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“Not that I’m not a supportive friend and all,” Destan rasps, wincing at each movement, “but even with your endlessly unique powers, there’s too many of them, and with me injured?—"

“We’ll separate them out. Come on, we need to get up there.”

I point to a rocky outcrop to the side of the trail that doesn’t go anywhere, half buried in a long-settled landslide.

“We’re going to hide up here?” Destan says, disbelieving.

“We’re going to lay a trap.”

The Hunt has been tracking our footprints, which are all too visible in the soft mud of the trail. I scuff out where they show us leaving the track and then deposit Destan up behind the outcrop. It’s perfect. By sitting flat against the back of it you can peer around down to the trail while remaining barely visible.

“Won’t they wonder where we went?” he asks, releasing a groan as I lower him down to the ground.

“That’s the point,” I say, wedging myself in beside him.

The Hunt’s voices drift up to us from the trail, and then they’re there right below us. Half a dozen angry High Fae gripping weapons, looking for the woman they think is trying to overthrow their High Queen. If I gave the founding stone to Evanthe without putting up a fight, would she be quick in slitting my throat, or would she let the Hunt play with me first? Lord Hadeus is in the back, his blond hair easy to spot among the group.

Good, I think. He’s Evanthe’s right-hand man in all this. It will make what I’m about to do useful in more ways than one.

The Hunt slows as our tracks peter out, stopping for a moment to consult. I get to work before they can turn their attention to our hiding spot, reaching for my magic where it waits within me—a rippling pool of energy I’ve learned to harness. To aim.

It’s trickier at a distance, but I’m close enough to sense the vague shape of the various bits of metal on them. Their weapons are tightly clasped in their hands—I’d only be able to disarm them one by one, not fast enough to keep the element of surprise, but I have other tricks up my sleeve.

I concentrate on the feet of the Calasian horses, channeling my magic into the beaten arches of their bronze horseshoes, beginning to heat them up—slowly.

The horses stamp and paw at the ground, but the Hunt just tugs at their reins, trying to settle them. I keep feeding my magic into the horseshoes, raising the metal’s temperature bit by bit. The horses whinny. A couple trot forward a few steps, restless.

“What are you doing, silly animal?” one of the riders near the fronts tuts.

I release a final push of magic, making the metal so fiery hot, the heat burns through the horn of their hooves, singeing the flesh underneath. The horses release a terrible shriek, and set off running, convinced they can outpace the pain. Their riders are powerless to stop them, the Hunt disappearing down the trail on top of their bolting horses, shouting and frantically trying to steer them.

All except one.

Hadeus’s horse rears nervously, unsure what startled its companions, but as it lifts its feet, its horseshoes fall to the ground with a series of thuds, loosened by my power.

Hadeus looks around suspiciously. But as I’d hoped, he seems to assume the rest of the Hunt are the ones under attack, and he, on the only horse that hasn’t bolted, is safe. He dismounts, sheathing his sword and bending down to examine the fallen shoes.

When he turns, the sword that was strapped to his thigh a moment before is pointed at his throat.

As it hovers there, I clamber down from our hiding spot, keeping a firm hold on the blade with my magic. Hadeus’s expression sours at the sight of me. His lip curls further when Destan joins me, my friend’s breath shallow from the arrow still lodged in his arm.

“What a sorry sight you are,” Hadeus mocks. “I’m embarrassed we didn’t catch you sooner.”

“And yet here we are,” I say with false brightness, “with all your friends gone and you at a disadvantage.”

“Flaunt your stolen magic all you want, human, but Evanthe will strip it from you piece by bloody piece, as you beg for her mercy.”

I look around, pretending to be confused. “Funny, I don’t see her around here anywhere. Where has she gotten to?”

He sneers. “I’m not worried about Her Majesty. It’s your traitorous lover you should be mourning now.”

A jolt of rage and fear runs through me at his words. He seems so confident. Does he really know where Evanthe and Ruskin have gone?

Hadeus is eyeing the sword hovering in front of him, the steely tip glinting inches from his body. I don’t know what specific magical talents he has—they vary from fae to fae—but I guess it’s not anything that can help him here. It looks to me like he’s wondering if he can grab the sword from the air with his bare hands before I’m able to move it with my magic.

“Try it,” I warn. “We’ll find out who’s faster.”

He glares at me, but stays still.