or he enjoyed shuffling his feet in leaves. It took all of five minutes to catch up, and when I did, the only acknowledgment he gave was picking up his pace. Content as I could be with my cut-and-paste survival plan, I fell in line behind him.
Hours later, without much progress, shadows began waking, stretching toward us from the bases of the trees. The air turned cooler. Not winter cold, but chill enough I was grateful for the heat spell on my armor.
Music stirred in the air, sweet singing that twitched in my toes as I walked.
When I couldn’t stand the silence another minute, I jogged to Rook’s side. “Do you hear that?”
“Ignore it as best you can. It’s a lure the dryads use.” His eyes roved over me. “They’re Seelie.”
I shivered. “They’re trying to ensnare me.”
“It’s in their best interest if the Seelie continue to rule.” He cautioned, “Stay clear of the trees.”
His gaze slid past my shoulder, prompting me to search for what had captured his attention. Superimposed over the trunk of the nearest tree was a pale blue outline of a nude woman. Her arms were raised above her head, lifting her pert breasts and accentuating the fluid curve of her waist and soft roundness of her hips. She stood with one thigh in front of the other, hinting at hidden pleasures.
I was enchanted, had taken a step closer before the sap-sweet scent of her lure enveloped me. A sneezing fit seized me, blasting the scent out of my nose and clearing my head.
Guess I owed Shaw a case of ginger beer. Exposure to his lure must have inoculated me against other variants. Fighting hers was easy. Resisting Shaw? Now that was hard.
Rook stood his ground, eyes glazed while the dryad worked her enchantment.
If I wanted to be rid of him, this was a prime opportunity. I could leave him here with little miss bark for boobs and see how far I got before the hounds sniffed me out and I put my theory to the test.
I made it three steps before guilt gnawed through my resolve. I turned back and found Rook nearer the dryad. Much closer and he would reach out. If he touched her, she would use him for fertilizer.
“Rook.”
He didn’t blink.
“Rook.”
Blank stare ahoy.
The dryad’s lips never moved, but the soft music continued drifting around us. Strange behavior for a tree spirit. From what I remembered in my old textbooks, they were peace-loving, live
-and-let-live types. Sirens were more into lethal musical snares. The two could be related I guess, but the dryad’s urgent song still struck me as odd.
The Coronation Hunt must bring out the teeth in everyone.
Easing between them, I broke Rook’s eye contact with her. Sound was the problem. Earplugs. That was what I needed. Checking his pockets, I found them as empty as mine. Casting around for something I could use, I spotted clumps of thick moss covering the roots of a nearby tree. “Don’t move, okay?”
He gave no indication he heard me. He hadn’t moved since I stepped between them.
As fast as I could, I darted to the tree and scooped a handful of moss from the ground. I gave the spongy green stuff a test squeeze. The texture was foamy, but it was slower to reclaim its former shape. Guess I would have to pack it in his ear canals tighter then.
Rolling the topmost moss into tiny pellets, I did the best I could with what I had. Rook still hadn’t moved. He didn’t make a peep when I crammed the makeshift plugs in his ears, either. Feeling time slip through my fingers, I battled a sense of urgency to ditch him and keep moving. My endgame might be facing down those hounds, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
After a few moments, Rook blinked.
“Hello.” I waved my hand in front of his face. “Anyone home?”
He focused on me, or he tried to. His gaze ping ponged between me and the dryad.
“Let’s get moving, okay?” I yelled.
His slow nod told me he was coming around. Good. We had wasted too much time as it was.
Adrenaline drenched me in a sudden rush that left my nerves taut and my thighs trembling with the urge to run. I scented the cool, clean air. Decomposing leaves. Rich earth. Nothing out of the ordinary, even by Faerie standards. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted, but I was done waiting.
“If whatever it is wants to kill us,” I told Rook quietly, “it’ll just have to take a number and get in line.”
Linking my arm through his, I led a dreamy-eyed Rook ambling down a path through the trees. I hadn’t noticed it before, and it was more of an animal run than a man-made road, but the dirt beneath the day’s accumulation of leaves was hard packed and well worn. Someone must be using it often.
