Page 48

The details of that attack had spooked my sisters. Not me. Rather, the account had drawn a frown across my face and produced a quick lurch in my chest. Visions of wounded and trapped animals harken back to a life before my family, so that I hadn’t been able to rest, either.

Hence, the game. We’d needed levity, and Lark is an expert at that. She always knows what to do when one of us requires a boost of spirit.

Still, breaking Papa’s ordinance hadn’t been on my list of options. But since democracy had won out—two against one—I’d complied.

Inevitably, we’d lost each other during the game. This is why I’d suggested a different game. No good can come of hide-and-seek across the plains at midnight.

Elderberry bushes shiver. In the distance, a nightingale sings. My unshod feet pick through the dense region as I scan the ground for signs of my sisters.

The deer mask tickles my cheeks, and the antler headband digs into my scalp. I should remove both items, the costume nothing but an impediment and bait for predators. Moreover, it’s clear Lark and Cove aren’t in this area. They must be nearer to where we last saw one another, north of here and closer to the open fields.

Meanwhile, I’ve trekked farther than I had meant to. These woods are a crescent, curving south of Reverie Hollow. I stop and tarry, peeking over my shoulder. Beyond the canopy, the outline of jagged bluffs takes a bite out of the night sky.

The Solitary wild. The land of Faeries, with its mountain, forest, and river.

It looks subdued from here, like any environment does from afar. It’s when you wander inside that scary things happen. Things with teeth and claws.

I swerve to head back, then halt. The leaves shudder, trembling like animals raising their hackles to shake off an army of flies.

The remote scrape of metal has me turning halfway. The faint commotion urges my feet to move, to whirl and leap across the ground. My heart stutters, fear tapping my chest.

I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see. I don’t want to find.

Yet I do. And I do. And I do.

I know that ruckus. I know the sound of a trapped animal.

Whatever creature it is, it makes no other sound. No brays, squawks, or grunts. I race faster, hurtling through wood sorrel. My crossbow jostles across my back, and my cloak flares, batting foliage along the way.

This is folly without shoes. I slow to a jog and then halt, my gaze lurching between fragments on the ground and the source of the noise. Instantly, the scraping of metal stops. Milky film laces the tree trunks, and the blues of eventide drip through the branches, spotlighting the surrounding thicket.

Perhaps I was mistaken. But no, I’m never mistaken.

Juniper of Reverie Hollow is never mistaken.

I swerve this way and that but fail to detect another disturbance, nor a single twitch of briars. That can’t be right.

Forests don’t go mute. Not mortal ones.

Crouching, I flatten my palm against the ground. No vibrations, either. I close my eyes and press harder, waiting for the barest of tremors—a galloping mammal or foraging critter.

That’s when I feel it. Not the rumble of earth but the weight of a stare.

My eyes blast open—and collide with another pair.

Bushes tangle in front of me, the leaves centimeters from my nose. Through the snarl, a set of lustrous eyes watch me, the black pupils winking with intrigue.

Above that intent stare, antlers loop into view, the short prongs stabbing the air. It’s a young creature, based on the size of its crown.

As the poor thing peers at me, I remember the screeching metal. The animal must be wounded, yet it doesn’t make a single sound.

My pulse accelerates. I crawl on all fours, inching closer. “Careful now,” I instruct, reaching out to spread the leaves. “It is all right. I’m an expert, and I’m here to—”

My words stagger, tripping back down my throat. Staring at me is a juvenile, but he’s certainly not a deer.

Those glossy pupils narrow, so rich they penetrate the darkness. The boy is around my age, maybe ten or a couple of years older. He watches me through the foliage, his face twisted my way.

In fact, everything about him is twisted. From the sideways position in which he’s sprawled, to the shock of red waves, to the pointed ears and rails of antlers sprouting from his head.