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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Sawyer did not return the next morning.

There was no note from him in the chimney soot, either.

Gnawing on the inside of my cheek, I checked every window for any sign of Gertrude. Twice. Surely Daphne would’ve sent the robin to warn me if something was amiss?

My heart drummed against my ribs like the frantic beating of a bluebird’s wings. Panic threatened to rise, my stomach souring.

Focus , my grandmother’s voice whispered.

Only prey panics. Hawthornes are never prey , my father followed.

Wild speculation would do me no favors. My friends and I knew the risks, but there’d always been this (perhaps na?ve) part of me that stoutly believed we’d succeed without the need for sacrifice simply because what we were doing was right .

But the world wasn’t fair, despite your morality, and I knew that better than most.

And yet, the world was made more bearable by the friends you made. And I had an ally in the wight, an ally who saw all the comings and goings within the castle. I’d find out about Sawyer from Gwyn.

But first things first, and second things second.

I set the hickory nuts in the cup I used to rinse my mouth out after brushing my teeth and added infusions, granules, and luna moth wings. After a good swirl and a hit of green magic, I set the cup on the flue ledge in the chimney for the second half of the layering spellwork. This would have to soak all day, maybe more since it didn’t have the help of a hearth witch’s fire.

My nerves had settled during the work, but they resurfaced as I chugged my tonic counter-potion and left my bedroom for the kitchen, hurrying my steps.

Mrs. Bilberry and the hobs were hustling and bustling as always, though a few of the woodchucks stole a moment or two to send me a searching look.

They’re wondering about Ricky .

All I could do was give them a reassuring nod: We’re working on it. Soon.

And since none gave me even a whisper that they’d seen Sawyer in the servant passageways, I had to conclude he was with Flora and the two of them were either breaking through the grate with Rose’s metal-eating glitter or they’d already done that and were exploring the tunnel system and concocting a way to release the prisoners.

To hope , not conclude, I corrected myself, heading over to feed my sourdough starter.

In its lukewarm corner by the ovens, Bruno bubbled away. The sourdough starter practically lunged for my face when I removed the cloth cover, and I had to beat it back with the wooden spoon. I thwacked what I assumed were its hands and head—ambiguous lumps of dough—and hastily threw a handful of flour at it. The dough parted with a yeasty exhale and a gurgle of glee, swallowing up the flour and slopping back into its container with a happy sigh.

Working quickly, I mixed up a slurry of flour and water, set it aglow with a flick of green magic, and poured it into Bruno’s gluttonous maw. The beastly thing was at risk of getting too big for its gallon jar, so I drew a runic containment barrier with a lump of charcoal. It was nothing as intense as the layered containment barrier I’d made to restrain the grimoire’s half-heart, but it would suffice until I could find a bigger jar.

Then I retreated from the kitchen to the great hall. To Arthur and Auggie. It was still early, the full blush of dawn not yet staining the horizon. If I was very, very lucky, the Stag Man would still be in his room on the far side of the castle, sleeping off the hunt and the tense relations with the Brotherhood.

The whole castle had heard Ossian’s return late last night, the gate bursting open and an animalistic roar. He was haggard and furious and smelled disgusting. And, it seemed, more convinced than he’d been that afternoon that someone was working against him to keep Wystan free and clear.

And if the Stag Man hated one thing above everything else, it was being denied.

No matter how he raged, the Brotherhood would not admit any wrongdoing. They took their beratement, his suspicion, even his violence, without retaliation, all standing in a single line of solidarity in the great hall. When one fell from a strike, no one moved to help them.

The only one exempt from his rage was Shane, the Brother standing in the gloom beside the dais with only his faelight eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Carissa received the worst of the Stag Man’s wrath for her two strikes of “incompetence,” earning her two fractured legs that Ossian took his time about breaking. While her Brothers flinched with her every scream, they remained standing still as stone statues.

Only the grizzly bear protested, rising and bellowing at the savagery before him. He earned himself a lash across the face for that, his blood flecking across the bay windows and paling in the light of the crescent moon.

While I had no love in my heart for any of the Brothers, I still shook where I hid and watched from the side door. The door handle started to rattle in my grip. With a gasp, I yanked my hand away so the sound wouldn’t reveal me, but any noise was smothered by Carissa’s pain.

When the Stag Man was finished, he removed his glamour and clomped up the steps to his throne. There, he took to his gilded seat and sprawled with the languid posture of a male who knew he was the most powerful one in the room and didn’t need to put on airs to prove it to himself or anyone else.

A single pound of his fist against the gold-and-ebony armrest signaled the start of the supplication process.

Alec was first, his body rigid with tension as he came forward and knelt to kiss the Stag Man’s hoof. Ossian dismissed him with a wave of his hand to return to the line.

A red-haired Brother wearing a leather harness full of throwing knives was next, repeating the same show of fealty. Then he hesitated, wondering why the Stag Man didn’t release him.

“Open your shirt.” The Stag Man’s voice was soft and amicable, as if he was asking for something as simple as passing the butter dish.

As the Brother’s hands went to the laces of his tunic, he glanced over his shoulder at Alec.

“Do not look to him!” the Stag Man exploded. “Do not forget who your true master is, Patrick!”

The red-haired Brother yanked open his shirt, and, even from where I watched through the crack in the side door, I could see his heart beating wildly in his chest.

With a sneer, the Stag Man stabbed him with a bolt of copper magic. The Brother howled as his Solomon knot was removed, steam and the stench of burning hair and grease lifting into the air.

In the fireplace, the blue flames leapt with hellish glee. The grizzly bear growled again but didn’t rise. His amber eyes remained watchful, fixed on the sight before him.

The Stag Man repeated the procedure until every Brother was left with a bare sternum and shaking from the ordeal. Carissa he’d made crawl across the floor using only her hands, arms, and willpower, her broken legs trailing out uselessly behind her.

Resuming his calm and ignoring Carissa’s sniveling, he inquired of Alec, “And the cats?”

The leader of the Brotherhood wet his lips and gave a single shake of his head.

“I see.”

A snap of his fingers released a final bolt of magic. Copper lightning skewered a brown-haired Brother through his gut—the leader of the second team sent after the cats. The crackling, writhing rope, still attached to the fae king’s hand, jerked the Brother into the air with a nonchalant flick of the Stag Man’s fingers.

The magic hunter screamed, pawing at his stomach. Each line of Faerish script leapt from his body, but not at his command. Face dispassionate, the fae king flicked his fingers again.

Each script condensed into a bluish-green serpent. There had to be over a dozen of them, some larger and longer than others. Despite their size, each snapped open their jaws in eerie unison, glowing fangs catching the moonlight before sinking into the Brother’s skin.

His scream of pain became a blood-curdling howl of terror.

The line of Brothers broke with horrified shouts, scattering out of the way. Tears streaming down her face, Carissa desperately dragged herself out from under the air where the magic hunter twisted on the copper rope like a worm on a hook.

No matter how hard he fought, the brown-haired Brother could not dislodge the serpents. They sucked greedily, the magic hunter weakening within seconds. Soon, he couldn’t scream at all. Then he couldn’t breathe, his flesh pale and emaciated and shrinking against his bones as the serpents literally sucked the life out of him.

With a snap, the husk of a man broke into dust, and the engorged snakes slopped against the ground with wet thuds .

The biggest snake slithered up the dais at the fae king’s command, and the Stag Man bent down to collect it. Then he bit its head off and let the Brother’s magic and life essence drain into the empty gemstones at his throat. What was leftover, he gave to Shane. Of course he’d power up my executioner.

“Better catch them before they slither off,” Ossian told the magic hunters dryly. “Don’t think there’s enough for all of you.”

The Brotherhood pounced. Forgetting the camaraderie inherent in their name, they fought each other for the chance at a snake, punching and tackling and even using their magic.

“Hurry, Carissa,” the Stag Man urged, his jewel-like eyes bright. “Catch one. Get a big one so it can heal your legs.”

Bile rising in my throat, I’d turned away and fled to the east wing to hurl up my dinner in the privacy of my own bathroom.

Now, as I paced to the great hall this morning, I wondered if the Brotherhood had been successful in catching every snake. What if there was a little one coiled up in the shadow of a chair leg? One that I could catch and use to give Auggie a boost with his rune-chewing? Then I could sneak off to the atrium to see Gwyn and—

I stopped short, the figure by the double doors stepping out of the archway’s gloom and into the gray slant of sunlight.

A new line of Faerish script crawled like ivy from shoulder to shoulder, drooping low down Alec’s chest like a necklace. His blue eyes had a mad gleam to them, but that dagger he’d tried to stab me with yesterday was nowhere in sight.

Half a dozen paces away, I thrust my hip out to the side, hand perching on the foraging bag balancing there. His eyes darted to the bag—he’d never had a good experience with it.

“If you think I haven’t learned from the last time you shoved me in there to face an unchained bear, then you’re not as smart as Ossian gives you credit for,” I told him. “I’ll wait here for him, thank you. You can go.”

Alec didn’t move from his spot, though a tremor had started in his shoulders that manifested as a twitch in his fingers. A clench. Like he was envisioning my eyes bulging as he collapsed my throat like a soda can.

Would he obey his oath to Ossian, or would he break it? The sooner I didn’t have to watch my back around him, the better, so I decided to give him a nudge.

I jerked my chin at his new line of Faerish script. “That’s a nice new tattoo. When’d you get that?”

“You have no idea what I had to do for this,” he whispered. “Graham was a good man.”

No magic hunter was a good man or woman. They stole magic, robbing lives and spreading terror in their wake.

I gave Alec a cool look. “Ossian is the King of Beasts. Did you think you could exist in his court without spilling a little blood?”

“I won’t be the only one who bleeds, witch.” He lunged forward .

“ Alec .” The Stag Man’s voice snapped down the hall like the crack of a whip. “What are you doing?”

“He won’t let me have breakfast,” I called, not once taking my eyes off the enraged magic hunter. That dagger had appeared in his hand with skill that rivaled my father’s.

“I’m redirecting her to the courtyard, my lord,” Alec answered. He’d masked his lunge into a purposeful walk. “As instructed.”

“I’ll take it from here,” Ossian said, right behind me.

I yelped at the closeness of his voice, whirling around.

The fae king towered over me, his emerald eyes bright with something like maniacal delight. I’d expected him to be in a foul mood, what with Wystan in the wind and that borderline insurrection of the Brotherhood, but no. His smile was wide, sharp teeth glinting. He looked every inch like the cat who had caught the canary, guzzled the cream, and successfully raided the pantry for all the kitty tuna treats. At his hip, the rapier Faebane hung by his side.

“O-Ossian?”

The fae king snatched my face and crushed his mouth against mine in a brutal kiss. His tongue forced itself past my stunned lips and delved so deep that I nearly choked. He broke away with a sharp inhale through bared teeth, digging his fingers into my hair and dragging them against my scalp in a rough caress.

Thistle thorns! I’d told him not to be gentle with me, but this was a whole new level of roughness.

“It’s going to be a fantastic day, love,” he told me, kissing me again and bruising my lips. Seizing my hand, he pulled me after him. “Come on.”