by K. J. Sutton
She’d paused when I called her name, automatically resting a hand on that glittering sword. My words made Lyari’s brows lower. “What are you talking about?” she called back.
“The one in front of Naevys,” I clarified. “Thanks for doing that.”
Lyari’s confusion faded. She shook her head, the movement barely perceptible in the shadows. “I didn’t have anything to do with the chair, Your Majesty. I thought you’d just gotten sick of sitting in the dirt and ordered it to be brought there.”
“Oh. Never mind, I guess.” A frown flitted across my face. “See you later.”
Lyari bowed and walked back into the woods. Watching her go, I wondered why she didn’t sift. It could only be that she didn’t want to. That she preferred the crisp, open air and a vast sky overhead. Maybe the fae had some humanity in them, after all.
Within seconds, she was out of sight. My stomach protested again, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten all day. Finn was still silent, which meant he’d either gone inside without my noticing or he was half-naked nearby, trapped between man and beast. I turned around and fixed my gaze upward as I approached the house. The moon was directly above me, trapped halfway between this world and the next. Everything was quiet—the air itself seemed to be holding its breath. Keys jangled in my hand and the light sent a soft glow over the night.
Later, I’d think about that moment and wonder what caused me to glance back. Was it a sound? A shadow? No, because I remembered the silence. There were no birds, no wind, no screams. It felt like I could hear my own bloodstream.
Whatever the reason, I did look behind me. The sight made me freeze, my keys dangling from the lock.
The ground was covered in hundreds of white flowers.
At the same moment I saw them, thunder began to shake the world. Frowning, I walked to the edge of the porch and looked up. There were only wisps of clouds overhead. How could there be thunder without any hint of rain? And at this time of year?
Now my gaze snapped to the horizon, where I saw a flurry of movement. I stared blankly at the approaching shapes. After a few seconds, I understood what I was seeing. Horses. Riders. Weapons. They rode through the air like there was solid ground beneath them. I watched the airborne creatures approach and realized I hadn’t been hearing thunder all this time—it was dozens of hooves tearing across the ground. Hounds bayed and bellowed. Banners flapped in a sudden wind.
The bizarreness of it triggered a memory, and I saw Collith’s upturned face, streaked with shadows and moonlight. A storm is coming, he’d said. He had just woken from a nightmare and I dismissed the comment, assuming it was the remnants of his bad dream.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. Somehow, Collith had known these creatures were coming. He’d caught a glimpse of what hadn’t yet come to pass. Why hadn’t he warned me?
The answer came at the same moment—it was one of those flashes of intuition that seemed random and wild, but I knew I was right.
Collith doesn’t know when he’s awake.
At last I understood the strange expression I’d seen so many times after waking him. Confusion. Fear. Collith had been trying to discern between Hell and reality.
But there was no time to mull over this new revelation. I watched the bizarre riders draw closer, frozen with uncertainty. Should I rush inside and warn my family? Or should I do everything possible to keep these newcomers’ attention on me? I quickly realized there was no time to warn my loved ones—the figures in the sky had already crested the trees bordering Cyrus’s yard. They possessed a speed that even rivaled the fae. I stood on the porch and watched with a quickening heart as the strange visitors landed.
The thunder became an earthquake. I literally felt vibrations in the boards beneath my feet, and it seemed impossible the horses’ legs hadn’t shattered on impact. I stared out at the yard, open-mouthed, and the proximity allowed me to make out more details.
The horses were like none I’d ever seen before. Massive and rippling with muscle, every single one had a coat of pure white. Seeing them triggered another memory, and this time it was my mother’s voice floating through my head as she read aloud from one of her books. And so they climbed atop their heavenly mounts, banners held high, and rode shouting through the pearly gates.
I’d never thought to question what happened to the steeds after Lucifer’s rebels fell, but now I had the answer.
The herd was still fraught with movement, crushing all those pretty flowers, and they filled the air with their huffs and cries. One of the riders battled for control as his mount tossed its head in wild defiance.
This drew my attention to the creatures sitting atop the heavenly mounts.
Every single one of them wore armor or protective gear, but none of it was the same. I saw the glint of a metal breastplate on one faerie’s chest, while a shapeshifter was covered in pieces of hard leather. They looked, I realized, as though they had been picking at the remains of ancient battlegrounds like vultures over a carcass. There was also nothing similar about their species or their looks—I saw a scarred, half-changed werewolf in one saddle and a beautiful vampire in another.
One thing each rider shared in common, however, was the emptiness in their eyes.
Staring at these creatures, and the unearthly scene before me, it seemed impossible that most of the world didn’t know magic like this existed.
One of the riders dismounted and came toward the house—she was taller than most females I’d met, human or otherwise. She wore dark leggings and what looked like a brown tunic over them, but the shirt was hidden beneath a piece of metal encircling her middle. It looked thin and rusted, the intricate design whorls or flowers, I couldn’t tell which. The skin of a fox hung around her shoulders like a cape. Her exposed arms were tanned and defined, long leather cuffs adorning her wrists. One side of her head was shaved. On the other, the hair was blond and braided back. The upper half of her face was covered in black paint, and maybe that’s what enhanced the impossible blue of her eyes. For weapons, a giant bow was strapped to her back and an equally impressive sword hung at her hip.
I recognized her from one of Collith’s history books, and apprehension fluttered through me. She was an ancient faerie. She led a band of Fallen called the Wild Hunt.
Gwyn. Her name was Gwyn.
“Well met, Your Majesty,” she called as she closed the distance between us. Her voice wasn’t what I’d imagined. It was… husky. Young. Like a girl in her twenties, rather than someone born during a time when electricity didn’t exist.
Once she was close enough, the faerie held out her hand. Slowly, I went down the steps to meet her. She had to know what I was, and offering a handshake could only mean three things—she was either confident in her ability to shield herself, or wanted me to know she could be trusted, or had the same kink for fear as Jassin once did. There was no risk involved for me, so I wrapped my fingers around hers.
There were no phobias waiting under her skin. There wasn’t a single flavor on my tongue. Her mind wasn’t a maze, or a place of smoke, or a library. It was a starry sky and open plains. There were no secrets to be found, because there were no shadows or boxes. Nothing hiding or tucked away. All I could learn from invading her mind was that Gwyn had been alive a long, long time, and she didn’t think like anyone else.
At first, I didn’t understand. I couldn’t. It wasn’t something I’d ever encountered before, in my long list of victims, but the truth stared back at me without flinching.
Gwyn of the Wild Hunt feared nothing.
Everyone had fears, even creatures like Jassin. The faerie before me was either a sociopath or truly immortal.
I came back to myself, blinking rapidly. Gwyn started to let go, but her thumb lingered, brushing against the delicate skin at my wrist. Butterflies flitted through the small veins she touched. “Sorry, my hand is sticky,” I said without thinking, pulling away.
Her lips twitched. “You certainly know how to make yourself memorable.”
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nbsp; “Why are you here?” I asked bluntly, unnerved by her and the riders staring at us. All I wanted was to go inside and be warm again.
As if she’d expected a different reaction from me, Gwyn tilted her head. It was a distinctly fae-like movement—I’d seen Collith and Laurie do it many times. “I am here for several reasons, Fortuna Sworn,” she said. “One of which being that I wanted to meet you.”
I frowned. “Why?”
Her voice lowered, deliberately adding a touch of drama to her next words. “Your name is whispered from every corner. The last Nightmare. The Unseelie Queen.”
“I’m not the last Nightmare.”
“Perhaps not,” Gwyn agreed. Her eyes flicked away. “But I’d hardly consider that sniveling creature worthy of the title.”
I followed the direction of her gaze and saw Damon watching us from his bedroom window. He held Matthew in his arms, and the baby’s head rested against his chest in deep slumber. I didn’t like that Gwyn had seen them. I turned back to the huntress, anger stirring in my stomach like waking hornets. “Watch what you say about my brother.”
She didn’t bother acknowledging the threat in my voice. Instead, Gwyn inclined her head toward the gathering of Fallen. “Would you like to ride with us?”
Thank God I’d been educating myself on the fae—I knew that to ride with Gwyn meant staying in the Hunt forever, or until death took me from it. “Nice try,” I said with more bravado than I felt.
The huntress smiled, and it was that moment I realized she was beautiful. I’d been so absorbed with her fierceness, her otherworldliness, that I hadn’t even seen it. She drew closer and a strange smell assailed my senses. Like a skittish horse, I retreated. “Rest easy, Your Majesty. I have no need of your heart.”
“What are you—”
Her fingers brushed my bare breasts. I inhaled sharply, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I know the one who wore this before you,” the huntress remarked, referring to the sapphire.
Gwyn knew Naevys? I frowned, thinking of all the time I’d spent with Collith’s mother in the belly of the earth. She’d never mentioned the huntress, not even when she’d been incoherent. That was either a good thing or a bad thing.
I waited for a beat, hoping Gwyn would go on, but she was done. She studied my face for another moment and then turned away. That’s it? I wanted to call after her. Something—maybe a rare instinct of self-preservation—kept me silent.
I didn’t move as the Wild Hunt lifted into the sky and galloped into darkness. Long after they were gone, I stood on the bottom step, my heart thrumming like a hummingbird. It was the same feeling I got after facing a foe or a monster. But the night was still again, and once it was evident Gwyn had really left, I finally went inside.
Finn appeared just as I was about to close the door behind me. He wore one of the spare sets of clothing I’d hidden for him, and there were bits of gore on his face and hands. His hair was clumped with sweat, dirt, and snow. The werewolf slipped between the narrow opening, his eyes averted from mine, and walked quietly toward his room.
“Finn,” I called softly. He paused, turning his head to indicate that he was listening. Weariness came off him in waves—the change was exhausting in and of itself, without the urgency Finn had probably added to it—and somehow I knew he was thinking of his family. Thinking of the last time he’d been too late to save someone he loved. “You didn’t fail me. You heard the Wild Hunt arrive, I’m guessing. You couldn’t come to me because you were in the middle of a change. It’s okay. She didn’t hurt me.”
“It won’t happen again,” was all Finn said, then he turned the corner and went out of sight. A moment later, I heard the bathroom door close.
The rest of the house was silent. Emma was probably tired from her recent trip to Denver—packing up the life she’d shared with Fred always made her come back a little sadder, a little quieter. There were no sounds coming from Damon or Matthew, either. I had to pass their room to reach my own, and I paused by the doorway out of habit.
Turning from the window, Damon met my gaze. “Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, his voice pitched low to avoid waking Matthew. He was talking about Gwyn.
“Never,” I told him with a rueful smile. “Do you know anything about her?”
Pain flitted across his face, like a shadow cast on the ground by a bird. “I only know what Jassin told me—he was fascinated by her. He said she was the most interesting creature he’d ever met.”
“Interesting how?”
Damon shook his head. “If he elaborated, I don’t remember.”
I was tempted to ask more questions, to keep prodding. It wasn’t the right time, though. Shifting my attention to the rosy-cheeked baby in his arms, I moved closer to press a feather-light kiss to my nephew’s temple. He smelled like children’s shampoo and good dreams. “Good night, Matt,” I whispered.
“Matthew. His name is Matthew,” Damon hissed, but I was already hurrying back into the hallway and out of earshot.
As I moved in the direction of the bathroom, my mind went to Oliver and the dreamscape. What if he’d been wrong about his shadow’s intentions? What if that thing was biding its time, waiting for another opportunity to attack? It felt like the simple, beautiful world Oliver and I created together no longer existed—adulthood and pain had warped it into something else entirely. Before meeting Collith at that black market, I couldn’t wait to fall asleep.
Now I was afraid to.
At that moment, I noticed the door to the Unseelie King’s bedroom was wide open. There was a single lamp on, and Collith sat perfectly still on his bed, eyes closed. I entered without permission, making sure he heard my footsteps, and sank down next to him. He didn’t move or tell me to leave. Why did it feel like I was at the starting line of a race? I closed my eyes against the sight of our almost-touching knees, sat up straighter, and tried to focus on my breathing. It should have been easy, in this dim place, with Collith’s heart beating steadily at my side.
“Did you know that you can’t read in a dream?” he asked suddenly.
I opened my eyes and discovered him looking back at me. “What?”
“I read it on a website,” Collith said. His expression was strange. “It said that one way to know when you’re dreaming is whether you can read something.”
I knew I needed to tell him about Gwyn—God, there was so much I needed to tell him about—but I recognized the look on his face now. Before we said anything else, Collith needed to know he was awake. I uncrossed my legs and searched his room. Like me, Collith hadn’t added any personal touches to his space, but there were coloring books and washable markers scattered across the floor. He must’ve watched Matthew while Damon was in the shower or working a shift at Bea’s. I moved to pick up one of the markers.
Feeling Collith’s eyes on me, I pulled off the cap with my teeth and scrawled across the pale skin of my forearm. “Okay, then,” I said. “Can you read this?”
“Fortuna misses Collith,” the faerie king recited softly. I looked away, my face burning, and studiously ignored his gaze. His voice floated to me for the next part. “Tell Fortuna that he’s right here.”
This made me turn back. My eyes flicked between his, and for the first time in weeks, I felt… hope. “Is he?” I asked.
Collith didn’t answer; he didn’t need to. The air felt warmer, reminiscent of the electricity that used to crackle between us. I imagined the rasp of his whiskers against my skin. In that instant, I knew it wasn’t Gwyn I’d wanted when her fingers brushed against my cleavage—she had awoken something with her sensuality and her power, but when she touched me, my thoughts had gone to Collith. It was Collith who I wanted to be whole for now. I licked my lips and I watched him notice the movement. His eyes lingered on my mouth. Our shoulders pressed together, even though I didn’t remember moving. I could feel Collith’s breath on my cheek.
Then I turned my face toward his. Hazel eyes bored into brown. It felt like the planet had stopped
moving, and even time itself hung suspended. All of it waiting, hoping, staring at the two of us. The entire world wondering if he’d do it, and if I’d let him.
Collith lowered his head and kissed me.
I threaded my fingers through the silky hair at the base of his neck and kissed him back. There was nothing complicated or uncertain about it, no choice to be made. My heart was beating so hard it seemed impossible he couldn’t feel the vibrations of it. It was a physical reminder of who I was touching. The taste of him was tantalizing and just as good as I remembered. I’d missed this. I’d missed his tongue. No, the real truth was written on my arm in black ink—I’d missed him.
And yet, in the darkness of my closed eyes, like the flash of a strobe light, I saw a face tinted in yellow. A silver pin gleamed in the headlights. DEPUTY O’CONNELL. I pulled away from Collith abruptly, worried he’d see terror in my eyes.
My first instinct was to run, but I remembered the original reason I’d come. Tell Collith about Gwyn and everything that’s happening at the Unseelie Court, an inner voice urged. I stared at the floor and willed my mouth to form the words that would only add to the darkness that lived in his eyes now.
“I should go to bed,” I said finally. Collith just sat there, his hair mussed, his eyes burning. He didn’t say anything as I left, but I could feel his gaze on me until I moved out of sight. I started to slow down, instinctively catching my breath, then remembered Collith could hear my footsteps. I hurried into the bathroom and closed the door, grateful to have a barrier between us. Breathe, Fortuna. Just breathe.
It took several minutes for my heart to settle into its usual rhythm. Once it had, though, I didn’t reach for my toothbrush. I stood in front of the mirror and, to distract myself from what just happened with Collith, I mulled over my conversation with Gwyn. I couldn’t shake the sense that I was missing an important detail.
The person in the glass stared at me while I relived every word and touch. Every movement and pause. Finally, I thought about that strange smell drifting off her as she’d come closer, and something clicked in my mind. I remembered how Lyari had faltered, that night in the woods, and tilted her nose to the air. Death. I thought I smelled death. Ice crept through my veins, the cold rush of realizing a truth.