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Because she was definitely in Faerie now. She recognized it from Julian’s and Emma’s descriptions of the Land Under the Hill. She could feel the change in atmosphere they had spoken of. Similar to how air in old cathedrals tasted of cold stone and age, the air here suddenly smelled different, sharp and edged and green, not like a garden but like the cut stems of plants. There was something strangely familiar about it.

Familiar, but also ominous. Things seemed to move in the shadows, and she heard again that strange, childlike giggling. She pushed off the dirt wall and began to move as quietly as she could, away from the laughter.

But it only grew louder. The dimly lit torch in her hand shook, sending wavering bars of illumination across the tunnel walls. She heard a sound like rattling, which turned out to be the scrape of a dozen rushing little feet, as she realized a moment later, when a clutch of goblins burst out of the shadows.

Dru had seen pictures of goblins before, though she hadn’t encountered one in real life. These looked like cave goblins and were even nastier in person. About half her height, with ropy, skeletal little bodies, dressed in filthy rags. Their feet resembled birds’ feet, with talon-like toenails; they were bald except for a few strings of white fluff, and their skin was pink and bumpy, reminiscent of plucked chicken skin. Their eyes were huge and saucery, their teeth were jagged, and their noses weren’t really there. More like craters in their faces.

Revolted, Dru wanted to kick out at them, but each one carried a weapon—a clever-looking axe, a bronze dagger, a long, serrated blade. They were small, but they outnumbered her. She cursed silently again as they surrounded her, giggling and chattering in high-pitched voices.

“Shadowhunter—”

“Seen them before, yes I have—”

“No y’haven’t, Hogface, you’d’ve told us about it—”

“Shut yer mouth, then—”

“Looks tasty, it does—”

“Let us have a bite, just a bite, then, Snaggle—”

“Shut up, you lot.” The order was barked out by the biggest of the goblins, who wore what looked like the remnants of a human child’s overalls. Dru tried not to think about the human child whose clothes might have been stolen. Hopefully the goblins had rooted the overalls out of some trash.

The goblin—Snaggle, apparently—leered at Dru. True to his name, he had only one tooth, which was visibly crooked.

“Shadowhunter,” he hissed. “How unusual, for one of your kind to wander into our realm.”

Dru raised her chin and did her best to regard him with haughty disdain. She wondered for a moment if she should mention that her brother, Mark, was the consort of the Unseelie King, but without knowing if she was in Seelie or Unseelie lands, she realized that might cause more trouble than it solved.

“We have a truce,” she said, instead. “The Accords forbid you from harming me, or any Shadowhunter.”

To her dismay, the goblins only chuckled. “Oh, a truce, a truce indeed,” Snaggle said. “To honor our truce, should we not break bread together?”

From a bag that hung at his side, he pulled a hunk of what was undeniably bread. A thick chunk of it, with a brown crust, and more than a little grubby.

Dru shook her head. “This is not my first faerie rodeo, buddy,” she said. “I’m not eating that. Or drinking anything you offer me, either.”

Snaggle’s lips split in an unpleasant grin. “You seem to think you have more choice than you do, mortal girl.”

He held the bread out to her. Dru jabbed the torch at him. “Get back.”

Snaggle tossed the bread to the ground. “Seize her,” he snarled. “Take her to Mother Hawthorn.”

Dru’s blood went cold. Mother Hawthorn. She knew the name, knew it meant these were wild fey, not bound by the Accords. She saw the weapons flash in the hands of the other goblins, and slid her palm down her side, reaching for her seraph blade—

“Stop.”

The word was like the crack of a whip. It echoed through the tunnel. The goblins froze, and so did Dru, as a figure emerged from the thickest shadows.

He was tall and slim, with hair the color of silver and snow. He wore ivory and black, like a chessboard come to life. His clothes were clearly faerie workmanship: They had that quality of being both natural and richly luxurious. A black velvet cloak, embroidered with silver thread; soft boots; a silk tunic with mother-of-pearl buttons, open at the throat, where a silver chain gleamed.

He must be fey nobility, Dru thought. His ears were slightly pointed, but he otherwise looked almost human—only no human was that beautiful, with features so clearly carved, delicate and masculine at the same time. He did not look much older than Dru was, though it was hard to tell age with faeries.

He swept a dispassionate look across the clutch of huddled goblins. “I see you are up to your usual troublemaking, Snaggle,” he said. “Though I don’t know why they don’t call you Missing Nose—honestly, that tooth of yours seems like the least of your concerns.”

“My lord Prince,” said Snaggle. “We were just—”

“I know what you were just,” said the faerie prince. (A prince? Dru thought. There were a number of sons of the old Unseelie King running about, if she recalled correctly. Still. What on earth was a prince of Faerie doing here, in some outpost of the wild fey?) “And you can abandon the idea. You know perfectly well you shouldn’t be here. This is not wild land, and you are forbidden to maraud here. This is Seelie land, and this Shadowhunter is under the protection of the Court now.” He flashed a look at Dru. His eyes—they were a deep, clear green. Like the sea glass Julian loved. “I suggest you scatter, or face the consequences.”