“Welcome to my court,” she says, and the words seem to come from everywhere.
Every branch, every withered leaf, they all tremble with the surprisingly deep resonance of her voice.
“I hear a few of you did not make it to my hall. A pity.” She fiddles with one of the vines at her wrist, not looking contrite in the slightest. “But I suppose that’s the danger one must risk for so rich a reward.”
The crowd shifts, murmurs. The few eyes I catch glimmer with avarice, with the scent of a quarry ready for the taking.
Am I any better?
If Myron had gotten word of this gathering, I have no doubt he would have sent me here to join the hunt for him. I’d be no different from the other fortune hunters, ready for the chase.
“And speaking of reward,” the queen continues. “I am so pleased to see so many brave the wilds of Faerie to hear my challenge and reap my favor.”
As she speaks, one of her courtiers steps forward. A fae who seems more tree than living being, they’re covered in bark and move woodenly to the foot of the dais. There, they throw open the top of a chest made of dark, polished wood.
A fortune glimmers within.
No matter the realm, gold is a valuable currency to carry, and the chest is brimming with it. Jewels, too, though not just familiar emeralds and rubies. Strange-hued stones shine their faelight into the dim of the court, shifting and shimmering, a beacon calling on every hunter’s thirst for riches.
“A worthy prize, is it not?” the queen crows, and a murmur of assent ripples through the crowd. “And I’m sure you’re all curious to know what I demand in exchange for it.”
Her unnervingly black eyes scan the crowd, jumping from face to face, an unhinged sort of light shining from their depths.
They land on me, and I try to convince myself I only imagine them lingering. Surely, I hold no specific fascination for this monarch out of a crowd of more than a hundred. Surely, she’s just toying with her prey before she issues the challenge that may lead to their deaths.
The queen’s vines writhe around her. They whip out in excited bursts, causing those closest to the dais to jump back in alarm. She croons, and the cursed things calm, settling back into more orderly coils.
I suppress a shiver of revulsion.
The queen smiles again, a wide, vicious expression that belies her cruel glee. She speaks, and the bower’s heart rumbles with her proclamation, leaves falling from above, vines pulsing with the tenor of her voice.
“My bounty will go to the hunter who can bring me my heart.”
9
Seren
A heart.
We’re looking for a heart.
Perfect.
No shiny trinkets or buried treasure. Oh no. It couldn’t have been that simple.
In the wake of the macabre challenge the fae queen just threw down, the crowd shifts, murmurs, unfamiliar eyes meeting as everyone tries to determine whether they heard her right.
On her throne, the fae queen grins. I shudder. Goddess, but she’s horrible to look at.
Razor-sharp teeth and endless black eyes that could cut straight through you. All those damn vines twisting around her, in her, binding her to her throne and her entire terrible court.
“Bring me my heart and earn your reward,” she says, looking out over the hunters. Then she smiles, a threat if I’ve ever seen one. “If you can.”
Another murmur through the crowd. The queen makes to rise, and some incredibly brave—or incredibly idiotic—hunter in the crowd calls out.
“Majesty.” He at least has enough sense to use her title. “When you say you seek your heart, what do you—”
The queen’s cold black eyes narrow. “I mean exactly what I say. Bring me my heart, and claim your reward.”
