by Sarra Cannon
“Thierry.” He slurred my name. “I need to—”
He exploded in a blast of feathers.
“Rook?” I spun in a circle, clutching quills in my hands like that would help.
A caw overhead made my shoulders slump. He flapped harder until he pierced the canopy. Great. Some guardian he was.
Alone in the forest, I dusted my hands and trudged onward. Night drifted around me, cooler and darker, hungrier. Common sense said I ought to seek shelter. Stopping for the night wasn’t appealing when I had already lost so much time. If Rook came back, I could ask how long these hunts lasted.
Something told me not long. I figured I had twenty-four hours at most.
“You look awful tired, yes?” a tinny voice called. “I have a bed. Food. I have that too.”
I slowed my steps. “Show yourself.”
“Sure. I can do.” A small black rabbit hopped out of the woods. “See? No harm, dog girl.”
I crossed my arms. “Dog girl?”
“Word spreads fast.” He thumped his back foot. “Old king is dead. The hunt runs tonight.”
Considering the dryad attack, yeah, gossip must be burning up the vines out here.
Anxious to get moving, I cut to the chase. “Why would you help me?”
“Rook Morriganson sent me.” His whiskers twitched. “He said to take you to the burrow.”
“I wish I believed you, little guy.” I sighed and walked past him. “I just can’t risk it.”
A blast of scalding magic slammed into my back.
“You will come.” The rabbit’s voice dropped several octaves. “I gave my word. In exchange, he swore you would return my brother to me. He lives where you live now. Goes by the name Sean.”
“I can’t prison-break your brother then look the other way while he dials the windmill.”
“Rook said. He told me you would help,” he trumpeted. “You will help.”
I spun, ready to punt the fur face and move on, except the fluffy bunny was gone, replaced by the tallest horse I had ever seen. Twenty hands high if he was an inch. Broad too, built like a draft horse.
“You’re a púca.” Karma really was a bitch.
The horse executed a bow that brought its eyes level with mine. “Want a ride?”
“Do I have a choice?” That thing could trample me.
He nickered. “I am helping. Then you will help. We can be friends now. Climb aboard.”
“I’ve never ridden a—” He kept bending until he knelt on the ground. “Well. Okay then.” After circling around to his side, I fisted his mane and climbed on his back.
When the horse rose, I gulped down a knot of panic. This was almost worse than riding the Morrigan’s back. Gliding through the air had been fun right up until the near-death landing experience. Down here it was duck or let the low-slung branches knock the head off my shoulders.
Without a saddle, I kept sliding to one side. The best I could do was clutch the tufts of his mane and clench my thighs. The púca executed a slight hop step over a fallen limb that almost unseated me. My stomach flip-flopped until I flattened against his spine and pressed my face to his neck.
Maybe Rook was right. Maybe Macsen had done me a favor by allowing Mom to raise me as a human. Faerie was so alien. I hated how it made me feel weak, like prey.
Fae in my world, I could handle. I knew the rules there. Here all bets were off. When I got home, if I got home, I was kissing the first plain old, non-magical dirt clod I found.
Sensing how tender my stomach was, the púca showed mercy and ambled the final yards to our destination. “Down you go,” he said with a snort. He knelt, and I slid onto jelly legs.
“Where are we?” I hadn’t noticed on the way in, but this section of forest seemed greener.
“Near the border of Spring.” A wave of magic rolled over him. “We’re safe enough here.”
While brushing off the residue of his change, I noticed he had reverted to his rabbit form.
“Hurry it up. Hop to it.” His long ears rotated while his nose wrinkled. “Someone’s coming.”
I sensed the same eerie presence as before. “Where am I hurrying to?”
“The burrows of course.” He jumped up and down. “Well. Shift. Come on. Move it along.”
“Shift? As in shapeshift?” I cocked an eyebrow at him. “I can’t.”
“You don’t have a smaller skin than that?” He sounded incredulous.
“What are you talking about?” His brain must have shrunk too. “This is the only skin I have.”
“This won’t do.” He rubbed one paw with the other. “You’re too big. Enormous.”
“Thanks.” I exhaled through my teeth. “Now what?”
“He’s here.” His eyes rounded at the base of a distant tree. “You’re on your own.”
With a flash of his tail, the púca vanished into a shadowy hole, leaving me alone. Again.
While I debated whether to return to Autumn, the sensation of being watched turned overwhelming. “Who’s out there?” I called where the púca had been staring.
“A bystander,” an ominous voice rumbled, “nothing more.”
“Great.” My teeth began chattering. “Who knew death was the ultimate spectator sport?”
If the creature who had spoken remained, he deigned not answer me.
Over my head in the pitch-black sky, a sharp cry sounded. A trim black bird landed between me and the voice in the woods, hop-stepping until he stood by my side.
“I tried.” The púca’s voice startled me. Pink eyes peered from the mouth of a tunnel. “She can’t shift.” He ventured out to greet us. “No one said she couldn’t.”
The black bird bobbed its head, and the púca’s narrow shoulders slumped.
“When I get home—” if I got home, “—I’ll talk to your brother, okay? No promises.”
The fur face somersaulted into the air. “With my thanks.”
Huh. Go figure. I had just earned a favor I could call in later. First time for everything.
Once the púca darted into its burrow, Rook rustled his feathers.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I scowled at the fidgety bird, who cocked his head at me. “We both know chances are slim I’ll come out the other side of this. Why not give the little guy some hope?”
The bird spread his wings and hopped toward the base of the nearest tree. I took the hint and followed. I started regretting my decision when he fluttered onto the lowest limb and waited. For me to join him.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
He hopped the length of his perch in answer.
Living in a pinprick southern town out in the middle of nowhere, I had plenty of experience climbing trees. I stood under the limb and jumped. When I had a firm grip, I pulled myself up beside him. I shouldn’t have grinned. The second I did, he hopped onto the next limb and sat there, waiting.
It was going to be a long night.
— —
It was still dark when I woke. Only a few hours had passed because my head throbbed from lack of sleep. I functioned better running on fumes than when I stole too little shut-eye. I always woke up more tired than I was to start with, and grumpier to boot. A low growl rose in my throat while I tried pinpointing what had roused me. Not the hounds. Not another dryad or a púca or the sensation of being watched.
No. The unexpected comfort had done it. That soft puff of breath at my ear helped too.
The cradle of limbs where I had fallen asleep held high above the forest, lashed to the tree trunk with my cape just in case, had been itchy, scratchy and hard. My current situation lacked two out of three of those amenities.
Blood rushed into my cheeks when I realized why I was so warm and what was jabbing my hip.
Rook reclined between the limbs, comfortable as any other bird in a tree.
During the night, he had pulled me onto his lap, wrapped his calves over my legs and cinched his arms around my waist. Attempting to evaluate the situation, I twiste
d to my left, where I was rewarded with a glimpse of him sleeping. His eyes were closed, and he was easier to see that way. At rest, he looked more like a man, though still an achingly handsome one. Not at all like he was a liar or a manipulator.
“You were fidgeting,” he murmured. “I was afraid you would fall.”
I tensed, and his grip tightened. “Where did you go?”
“Not far.” He kept his eyes closed like he knew what I had been thinking. “The dryad was luring my human half. The swiftest cure was to shift forms. I should have done it immediately, but I was—”
“Eyeing her boobs?” I supplied.
His chuckles rumbled through my side. “She did have a lovely set of…pinecones.”
I elbowed his gut. “Only a man would forgive attempted murder in exchange for a peep show.”
His fingers stroked up my arm. “You saved me.”
“I know.” I fought shivers from his touch. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“That you need me.” He traced the line of dancing chills. “Or maybe you even like me.”
“Ha.” I planted my elbow square in his chest for leverage. “Liking you is the last thing I can afford to do, even if you weren’t a kidnapper, a liar—oh yeah—and the orchestrator of my impending doom. That last one was awesome, by the way.”
His gentle caresses stopped. “Why did you join the marshals?”
I drew back to look at him. “What does that matter?”
“Humor me.”
“The short answer is, if I hadn’t signed up, the conclave would have killed me.” Saying it out loud left a bad taste in my mouth.
He cocked his head at me. “What’s the long answer?”
I debated whether to tell him, but the peaceful night lent itself to sharing secrets. “When I showed up on their doorstep asking for sanctuary, I was just a kid. Thirteen with blood on my hands. They offered me a life I couldn’t have had on my own. They put me in a private school for fae children and helped me adjust to my new normal.
“When I graduated high school, I was given a choice. Enroll in the marshal academy, where they could put my talents to good use, or get put down. Apparently, they couldn’t afford to have someone like me running around unchecked.” I shrugged like it still didn’t hurt when I thought about it. “At first, it was about saving my bacon. Now it’s…atonement...I guess.”
“How did you know to contact them? Macsen never let on he had a daughter.”
He knew the answer, I could tell by the lack of inflection in his tone.
“He told Mom who to call if things got bad,” I said quietly. “When I got into the kind of trouble that meant I would have been locked up for the rest of my life, she dialed the number, and the conclave sent Shaw to fetch me. They saved me. They gave me a higher purpose.”
“Do you enjoy your work?”
“I do.” The honesty of my answer surprised me. “Humans fall prey to creatures they don’t stand a chance against. I like making fae think twice before breaking the law in my region.” What I didn’t confess was how much the hunter in me enjoyed the pursuit. Or how well suited my gifts were to my trade. Rook was perceptive. He would guess even if I didn’t confirm it for him. “I like helping people.”
“Humans aren’t the only ones in need of help.” His lips parted, but he said nothing more.
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Humans could be just as screwed up as fae. I knew that better than most. “But anything inhuman has the strength and resources to have a fighting chance. Most humans don’t.”
His forehead creased. “Does that include you?”
I mashed my lips together. “That’s what I get for making sweeping generalizations.”
“I’m curious.” He adjusted under my weight, calling attention to the fact I still sat on his lap.
“I haven’t got it all figured out, but I do okay.” I admitted, “Or I did until I met you.”
I untangled our limbs and pushed off his chest.
His hand circled my wrist. “A few minutes more.”
After a moment’s hesitation, where I decided he was more comfortable than a tree limb, I let him drag me back down. “What do you know about bystanders in regard to the hunt? I met one last night.”
“Ah. You saw them earlier, at the Halls.”
“The googly-eyed things guarding the mirrors, right?”
“Yes.” He chuckled. “They’re called Watchers and travel in pairs. They’re the eyes of their respective houses. Each records the hunt for review later in case there are any disputes about the outcome.”
Great. All my bumbling recorded for posterity. “What was the deal with those mirrors anyway?”
“The consuls are great powers.” Rook toyed with the frazzled ends of my hair. “They are strong enough to project their likeness or voice anywhere they wish. They never attend hearings in the flesh. With the exception of your father, I don’t know of a single fae who has ever met them.”
Interesting. “The Watchers are the consuls’ guardians?”
He waited a moment before answering, “Yes.”
“The one I encountered felt powerful.” More powerful than it had at the meeting.
“They draw on the power of the house they serve,” he explained. “They aren’t a threat to you.”
“That makes two who aren’t,” I grumbled.
For once Rook didn’t protest that he wasn’t a threat, and for once I wondered if perhaps he wasn’t.
Was he bound in service to his brother’s house the way I was bound to the conclave? Live or die. Easy choice. Even if choosing life meant doing things that once appalled you. At least you were alive. You had, if not the opportunity for change, the hope for it. You had reasons to keep you going.
How could I blame Rook if he was under the same sanctions as I was?
My duty to the mortal realm was to maintain peace at any cost. That I was a death dealer meant that kind of maintenance came naturally to me. Rook was death-touched too. Now that I knew he was a half-blood like me, I had no doubt there had been a steep price for him surviving this extraordinary world.
Ancient as he claimed to be—and his weary eyes dated him—he was a hardcore survivor. I didn’t see him ceding his battle in the foreseeable future, not to me or on my behalf.
Old things got old by being smart and not making waves.
My coming here caused a splash and sent ripples through Faerie’s stagnant waters. Rook’s hand might not push me under, but holding on to his arm wouldn’t keep my head above water either. It hit me whoever sent him might have thought his muddied bloodlines would help win me over, that I might trust a half-blood more readily than a pure-blooded fae. I guess Raven had thought otherwise.
No time like the present to ask. “Why did you tell me you were Raven?”
“I never said I was. I said I was the Morrigan’s son, and you assumed I meant Raven.” He voice grew a sharp edge. “I thought if I went to you as a prince, you would be more inclined to help. I see now I was wrong, but what’s done is done.”
“Everyone knows my father too.” I patted his chest. “That doesn’t make it cool to namedrop.”
I pushed off his shoulders and situated myself on the rough limb beside him.
A fierce grumble made Rook bolt upright.
“False alarm.” I put a hand to my stomach. “We should have packed supplies before we left.”
“The hunt…” His voice trailed into silence.
“Doesn’t last long enough to bother with food or other niceties,” I finished for him.
Pleasant as our stolen moment had been, talk of the hunt made me twitchy. I had to move. I needed to pace, to walk, to do something other than make myself a sitting target.
Climbing the tree went faster in reverse. I hit the ground and stretched out the kinks in my back and shoulders while Rook cheated his way down by sprouting wings and gliding onto my shoulder. Considering how smooth his flight was, his broken arm must have healed without any complica
tions. He was heavier as a bird than I expected. Curiosity won out, and I reached up to stroke his chest.
I grinned as his beak worried the pad of my finger. “Are you scouting ahead or sprouting legs?”
Rook cawed and shoved off my hand, flapping his wings until he vanished from sight.
The cramps in my legs thanked me when I started walking.
While Rook was about his business, I decided I should get serious with mine. Trees were nice, but yesterday’s dryad encounter convinced me they were not the safest place to make my stand. One spirit in the right place could shove me off a branch or—as an extreme measure—another equally invested fae could chop down my refuge.
Autumn’s endless forest gave dryads plenty of options for their next sensual attack. Winter was out of the question. No death wish here. That left my options as Summer, which would be out for blood to reclaim the Seelie throne, and Spring. I was betting Spring was where the tether spat us out into Faerie.
That made it as close to home as I might ever be again.
Between the singing toadstools and all the slithering vines, the hounds and I would be at an equal disadvantage there. Surviving in Spring might prove as difficult as fending off the beasts. Not a boost for my slim odds, but at least I wasn’t rolling belly up either. It could work. Now I only had to get there.
The púca said his burrow was near the border, so I angled my brisk walk in that direction.
Only when I became breathless did I realize how fast I was going. Tingles swept over me when I stopped to ease the catch in my side. Ahead, the forest thinned and the ground turned green and bursting with life. Already my ears caught the mashup of birdsong, enchanted melodies and the chirp of rowdy crickets.
The urge to run tensed my calves as the first howl echoed through the forest.
I inhaled but smelled nothing. Spirits had scents. The hunt must be masking theirs. Too bad I hadn’t been able to do the same. Gulping the panic coating the back of my throat, I ran for Spring. I passed potential weapons, but kept going. Fear chipped away at my plans, urged me not to think but to flee. I hit the edge of Spring and sighed as if crossing that invisible line made any difference.
