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Ash shook his head. “I do not owe you this,” he said, and turned toward Elara. “Come away from the Tree.” To her surprise, he took her lightly by the elbow and drew her from the scarred trunk, the bloody earth.

The whip cracked sharply in the Huntsman’s hand. Ash pushed Elara, hard, making her stumble as the whip barely missed her and struck the dirt at Ash’s feet. Blood welled from the earth as if it were wounded.

Ash looked through the shadows at Janus. “You cannot whip me,” he said. “You cannot disobey the Queen, and besides, I do not believe your heart will allow it.”

Elara froze. What on earth was Ash doing? Was he trying to provoke the Huntsman? She could practically feel the rage coming off Janus, an almost unnatural fury. Or perhaps Ash really did believe Janus would not, could not, hurt him?

“Turn around,” Janus said. Ash’s face went white, but he turned to face the Whipping Tree.

“No,” Elara cried, but it was too late—the whip slashed hard across Ash’s back, splitting the fabric of his tunic, blood welling up through the gap in the cloth. He gasped, his hands flying out to brace himself against the trunk of the Tree. Elara screamed as the next blow drove Ash to his knees on the scarlet ground. She started forward, then froze, terrified that if she interfered, Janus would only whip Ash harder.

The whip came down across Ash’s back a third time, opening a new gash in his back; but he was silent now, his hands sunk deep in the wet red earth. Elara felt as if she might weep at the sight of his blood, though it had been years since she had shed tears.

With a curse, Janus hurled the whip away; it smacked to the ground at Elara’s feet. He glared at Ash, who was kneeling, his back heaving as he gasped for breath. “Just remember—you forced my hand,” Janus hissed, and spun away, stalking into the woods.

Ash remained on his knees, blood welling slowly from the cuts on his back. Elara ran to him, her feet sinking into the earth, her hands reaching out for him—but he twisted away from her, staggering upright.

There were tears on his cheeks, and Elara did not believe they were from any physical pain. His voice, when he spoke, was hoarse.

“Swear you will not tell Dru what happened here,” he said. “Swear it.”

Elara knew she could mend Ash, lessen his pain. She knew she could. “I swear it. But, Ash, I could treat your wounds—”

“No.” He cut her off. “I can use healing runes. I’ll be fine.”

“Fear not the night,” Elara whispered, willing him to understand, “for the stars are with you.”

His head whipped around. He looked at her, not as she had hoped he would, but as if he had seen an apparition of the dead climb out of its grave. Finally, he spoke, his voice uneven. “You must go, Elara. Now. Leave this place!”

She saw the agony in his eyes, and knew that he did not wish to be healed. That the physical pain was even a relief, drowning out a pain that was deeper. Ash had told the Huntsman that he did not believe his heart would allow him to whip Ash, but Janus had proved it was not Ash—despite Court gossip—who had no heart.

If Janus had ever loved Ash, he loved him no longer. That much was clear.

Ash would not submit to her touch, she knew now. And his rage at her if she stayed would only cause him more torment.

Elara forced herself to walk away, the sound of Ash’s harsh breathing still in her ears; the trees seemed to rise up around her as the darkness closed in. In a moment, the clearing was gone, and she was back in the forest.

As she left the clearing, one thought echoed in Elara’s mind. The answer to a question she had asked herself since she had returned to the Seelie Court.

Ash risked those blows to protect me. To protect Dru. That was not the action of someone who has no heart.

He is good, she reassured herself, as she made her way back to the Court. I cannot doubt it now, can I?

Surely, he is good?

16

Tell All the Truth

Dru stood under the waterfall for a long time, scrubbing herself clean of lipstick, grass stains, and blood. She only wished she could also wash her mind clean of the awful thoughts that threatened to send her spinning into panic and darkness.

She seemed to see the whole night go by in snippets, like a crime scene lit by the occasional flashbulb. The revel. Byrne in the devil mask, Kit and Ty in the mirror. Ash wiping his mouth clean of her lipstick as if he wished to wipe away their kisses. Pale figures trapped underwater, neither alive nor dead. The Queen threatening Elara. The Huntsman dragging Elara away.

My fault, Dru thought, finally climbing out of the stream. It’s all my fault. She dried herself off and slipped on a soft cotton nightgown before sitting on the edge of the bed.

I have to get out of here. She’d thought she had more time to safely find an escape, but clearly that wasn’t true. Who knew how long the Shadowhunters would be safe in Lake Lyn? And what about Kit and Ty? They had seemed to be alone, somewhere in the mortal world, which explained why she hadn’t seen them with the others. But even if they weren’t underwater, could they escape the Riders of Mannan without any help? Did they even know the Riders were on their trail?

Maybe Magnus was helping them, or Ragnor. From the way the Queen and Janus spoke, it seemed as if only Nephilim were imprisoned under the lake. She thought of Janus telling her that she must know who was responsible for what had happened to the Shadowhunters, but besides the Cohort, her exhausted mind couldn’t stretch to any guesses.