Page 35

Landolin walks through the mayhem as if all of this is perfectly normal. I keep my chin up, counting silently in my head, and pretend I feel the same. The Shade Court fae would probably love it if I flinched or ran away. But I won’t give them the satisfaction. Not now. Not ever.

We arrive in another courtyard, lower down in the castle, nestled between turrets and open to the sky.

The space is empty, and our steps echo loudly in the rectangular space.

The pool in the center reflects a sea of stars that can’t possibly be real because it’s still gloomy daytime and a layer of clouds covers the sky.

Landolin stops at the tiled edge, waiting for me to catch up.

That’s when I notice it—just a flicker, like the glimpse of an afterimage, a shadow where it shouldn’t be. Black tendrils of magic coil at the base of his neck, curling beneath the edge of his collar. And for a moment, it looks like they’re burrowing into his skin, eating him alive.

“Do you ever raise the dead in your dreams?” he asks casually, as if picking up the thread of an earlier conversation. He directs me to sit beside the pool.

“What were those shadows doing?” I ask, nodding at his neck. “Looked like they were… eating into your skin.”

He brushes his collar with the back of one hand, a flicker of fear flashing in his eyes before he shuts it down. “Just a trick of the light,” he says.

“But—”

“Forget it. You were going to tell me about your dreams.”

I tilt my head. “Dreams? I never remember them.”

His lips twitch, almost forming a smile as he joins me on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest like a young boy. “Don’t believe you.”

I shrug. “Even if I did have such dreams, why would I tell the man who killed my mother and father about them?”

“I thought you didn’t like your parents very much.”

“That’s beside the point. Why did you kill them?”

His shoulders drop as he releases a heavy sigh. “What happened that night wasn’t my decision. I had no choice.”

“We always have choices, Landolin. It comes down to bravery and what we’re prepared to sacrifice to make the decisions that benefit others instead of ourselves.”

His eyes track the ripples in the pool. “Put it this way… I wasn’t about to choose a long and painful death just to save those two reigning champions of emotional neglect.”

Begrudgingly, I have to agree with his reasoning. “ Who made you kill them?” I ask.

“Best you don’t know the details. Now be honest. You must recall some of your dreams.”

“Sure, maybe the thrilling ones. Such as grocery shopping with no money in my bank. Group assignments for school. I study counseling, so one time I was even arguing with a couch about emotional boundaries. Wild, I know.”

“School? Group assignments?” Landolin’s eyes narrow, like he’s picturing a circle of humans carving each other up with serrated blades.

“Relax,” I add. “No weapons are involved. Just deadlines, blame, and mutual loathing.”

Landolin doesn’t crack a grin at my sarcasm. He stays still, like he’s waiting for my words to make sense. Going by the look on his face, he’ll be there quite a while.

Just when I think he might ask another question, a voice slices through the gloom behind him.

“We’ve got a problem.”

Landolin looks over his shoulder, unfazed, as a figure steps from the shadows.

The stranger is lean, sharp-eyed, dressed in dark riding leathers still dusted with dirt and ash. His gaze skims over me, assessing, unimpressed.

“Irren,” Landolin says. “What’s happened?”

“There’s news from the Carrion,” Irren replies. “Two riders returned. One of them’s flying a banner that doesn’t belong to them.”

“ Whose banner?” the prince asks, getting to his feet.

“Yurendyl’s.”

Landolin’s face doesn’t change as he curses under his breath, but he lets a deep silence stretch for a few beats too long.

“Who else knows about this?”

“The riders. You. Me.” Irren’s tone is calm, but his eyes tell a different story as they shift my way. “And… he r… the human.”

“I know what she is, Irren. No need to point it out.” Landolin gestures for me to stand. “You’ll return to your room and stay there until I come for you.”

Power radiates from him as he waves a palm in front of my face, shadows coiling up his arms before they wrap around me. My vision tunnels and everything goes black.

When I wake, I’m sprawled across the sofa in my room, feeling the oppressive presence of the wall of mirrors and a heavy cloak of loneliness settling over me.

At dinnertime, Phaedra delivers a fish-head stew without a word, and this time I don’t bother asking any questions. I eat around the fishes’ blank stares, my tears mixing with the rich, oily broth.

Later that night, I hear the Hunt galloping through the halls, the rhythmic echoes of their hoofbeats growing closer and closer. The clatter of bone against stone dragging me from a restless sleep and out of my bed.

As I press an ear to my chamber door, barely breathing as they approach, the hairs on my neck and arms stand on end. The smell of scorched earth and wet ash floods under the door, and my heart thunders against my ribcage.

By some miracle, the door’s unlocked, and I carefully crack it open a sliver.

Twenty or more horses canter down the corridor, their ghost-white bones protruding from tattered hides. They look so different from when they appeared at Gravenshade with their black coats shining. Now, they seem like something straight out of a horror film, and their numbers have at least doubled.

Dressed in leather, some of the riders wear masks. Other’s faces are painted with black and silver stripes. Not one of them speaks. The horses don’t snort or even seem to breathe. They’re ghostly, supernatural creatures.

Leading the charge is Landolin, a crown of moss-covered antlers on his head.

He doesn’t look at me. But somehow, I know he sees me—feels me watching as shadows rise around the Hunt and they ride straight through a solid wall at the end of the corridor, like phantoms torn from the worst kind of fairy tale.

I push the door shut and sink back against it, my heart hammering as hoofbeats echo into silence.

Okay.

New rule… don’t open doors in the middle of the night.

Ever again.