Mutt wiped his nose, sucking the snot back in audibly. “Cats… stupid castle cats,” he grumbled, walking away.
Hazel loosed the breath she’d held in, releasing her grip on the orange cat.
The woman’s voice called out again, harrying her party to get a move on.
“Roland! Bode! Bor’tuk! Drobak! Mutt! Fall in!” she shouted over the growing din. “We need to get a move on before this place gets any more chaotic.”
Hazel could hear murmuring near the front of the wagon. Then footsteps came her way again, forcing her to pull her knees into her chest. Large, calloused hands lifted the edge of the tarp, causing Hazel’s heart to skip a beat.
But instead of lifting it any further, he tossed a small sack into the wagon. It landed with a clink, sounding of metal. Against her better judgment, she peeked in the bag and found it full of about a half dozen throwing knives. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat.
They’re performers, Hazel, not assassins,she reminded herself.Just performers.
The smell of smoke drifted over on a warm breeze. Somewhere through the castle archways, a few women were crying and someone shouted their disapproval. Someone might have screamed, but it wasn’t the scream of someone suffering. No, it was just a reaction to the horror that had begun to unfold before them.
A whip cracked somewhere toward the front of the coach. The cart lurched as the lone horse abruptly pulled it into motion. As it pulled away, Slaide revealed himself, springing forth from the shadows, a wraith materializing in the night. His own shadows swirled around him as though they were alive.
Hazel noted his change in appearance: the addition of a chest plate and a flowing black cloak… and a darkened, glazed-over expression. This was not the Slaide she’d come to know, but the Slaide nightmares were made of. His wings were out, no longer glamored from sight. He had them folded tightly into his body. Under his arm, he held a helmet so reflective it looked almost white.
No, itwaswhite.
Because it wasn’t a helmet at all.
It was a skull. A wolf skull with horns.
Holy gods.Hazel reeled. She wanted to give up her hiding place and leap from the wagon. She wanted to run Slaide down and demand answers.
All this time. All. This. Time. Slaide had been disappearing at odd hours and without explanation because he wasthetraitorous Wolf Mask.
He’d saved her from the Striga, he’d led the ambush during the third trial… he’d killed many, many people.
But there was a whole host of things Wolf Mask had done that were admittedly good. According to circulating rumors,Wolf Mask and his bandits had taken down supply lines transporting crucial imports to the castle. He’d taken out a Border patrol unit that had supposedly allowed refugees to escape beyond the Border.
He’d saved her the night her father was slaughtered. Slaide was nowhere to be found when Wolf Mask appeared that night, leaping over bodies and through flames on his devilish black war steed.Phillip.
It was them the entire time.
The nights she’d had horrible nightmares, he wasn’t on the castle grounds. He was out creating chaos and wreaking havoc against King Magnus.
The nightmares had been trying to show her something. Had been trying to show them both. She’d been dreaming through her mother’s eyes, her memories, Slaide’s memories. But there was something else.
It was as though the Fates were screaming something at them, but neither could hear it clearly. One thing struck Hazel for certain, though: the Fates wanted them to stay together.
The fated witch and the fallen bastard.
And here she was, hiding in the back of a wagon, headedawayfrom him like a gods-damned fool.
No. No, she wasn’t doing this. Every fiber of her being screamed this was wrong. In a split-second decision, Hazel threw herself from the wagon. To her surprise, the cat followed.
The dust cleared, revealing a dirty, coughing Hazel kneeling in the middle of the road.
“You there!” a man’s voice called. “Are you alright?”
Hazel looked up to see a knight walking toward her.Shit. Better move.She ignored the man and scrambled to her feet.
“Hey! I’m talking to you!” the knight tried again.
Before he had time to process, Hazel was running, orange cat slung over her shoulder.
