Page 42 of With Wing And Claw

The mountain’s guidance hadn’t led her to the nearest exit at all.

‘You knew,’ she whispered, feeling her bottom lip wobble dangerously. ‘Youknewthat I would understand this place.’

A last whisper of balmy air followed her, as if to nudge her into the wood. She tiptoed out, the breeze catching her hair and skirt even as the leaves and branches around her remained eerily still – waiting for her to act, perhaps, or simply not caring about mundane matters like little demons wandering into their domain. There were no birdsongs to be heard. No chirping crickets or small animals rummaging through the undergrowth. Just the perpetual rush of the sea close-by, and …

Distant but unmistakable, a howl.

The Mother hadn’t broughtallher hounds to the battlefield, then.

Naxi grimaced and started walking, finding her way through the grey-green tangle of roots and thorny vines with feather-light steps. To her right, the mountain rose high and steep. Beyond its jagged edges, towering over the wood, she caught glimpses of the castle’s red marble walls. Somehow, she’d have to get back up there eventually … but in this thrilling place, surrounded by these mirthless but living trees, she didn’t mind if it took her a while.

Really, perhaps it was best if she wasn’t anywhere near when Thysandra heard about the deal she’d made with the Labyrinth.

A giggle escaped her, all by itself.

The forest didn’t respond, remaining grim and aloof around her. Had it always been like this? Was that why the Mother had chosen this place to build her red court, the urge for death and destruction already present in the very soil of the island? Or—

She stumbled.

Not over a root or vine – sheneverstumbled over plants, her nymph heart too aware of them to ever be caught by surprise. Instead …

A bone.

A rib, by the look of it, long and curved, sticking from the grey earth as if its dead owner was reaching for her ankles from the grave. The rest of the skeleton was nowhere to be seen. Naxi was hardly an expert on these matters, but it seemed unlikely it had walked elsewhere by itself – which suggested thatsomeonehad—

Another howl went up behind her, like the whistle of wind on a stormy night.

Right.

The bloody hounds.

Who were the Mother’s favourite way to dispose of her enemies … and if she’d done sohere, in this forest, that would explain a thing or two about the trees as well. All that blood and despair soaking the soil would mess up every living thing.

Trust the old bitch to ruin the best part of her court with her bloodlust.

Naxi scurried on, keeping her eyes on the earth this time. Now that she knew what to look for, the traces were everywhere: a shard of a skull lying in the moss, two weathered knucklebones beneath the drooping ferns …Myriskeia, she knew the fae called this place. Deathwood. Bit of a melodramatic name, she’d always thought when Lyn or Tared mentioned their clandestine trips to the island, but now it was starting to sound like a euphemism; really, calling it a graveyard would have been more appropriate.

Another clearing opened up before her … and with it, carnage.

The other bones had been old, traces of fae who’d died decades or even centuries ago in this wood. This butchery, on the other hand, was recent.Veryrecent. Recent enough for the blood to remain clinging to the tree bark around the clearing; recent enough for the hounds not to have eaten all of their victims yet. Naxi didn’t care much about the unfortunate souls who had been reduced to the tattered bits and pieces spread out before her, but the smell was unpleasant, and she’d have turned away immediately if not for a single detail catching her attention a few trees away.

Half a blue-grey wing.

Marred by what seemed like an unusual pattern.

The edges had been torn by teeth or claws or both; that in itself wasn’t so strange. But across the rumpled velvety surface, crude lines had been carved –letters, likely cut into that sensitive membrane while the owner of that wing was still alive.

Only three letters remained now, the rest of the wing shredded beyond recognition. With some effort, Naxi could make them out:… tor.

Traitor.

A prickle of discomfort ran up her spine.

Because this was not the Mother’s doing. The Mother had already been dead by the time this butchery had occurred. Which meant others had fed these unlucky fae to the hounds roaming this forest – people still at the court, people still looking for vengeance.

As she’dknownthey would, of course. Emelin had made her threats for a reason. And yet it was a different thing entirely to stand here andseethose pitiful remains of what had once been living, breathing individuals … A messy heap of bowels. A dark-haired scalp. Two hands bound together, neither of them still attached to wrists.

And that torn wing.