I remember the euphoric flavor of the honey pyrus, but the memory tastes sickly sweet, bringing bile to my throat. Before I know it, I’m doubled over and heaving out the contents of my stomach. Tears spring to my eyes, and I let out a moan of distress. I’ve hardly been more than tipsy from the occasional glass of wine, so this is a far cry from anything I’ve ever experienced before.
I curse myself for being so stupid as to try fae fruit in the first place, salt or no.
My hand flies to my side, finding my salt pouch gone. I likely left it at the picnic. Another thought crosses my mind, and I reach for my thigh, sighing with relief when I feel the hilt of my dagger.
I close my eyes, summoning a sense of calm. Control. With a deep breath, I lift my soiled hem and take one careful step and then another, avoiding ill-meaning rocks this time. I turn my head this way and that, seeking some sign of a worn path to no avail. Then I turn my eyes to the sky, trying to make out where the sun is. The sun set over the horizon behind the palace last night. If I can follow the trajectory of the sun, I might be able to find the palace. Maybe. It’s the only logical step I can think of.
Here goes nothing.
* * *
Hours pass and there’s still no sign of a trail, much less the palace or Cobalt or the cliff we picnicked on. I’ve yet to cross paths with any living being, save for birds and insects and the occasional rodent. This, at first, I was grateful for. Now I’m starting to wish I’d come across a fae. Surely, Cobalt will have sent someone to find me by now, right? Perhaps I should have stayed where I was.
“Help,” I call out. “Can anyone hear me?”
Silence.
My heart feels like it will burst from anxiety and my feet are covered in blisters within the dirt-caked slippers I wear. I can’t go much farther.
“Please.” I try again, letting my voice carry throughout the quiet forest. “I’m lost and need help. I’m…fiancée of Prince Cobalt of the Autumn Court.”
More silence.
This is the day I die after all. Not because of some vile fae, but because I’m an idiot who got tipsy on fae fruit and decided to run alone through the woods after what was probably an imaginary sprite. My throat feels tight and tears prick my eyes. I can’t cry. I can’t fall apart right now.
Control. Where is my control?
A sound comes from behind me. I whirl to find a dark shape in the distance. My breath catches, and I realize it’s a black horse, similar to the ones I saw at the head of our carriage yesterday. What had Foxglove called them? Puca? It comes closer, slowly, and I fight the urge to flee.
“Did you come to help me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Come with me.” The voice is somehow audible yet ethereal, as if carried not by vocal cords but the wind. The horse comes closer, and I see it’s somewhat larger than the carriage-pulling puca. This one is more muscular too, with a long mane that blows in a wind I don’t feel and eyes that gleam red instead of gold. It’s beautiful.
I shudder. There’s something sinister in this creature’s beauty, reminding me of King Aspen’s striking glamour. “Will you take me to the Autumn Court palace?”
“I will,” says the ethereal voice. “I’ll take you to Bircharbor Palace. Climb on my back.”
I take an automatic step away as it approaches and lowers its head. Everything in me is screaming at me to run, but what other choice do I have? I’m lost with no guarantee I’ll come across another fae before I get eaten alive by something worse. Besides, my mind is still too foggy from the honey pyrus to construct a tighter bargain. This one will have to do.
I grit my teeth and haul myself onto the creature’s back. As soon as I’m righted upon it, it takes off. I reach for its mane, wrapping the thick strands of black around my hands to keep from falling off.
As the puca gallops through the forest, deftly avoiding branches and tree trunks as if by magic, I notice the forest begins to thin. It looks familiar as oaks and maples give way to stands of birch, and I’m almost positive it’s the same way Cobalt and I came earlier. There’s no sign of the prince or the cliff, but we can’t be too far from the palace now.
My breathing begins to slow. Relief crawls over me bit by bit, and before long the ride becomes something close to enjoyable.
The sun is beginning its descent in the sky by the time the puca slows to a canter. The trees thin to a well-worn path, and a welcome sight comes into view—the palace. I sigh with relief, fully aware of the irony that I could feel so happy to return to what yesterday felt like a prison. Anything beats being alone in that eerie forest again.
“I brought you to the palace,” says the puca. “Yes?”
“Yes, thank you.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, the puca picks up pace again, charging forward. I feel like he’s going to ram us both straight into the palace walls. I try to release his mane, hoping I can tumble from his back before we crash. To my horror, my hands are somehow stuck in place. It’s not me holding the mane after all, but the mane holding onto me.
Before we slam into the palace wall, the creature veers sharply to the right. The golds of the palace speed past my vision and are replaced with the reds and pinks of the sunset behind it. The puca gallops ahead with no sign of slowing before we reach the end of the cliff.
I scream as the ocean comes into view below us, my stomach dropping as he leaps off the edge. We crash not too far down, the puca gaining purchase with little effort on a small outcropping of the cliff wall. It leaps and crashes again, jolting me with every landing. In a matter of seconds, we’ve descended the face of the cliff and are speeding along the narrow sliver of beach. Straight for the ocean.
I struggle to release the mane again, trying to reach my thigh, my dagger, but the strands of hair pull tighter and tighter. The tide is high, which means we plunge into the water before I can take a breath. There’s no sign of the coral caves, no sign of anything but deep, dark water and the blinding sunset above.
