Danver leaps to the ground to sniff around. Now that my hands are free, I lower my face into them.
Galinor’s hand settles on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Anwen.”
We don’t speakas we plod through the forest on our way back to the palace. Even the horses seem to be in nohurry to return. There’s no hope I will find the fairies now.
I will have to begin my search again. Which way will Dimitri have taken his troupe?
I turn to Galinor. “Where are the festivals—”
Something screeches behind us, and the hair stands up on the back of my neck.
“What was that?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, but his hand moves to the hilt of his sword.
“There it is again,” I whisper.
Galinor draws the horse to a halt, and then he turns to face the trail behind us. “I’m tired of its games.”
Irving follows our lead. He pulls an arrow from his quiver and readies his bow. We wait, our eyes on the woods. Danver stills near Galinor’s horse. He looks down the trail. Then, sensing something we can’t see yet, the hair on his back stands on end.
My heart pounds in my chest, and cold sweat trickles down my shoulder blades. The wind blows through the trees, startling a bird from her perch.
Goosebumps prickle my skin as I scan the woods. From the darkness of a cluster of underbrush, green eyes stare at me.
Then they’re gone.
“I saw something,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Galinor tenses. “Where?”
“Between the large trees. Something is watching.”
“Tell me—”
A yowl comes from behind us.
The horses spook and swivel around to face theirattacker. There, in the path directly in front of us, crouches a creature I have no name for. I inhale sharply, barely able to breathe.
Glossy black fur covers a pony-sized body. His muscles ripple as he twitches forward. Huge, feathered wings lay tucked against his body, but he flips them out now, making himself larger.
He hisses, creeping forward—a cat ready to pounce.
“He’s beautiful,” I breathe.
Galinor’s arm wraps around me, his muscles like bands of steel. “Don’t move.”
I call to the creature, mimicking a stable cat, and then I click my tongue.
“What’s wrong with you?” Galinor demands.
The feline’s ears twitch.
“Pretty kitty,” I coo, and then I click again.
The feline sits back on his haunches, confused. He tilts his head one way and then the next.
Irving sits frozen on his horse next to us. Through clenched teeth, he hisses at Galinor, “What is she doing?”
