“The Wild Hunt,” Merithra said calmly. “They’re testing my boundaries. They can’t enter, but they can make their presence known.”
My blood went cold. The flower in my hand suddenly felt very fragile.
“We should get inside,” Thessaly said, her usual composure cracking. “Now.”
We didn’t run—running would show fear—but we moved quickly through the memory garden, past the emotional plants that seemed to shrink away from whatever was coming. Peeble pressed tight against my neck, their small body trembling.
“This is bad,” they whispered. “This is very, very bad.”
Inside the great hall was in controlled chaos. Through the massive windows, we could see them—riders on horses made of shadow and pale light, circling the Court’s borders. Their hounds were worse—massive things with too many teeth and eyes that glowed like dying stars, bodies that seemed to phase in and out of existence with each stride.
“Well, this is going great,” Peeble muttered from my shoulder. “Really stellar evening. Five stars, would not recommend.”
And at their head, the Hunter himself. I couldn’t look at him directly—my eyes kept sliding off like he existed in a dimension slightly to the left of reality. But I got impressions: antlers that were also crown that were also thorns, a face that was beautiful and terrible and ancient beyond measure.
“Elle Hawthorne of Earth,” his voice echoed through the hall without him speaking. “You are called to answer for crimes against the realm’s nature.”
“Oh good, a formal accusation,” Peeble whispered. “That’s always a positive sign.”
“She’s under my protection,” Merithra called back, authority ringing in every word.
“Until sunrise. Then the Hunt claims its right.”
“What crimes?” I shouted, surprising everyone including myself. “What am I supposed to have done?”
The Hunter turned toward me, and looking at him felt like falling into the space between stars. “You exist outside the pattern. You break what should be whole. You are becoming something that should not be.”
“According to who?”
“According to the laws written before the first seed was planted.”
“Well, maybe those laws need updating!”
“Oh brilliant,” Peeble hissed. “Yes, definitely sass the ancient death god. What could possibly go wrong?”
Silence. Complete, total silence.
Then the Hunter laughed, a sound like wind through graveyards. “Perhaps they do. We shall see at sunrise.”
They vanished—not gradually but all at once, leaving only the echo of howling and the scent of endings.
“That was either very brave or very stupid,” Thessaly said.
“I’m going with stupid,” Peeble added. “Definitely stupid.”
“Both,” Kaelren said, appearing at my side. His marks were glowing with agitation. “It was both.”
“The Hunt hasn’t been challenged in a thousand years,” Merithra said thoughtfully. “This should be interesting.”
“Interesting?” I spun to face her. “They want to kill me at sunrise and you find it interesting?”
“Everything about you is interesting, dear. Including whether you’ll survive to see another sunset.” She studied me with those ancient eyes. “But sunrise is hours away. Tonight, rest. Tomorrow, we’ll face what comes.”
As the court dispersed, servants—or what passed for servants in a place where reality was negotiable—showed us back to our quarters. I found myself walking beside Kaelren through corridors that shifted with each step.
“You were quiet during dinner,” I said.
“I was listening.”
