They’re communicating like they did with each other before.
The dragons respond with more of those clicking growls, then bank hard to the left and beat their wings hard, gaining altitude fast before disappearing into the murk.
The female leader turns, and the column shifts direction by a few degrees to the east.
“It must be Snow,” I say against Isla’s hair. “I think she’s here and that this is it.”
She nods. “I think so too.” She turns to look me in the eye. Hers are filled with fear. I also see strength there.
“You need to stay out of harm’s way, if you can,” I tell her.
“That goes for you, too.” She smiles.
I know it’s wrong, since what we had was just a quick tryst, but I cup her cheek and taste her lips anyway. Just for the briefest of moments.
She turns away as soon as we break apart, but not before I see the pink of her cheeks and how she licks her lips.
We crest a low ridge, and the ground opens up before us into a wide, flat expanse of dead earth. The mud here is lighter than what we’ve been slogging through. Dried and cracked in places, still wet in others. And there, cutting across the waste, is Snow’s procession.
My eyes are drawn to the carriage in the middle. It’s made entirely from ice. Spires of frozen crystal rise from the roof. It must be taking enormous amounts of magic to keep it from melting, since this part of the deadlands is cold but not freezing.
Isla gasps. “It’s her,” she whispers.
The hy-weres yip, and the others make odd sounds back. The thornback growls low, his body vibrating beneath us.
Around the carriage, icefae soldiers march in tight formation. Their armor is pale. They carry long spears tipped with sharp ice crystals. Their shields are round and edged with frost.
Several smaller troops flank the procession at intervals. I count them as we draw closer. Three clusters to the left, two on the right, one bringing up the rear.
It’s far less than I expected.
“That’s her only guard?” Isla whispers, her thoughts mirroring mine.
“I think so.” My mouth is dry. “I knew she would have to travel light, but this is absurd.”
“She must be just as powerful as I feared,” Isla says.
“Maybe she’s just overconfident,” I mutter.
“I doubt it.”
“Or there is something else at play. Something we don’t know about. Some trap or weapon or reinforcement we can’t see,” I say, keeping my voice low.
“I hope not.”
I squeeze Isla’s hand.
The shifterfae don’t slow. If anything, the column picks up speed. The thornbacks break into a heavy, ground-shaking trot that has me gripping the bony protrusion tighter. The hy-weres stretch into long, loping strides, eating up the distance. I can feel the energy shifting through the entire formation. The hunt is on. This is it.
I pull in a deep breath, wishing I could find a way to turn this thornback around.
“Be ready to fight,” I tell Isla, who nods.
A horn sounds from the icefae procession. High and piercing, it cuts across the flatland and seems to hang in the still air. Then another horn answers. And another.
The formation around the carriage shifts. It’s fast and disciplined. The smaller troop clusters collapse inward, pulling tight around the carriage. Shields come up. Spears angle forward. Within the span of ten heartbeats, they’ve transformed from a traveling procession into a defensive wall.
They’re ready for us.
