“Until Gaspard shows up,” I amended. The claiming mark flared at the hunter’s name, a spike of possessive anger that wasn’t entirely mine. My beasts, feeling my emotions through our connection. And now Alain too, his jaw tightening at the mention of the man who’d hurt me. “He’s close. I can sense him too. A warning from my magic.”
We were fifty paces from the hut when the door creaked open. No dramatic burst of power, no theatrical entrance. Just a door, swinging inward on rusted hinges to reveal darkness beyond.
“Isabeau,” a voice called from within, reedy and thin as if coming from lungs that hadn’t drawn proper breath in decades. “I’ve been expecting you, daughter of Artemis.”
The name hit me all at once. Artemis. My mother’s name that I didn’t know her by. Not a nickname as I’d thought, but her actual name. A goddess name, from the old stories.
“Stay back,” I warned Alain as I took a step forward. “If anything happens to me—”
“Nothing’s happening to you,” he cut me off, his grip on his sword tightening. “Not while I draw breath.”
A figure appeared in the doorway, and I barely contained my gasp. Enid looked... fractured. As if someone had taken two different women and imperfectly stitched them together. One half of her face was that of an old crone, wrinkled and spotted with age, the eye cloudy and unfocused. The other half was younger, almost beautiful, with skin like polished marble and an eye that glowed with unnatural amber light.
“The prince comes with the goddess-born,” Enid said, her voice alternating between creaky age and sultry youth with each syllable. “How... unexpected, but I only see the present.”
Her gaze fixed on my shoulder, where the claiming mark pulsed beneath my dress. A smile twisted half her mouth.
“The fourth mate,” she said, her younger half speaking now. “The curse breaks further. My Lord won’t be pleased.”
“I didn’t come to please your lord,” I said, drawing on every scrap of courage I possessed. “I came to end this. To free the forest and my beasts.”
Enid laughed, a sound like glass shattering. “So bold. So like your mother.” Her expression shifted, the younger half of her face taking control. “I didn’t know she was with child. I swear I didn’t know.” Then, as quickly, the older half reasserted itself. “It wouldn’t have mattered. The Dark Lord demands what he demands.”
She was fighting herself. I could see it now. Two versions of the same witch battling for control. One corrupted by darkness, one clinging to whatever scraps of humanity remained. But shewasn’t like this last time I saw her. Last time my mother’s spirit surprised her by protecting me.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded, taking another step forward despite Alain’s warning hand on my arm. “What does my mother have to do with this?”
Before Enid could answer, a horn blasted from the forest’s edge. Not the melodic call of a hunting party, but the harsh, militaristic blast that announced the king’s men. I turned to see riders emerging from the trees, their armor catching what little light penetrated the bog’s gloom.
“They found us,” Alain muttered, positioning himself slightly in front of me. “Sooner than I expected.”
But it wasn’t the king’s men who held my attention. It was the figure leading them, his black hair pulled back in a severe tail, his face alight with a predatory satisfaction that turned my stomach to ice.
Gaspard.
He’d found us. Of course he had. He’d always find me, until one of us was dead.
“Run,” Alain urged, giving me a gentle push toward the hut. “Deal with the witch. I’ll handle him.”
My hand reached for him, uncaring who saw my worries written cleanly on my face. “Alain—”
“Go!” He turned to face me fully, his eyes blazing with determination and something deeper, something I wasn’t ready to name. “Trust me, Isabeau. I can do this.”
Oh, how I hated having to trust him. His life was on the line because of me. Because he cared for me as much as I did him.
“You cannot battle a whole army,” I pleaded.
“The faster you kill the witch, the longer I’ll live.” I hated his logic, and I had a feeling his father wouldn’t kill him. If anything, the king would blame me and my magic for his son helping medefy him. He’d think killing me would be how he needed to save his son, so I had to kill the witch first.
I nodded, throat too tight for words. The claiming mark pulsed once, hard, as if my beasts were lending Alain their strength through our shared connection.
As I turned back toward the hut, a new sound rose above the approaching hunters’ calls. A rumbling, like distant thunder, but continuous and growing louder by the second. From the corner of my eye, I caught movement at the forest’s edge. Not more hunters, but something else entirely. My breath caught.
Animals poured from the trees. Not just ordinary forest creatures, but the denizens of the sacred acre. The last pure place in the Forbidden Forest had emptied itself, sending its inhabitants to our aid. Foxes with seven tails, birds trailing sparks from their wings, deer whose antlers glowed like moonlight. Phoenixes and gryphons were in the air too. At their forefront, a magnificent stag with antlers that branched into impossible fractal patterns, each tine tipped with blue fire.
The unicorn I’d ridden whinnied in greeting, rearing up on its hind legs before charging to meet its kin. The raven cawed once, twice, then launched itself into the air to circle above the coming battle.
“Impossible,” Enid whispered, her voice momentarily unified in shock. “The guardians have not left the acre in a century. Arty protected their acre long before the curse to shield the creatures from those opposed to magic hunting them. That's how she protected their acre with the roses, feeding them the life force of the most precious sacrifice to protect them.”
