“Put him in the games, my love. Let himearnhis penitence.”
It had not been his first time in attendance. He knew how the hunt worked. He had witnessed too many hunts by then, had watched too many supplicants to the throne be cut down in the forest. He knew which animals were considered prized targets, knew which were the swiftest, which could conceal themselves best amongst the moss and trees of the forest floor. But he also knew that the trees and moss weren’t friendly, would betray him if they could, and could not be counted on.
Hunt after hunt, his eyes would move to the sky. Ink black, dotted with stars, Night’s birds would move through the air, caring little for what happened on the ground.
When it had been his turn to be transfigured, Tate had turned to the Queen. He was favored, after all. And shouldn’t favors be granted to the favored?
He was being punished for disrespect, but she delighted in his cheek. Always had.
He had been turned into a bird that night, and under any other circumstance, it might have lived in his memory as the most exhilarating experience in his life. The wind beneath him, the sky open, every bird in the forest flocking to his aid, keeping him safe in their midst as they left the protected ring of the fires.
At one point, the birds had fanned out, splitting their ranks, one faction staying with him to circle back, while the other led Cadoc further into the forest. Tate understood for the first time that night how willing his grandsire was to kill him. He had heard, as all of Faerie had, Cadoc’s scream of rage when he’d realized what Tate had done, the earth splitting, the moon fracturing above their heads. Anger that threatened the entirerealm, all because he’d been robbed of taking Tate’s life. It wasn’t a lesson he ever forgot.
The others were cut down, as the quarry in the hunt was always cut down, but they couldn’t find the little bird who’d flown so unsteadily from court. When the Queen grew bored, demanding an end to the games, declaring Tate a winner, he had emerged at last.
He didn’t like to think about how many birds were cut down in his name that night. Cut down for him, while he hid within the broken, empty shell upon the Queen’s own crown.
The hunt this night would be different.
Tate knew, as the court gathered in the clearing beyond the great pavilion, that he wouldn’t be as lucky as he’d been that night so long ago. He wouldn’t be granted favors of fate, but even still — he needed to act. Time was running out.Tick, tick, tick.The hounds had been gathered, riders mounting their steeds. The crowd was bored with the feast and eager for the bloodlust of the games.How do you get yourself into these messes, boyo? You’ll be lucky to be transfigured into anything faster than a three-legged goat. Setback number fifty-seven.
He would meet Cadoc head-on, retrieving Silva’s coin if it was the last thing he did with breath in his lungs. He was out of his depth, running out of time, and at the mercy of a monarch whose mercy was mercurial.Get the coin. Kill the cunt. Find a door. Mind the time.
Tate was certain he’d already failed that last bit, but his watch still ticked evenly. The double-wound barrel meant that he had no more than five days. Not a minute more, and he’d no idea how much of that time had already been squandered.Tick, tick, tick.
The Bonfire Queen rose from the wooded dais in the clearing, the carved edifice around her hung with garlands of leaves and blowing linens. She clapped her hands once and only once, thecrowd spread out amongst the trees falling silent. Conversations paused, the leaves and linens went still, as if all the court were holding its breath.
“Sit with me, beloved.”
Every gathered eye moved to him as Tate realizedhewas the beloved in question.
Well, that’s fucking grand. Saved from being hunted. But now you’re stuck here with her. You may as well just draw him a fucking map to Silva’s apartment at this point, pass along her email address for good measure. Here’s her work schedule and the hours of the coffee shop.He ascended the steps slowly, uncertain of what to do next.Should have made a fucking plan.
Tonight’s first quarry was an angry fae man from the Court of Spring, arguing with anyone who would listen, until Cadoc approached casually.
The crowd leaned in, anticipating.
He moved as if he meant to converse with the prisoner. Instead, he cuffed him across the face with a mailed hand. Even from where he stood above, Tate could see the scattering of teeth, fed to the forest floor. Instead of arguing further, the long-eared man dropped to his knees, weeping.
When the second of the night’s prey was presented, Tate understood.
It was the Spring resident’s young son. Children in Faerie were an anomaly. If they weren’t, he himself would not have survived. Bringing human wives to the Otherworld was not uncommon, which was likely how this unfortunate scenario had come about. Elves were preferred, but not as easily tricked.They must pay the balance twice, to make amends to the harvest.Tate looked away. He did not need the fae man’s weeping to insinuate itself in his memory. A goblin who had caused offense at a market and a human who’d fallen into the wrong pond rounded out the participants.Victims. Call them what they are.
“My darlings,” the Queen said brightly, voice ringing through the clearing, as though greeting guests to a party rather than prisoners to a slaughter. “We’ve been sodreadfullystill. It’s been far too long since we stretched our legs properly.”
A murmur rippled through the court, one of anticipation and hunger. Hunger, despite the earlier feast.It is a mercy to cull the numbers. Tate disliked that he was inclined to agree. He listened with half an ear as one of the huntsmen called the petitions from the quarry, raising his hand to tuck a non-existent strand of hair behind his ear. Letting his wrist linger, he listened, forcing his mind to stay clear of the smoke.Tick, tick, tick. Mind the time, lad.
Somewhere far from here, the sun might be rising. Silva would turn in her bed, her chestnut hair burnished in the morning sun, her eyes just fluttering open.And you’re here. He still didn’t have a plan, beyond knowing that whatever was going to happen needed to happen here and now. This hunt would be his last and only chance. Tate didn’t care if he survived it. Only that it closed the door to his little dove for good.
He followed when the Queen moved down the staircase, finding himself between the Lady of Autumn and her consort once more. Cadoc stood stock still, a mask of impassivity onhisface as well. He was dressed for riding, light leathers in place of armor, his ebony antlers reflecting the moon’s bright light. Tate knew he liked to ride light. It kept his horse swift and his arms unencumbered.And it will make him easier to kill, if you ever get the opportunity.
It was a substantialif. Cadoc led the hunt. Tate would be stuck here with the Queen, forced to listen to the horrors in the forest beyond, and his grandsire was free to disappear.And what happens if he uses the hunt as a diversion? What happens if he rides off and brings her here?There was no way around it. None that he could see. Cadoc always led the hunt. The court knew it.The forest knew it. The hunt itself bent around him, the whole realm balanced on the debts he collected.
Which was why the Queen’s next words landed like a slap.
“My darling one . . . you’ll stay here.”
Tate felt his breath catch, in spite of himself. The hunt was Cadoc’s domain. The social proof of his control. The silence in the clearing had a sharpness, nearly ringing, punctured after a moment by the laughter of a faraway harpy. The consort did not move, but his eyes betrayed him. They wereallbad at this.Fucking amateurs.It was a wonder that anyone in Faerie had won a single wager in the time since the veil fell.
