I push aside a curtain of hanging moss?—
And stop, the air stalling in my lungs.
The fae is ten feet away from me.
It’s wrenching its head back and forth, the muscles in its neck and shoulders straining beneath that strange gray-green skin. It hasn’t noticed me yet, completely focused on trying to get its antlers free from a snarl of branches. The twelve points are hooked deep in wood and vine, holding it fast. Every movement it makes drives the tines deeper. Those antlers that looked so magnificent in the enclosure, so perfect for the walls of my bedroom, have become a snare trapping the beast in place.
I don’t know if I make a noise, but it freezes, nostrils flaring as its head lifts slightly, scenting the air.
The world shrinks to just the two of us. The fae tangled and trapped, me with a bow over my shoulder, and a quiver of iron-tipped arrows on my back. My pulse thunders in my ears, nearly drowning out the harsh rasp of the fae’s breathing.
This is it.I’ve found it!
Without the hunting party, I’ve found the quarry myself. And it’s trapped.Helpless. Ten feet away with nowhere to go!
I’m moving before I’ve finished the thought, sliding the bow into my hand and reaching back to pull out an arrow. I nock it in the bow, and draw the string back to my cheek. The motion is smooth and confident. I’ve done this a hundred times, both in training with Brennan and on hunting trips for small game. The bow settles in my grip, and I sight along the shaft, until I find the broad expanse of the fae’s back, aiming for its heart.
My fingers ready for release. The fae turns its head. And I see its face.
In the enclosure, it kept its back to us. I saw its height, its antlers, the peculiar coloring of its skin. I saw the iron collar locked around its throat, and the way it stood so very still, refusing to acknowledge our presence.
What Ididn’tsee was its face. I didn’t think I needed to. It’san animal, prey to be hunted. Why would I need to see its face?
But now it’s staring at me. And there’s nothing animal-like about it.
Its features are all angles and edges, with cheekbones that are high and sharp, like blades beneath skin that catches the dim light strangely, almost luminous in the forest gloom. Its jaw is cut at angles that seem wrong somehow compared with a human’s, though I can’t quite pinpoint why. Its eyes are narrowed and almond-shaped, the pale gold of autumn wheat. They catch what little light filters through the canopy and throw it back like a cat’s eyes in darkness.
Those gold eyes meet mine, and the intelligence in them roots me to the spot. This isn’t the dull awareness of an animal. There’s no panic, confusion, or fear in them. It’s looking at me the way a general surveys a battlefield.
Calculating, assessing, taking my measure and finding me wanting.
My grip on the bow wavers. The string digs into my fingertips. Tension burns in my shoulder, my arms, the muscles of my back. My body knows what to do. I’vetrainedfor this. Draw, aim, and loose. But my fingers won’t obey me. They’re frozen on the string, and I can’t make them let go.
Why can’t I let go?
Shoot!
The thought echoes through my head, shrill and demanding.
Shoot it! That’s what you came here for. This is your kill. It’s your trophy. Your birthday gift. Father chose those antlers for you. He’s waiting to hear the story. Just loose the damn arrow. Just?—
The fae’s lip curls back from its teeth.
“Pathetic human.”
The words slam into me. My stomach drops. The forest tilts around me, and for a dizzy, lurching moment, I’m certainI’m going to fall, that my legs will give out, and I’ll crumple to the ground.
It spoke.
The fae spoke.
Two words. Two words that dripped with contempt, cold fury, and disgust. Its voice was low and rough, and the accent was strange—the vowels drawn too long, the consonants bitten off hard.
But animals don’t speak.
The trophies on the walls at Huntsman Dell—they didn’t speak. Lord Vessen’s stories, the creatures in those stories didn’t speak. Lady Harwick’s tusks, the ones she’s so proud of,thatcreature didn’t speak.
They’re animals.Everyonesays so. Dangerous animals, magical animals, but animals. They can’t?—
