Adara cocked her ears back as if Mariah had spoken aloud. But Mariah knew the time for words was over. She opened her heart as the fox had urged, felt herself sink into the body beneath her, into the mind so different from her own. She found the fear, shared it, fought to overcome it.
Muscles flexed. Mariah gasped as Adara began to run again. Courtyards and gardens and shaded porticos passed in a blur. Colored light spread across the sky like ink in water.
And suddenly they were there, in the thick of battle: Fane against Fane, lord against lord, armed with slender swords and bright magic. In the space of the time it took to draw a few rapid breaths, Mariah recognized the enemy.
Cairbre, urging his cohorts on with cries in a foreign tongue. Cairbre, spears of light shooting from his fingertips to strike down the rebels. Those who fought against him were severely outnumbered; they were about to fall back in defeat.
Adara needed no further encouragement. She lowered her horn and rushed toward Cairbre’s men. Fane looked up in astonishment, but too late. The unicorns fanned out and attacked, their horns piercing rainbow armor as if it were the cheapest tin. Mariah clung to Adara’s back, longing for magic she didn’t possess.
The assault was so swift that she never felt it. An invisible hand struck her, sent her flying from the unicorn’s back. She landed on something hard, and her skull cracked against the ground.
Cairbre’s face was the last thing she saw before darkness claimed her.
SINJIN RODE AS FAST as his mount would carry him. The baying of the hounds had gone silent; he had no idea which way they had turned, and his only hope of picking up the trail was to return to Donbridge and follow his brother’s track from that point.
Twenty minutes of hard riding brought him to Donbridge’s park; he continued on to the stables, finding the ground outside well churned by the hooves of Donnington’s stallion and the paws of a dozen hounds. The prints of both horse and dogs were easy to follow away from the estate; they led in the direction of the Gate.
An anxious groom emerged from the stables and tugged at the brim of his cap. “Mr. Ware,” he said, eying Sinjin’s sweating mount. “Can I be of service?”
Sinjin passed his reins to the groom. “Take care of her, but first saddle Shaitan as quickly as you can.”
With a bob of his head, the groom led the weary mare into the stables. A few minutes later he emerged with Shaitan, who rolled his eye at Sinjin and danced with excitement. Sinjin mounted, turned Shaitan in the direction Donnington had taken and urged the stallion into a run.
The tracks led across the park, north in the direction of the Gate, then broke off to the east toward the fen country. If Arion had run before the hunters, his hoof prints were completely obscured by those that followed. But Sinjin had no doubt that the hunt was on in earnest.
He bent low over Shaitan’s strong neck. Late morning sunlight beat on Sinjin’s shoulders, warm as blood. He had no idea whom it was he was riding to save.
Someone was going to die. Sinjin felt it as a chill along the back of his neck, a heavy weight in his heart. Mariah had gone to face an implacable enemy. Donnington cared for nothing but revenge against the creature that had bested him. And Arion…
Mariah loved him. Loved Ash, the man he had become. And if she survived, Sinjin couldn’t have Ash’s death on his conscience.
His horse plunged over a ridge of willow and alder, into the open fen. Far across the wet meadows and beyond the tracery of streams meandering toward the river, Sinjin could make out the silhouettes of dogs and the horse bearing his master, racing through the reeds and sedges as if nothing in the world could stop or even slow them.
Arion must be there, ahead of them, but he was beyond Sinjin’s sight. Tightening his hands on the reins, Sinjin urged Shaitan into the meadow.
“Sinjin!”
He reined Shaitan in without pausing to think and wheeled the horse about. Pamela sat on a bay mare, elegant in a deep blue habit, her hair slightly undone and catching the light like a field of rippling corn.
“Lady Westlake,” he said between his teeth. “I would suggest that you go back to wherever you came from.”
She lifted her head, exposing the curve of her delicate swan’s neck. “You’re after Donnington,” she said.
Her directness surprised him. “It’s none of your affair,” he said, love and loathing roughening his voice.
“Isn’t it?” She smiled, so perfect, so lovely. “Would it surprise you to know that Donnington has told me everything? About Mariah, about Ash and the unearthly place from which he comes?”
Sinjin wasn’t surprised. She would have believed his brother if he’d told her that the sun revolved around the earth.
“Of course I already knew some if it,” she said in a conversational tone. “Cairbre came to me at Marlborough House. He asked me to help create confusion in the mind of our little Mariah, and I was happy to oblige him.”
“What did you do to her?”
She shrugged. “A few rumors here and there.”
“You did seduce Ash.”
“Indeed. That was my idea.”
“You bitch.”
“If you like. But your opinions never mattered to me, Sinjin. Mariah will cease to be a distraction soon enough. And I will have Donnington.”
“Are you so certain?”
“Quite.” She pulled a small pistol from the skirt of her habit. “Let Donnie have his hunt. It is little enough to ask.”
“Put that away, Pamela.”
“Not until you have agreed to leave Donnington alone.”
He laughed and pretended to relax. “What makes you think I’m in a hurry to help this creature who calls himself Arion?”
“You tried to hold Donnington prisoner in his own house. You have always resented your brother…all the more so now that he has won what you can never have. And you care for Mariah—more than one would think is quite proper.”
“You speak of propriety—”
“I prefer we not speak further at all.” She waved the gun. “Go back to Rothwell, Mr. Ware.”
No longer capable of rational thought, Sinjin kicked Shaitan toward her.
She fired.
ARION RAN.
It was a simple matter to keep ahead of the earl and his foolish dogs; whenever Donnington drew close enough to fire his weapon, Arion put on a burst of speed and left him in the dust. He led the hunters away from the Gate, away from the safety of the City of Iron where Mariah was to take shelter. Time was all he needed, time to keep Donnington from thinking about Mariah, or whatever he might have agreed to do for Cairbre.
The human was obsessed. He hardly slowed to rest, pausing only to change from his present mount to the one he had brought as relief. The dogs seemed tireless; they ran as if they knew they would never pursue such game again.
If farmers and fishermen stared as the hunt passed by, they quickly returned to their work. The fancies of the peerage held no lasting interest for them. If they saw Arion at all, it was only to glimpse a flash of light, a glittering shape that was there one moment and gone the next.
Arion plunged through streams and stands of alder and birch, tireless as he led the hounds in ever-widening circles. The sun began to sink toward the western horizon. For the first time the baying stopped; the hounds had finally run themselves into the ground, and not even Donnington’s threats could get them moving again.
Arion paused, ears pricked. The sun sank lower, and still there was no sound of pursuit. He dug a deep furrow in the soft earth with one hoof and opened his nostrils wide. It seemed to him that the scents of man and beasts were receding, almost as if Donnington had given up the chase.
But the human was mad. He would not surrender until his prey was dead.
Yet he had been thrown off the scent, and Cairbre had yet to be stopped. Arion must return to the Gate very soon or risk allowing the Fane to catch Mariah. Whatever uncertain powers Nola might use to protect Mariah, she had warned him that they were limit
ed.
The fens were wrapped in twilight stillness as Arion carefully retraced his steps, making his way to the last place where he had seen the hunters.
They were not there. Grass had been crushed and earth churned to mud, but the human and his hounds were gone. Arion followed their tracks nearly all the way back to Donbridge, where they simply stopped.
Donnington had given up. He would be too late to follow Mariah now.
Rejoicing, Arion set off across the fens at a gallop. He knew now that he would defeat Cairbre; his enemies would fall before him. He would return victorious to his people. Mariah would be free. Free to find another of her own kind to love and to love her in return.
The joy did not last. A burning ache began in Arion’s heart, growing heavy as iron. He slowed, the strength draining from his legs.
He would not be free. Already the instinct to survive was dwindling. He would forever be haunted by what he had done to Mariah, what she had suffered because of his lies and selfishness. He would lose her. Not even death itself could be a worse punishment.
If not for the necessity of stopping Cairbre, it would have been better if Donnington had killed him. There was but one reason to go on living.
He resumed his race toward the Gate. The ground rose and grew firmer beneath his hooves as he approached Donbridge and turned to skirt the estate. He barely avoided colliding with the mounted horseman who emerged from behind a stand of beeches.
Donnington. Arion reared and lowered his horn for the charge.
“Ash!”
The voice was broken and low, and it was not the earl’s. The man on the horse swayed, leaned over his mount’s neck and straightened with obvious effort.
Sinjin. Arion moved closer. The man was bleeding heavily from a wound in his shoulder, which he had tried to bandage with a scrap of cloth. It was clear that he needed healing, but Arion maintained his distance.
“Ash,” Sinjin repeated. “I must warn you.” He coughed. “Mariah…” He caught his breath. “Mariah has gone through the Gate.”
Arion could not speak, or he would have shouted out his despair.
“She’s gone to try to reason with Cairbre,” Sinjin continued hoarsely. “But he’ll never accept any bargain from her now, will he?”
Moaning in his throat, Arion flung his head from side to side.
“I don’t know what you can do to save her, but I know you won’t let her suffer alone.” Sinjin slumped over his horse. “Go. Help her.”
Arion gathered his legs to leap away. At the last moment he turned back toward Sinjin, lowered his horn and touched the tip against the bloody bandage across the human’s shoulder.
Sinjin flinched, then looked up at Arion, wonder in his eyes.
“It’s true, then,” he said. “I never quite believed it. You really did heal those people at Marlborough House.”
But Arion was already moving again. Desperation pumped fresh strength into his legs, carrying him across meadow and farmland as his hooves struck sparks from the earth. He did not smell the trap until it was too late.
Donnington was waiting beside the Gate, the weapon in his hands aimed precisely at Arion’s chest.
“You led us a merry chase, beast,” the earl said. “But I knew you would return here eventually.”
Arion skidded to a stop. He measured the distance to Donnington, calculating his own speed against the human’s skill. Once the iron bullets lodged in his body, he would be poisoned and unable to move at all.
“You can’t win, Arion,” Donnington said. “I would have liked to kill you on the run, but I will settle for this, and your head mounted on my wall.”
There was no hope of reasoning with the man as long as Arion maintained unicorn shape. He changed and dropped to his knees, naked and humble before the human he despised.
“Mariah,” he said, finding his voice again. “She is in terrible danger.”
Donnington shrugged. “She made her choice long ago,” he said. “Her fate is no longer my concern.”
Arion howled. He sprang to his feet, moving so suddenly that the bullet only grazed his arm. Donnington aimed again. Arion had gone no more than a few steps when the Gate began to shimmer.
Mariah tumbled out, staggering, feeling before her as if she had gone blind. Arion moved to catch her just as Cairbre followed her through the Gate and seized her arm.
“Ah,” Cairbre said with a deadly smile. “I see that we are all gathered together at last.”
“Let her go!” Arion roared.
With a cluck of his tongue, Cairbre glanced at Donnington. “I would have thought that such a great hunter would have succeeded in bringing down his prey by now,” he said.
The earl’s face darkened with fury. “I will kill him.”
“Hold your temper, human. Let us enjoy a little amusement first.”
Cairbre let go of Mariah and pushed her toward Arion. She took a few steps and stopped, turning her head slowly from side to side.
“Mariah!” Arion moved toward her, watching her with growing fear. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Her riding habit was torn to the thighs, her hair undone. But it was her face that terrified him. Her expression was blank, slack-jawed, her eyes unfocused.
“Mariah,” he said, very softly. “Can you hear me?”
Slowly she looked at him. “Who are you?”
“Ash.” He reached out to her. “I am Ash.”
Her laughter was wild, like a shriek of pain. “‘Ashes, ashes, we all fall down,’” she sang.
Paralysis struck Arion’s limbs. “Mariah, come to me. All will be well.”
She darted away, still laughing, and spun in a circle with her arms outstretched. “I see you, Mama,” she said, whirling and whirling. “Now we can be together.” She stopped suddenly, swaying with dizziness, and stared at Donnington. “I know you,” she said. Without warning, she flung herself at Donnington, grasped his shoulders and kissed him passionately.
Startled, Donnington nearly dropped his guard. He pushed Mariah away and took aim at Arion once again. Mariah fell onto her hindquarters and burst into fresh laughter, tearing at her hair as if she were trying to remove some kind of animal clawing at her head.
“What have you done to her?” Donnington demanded, his voice not quite steady.
“Don’t you know, human?” Cairbre said, watching Mariah with pleasure in his eyes. “There are two things the girl fears above all else. You will fulfill the first when you kill Arion. I have fulfilled the second.”
“You’ve driven her mad.”
“She made a foolish attempt to join my enemies. They have won a temporary victory, but my power is still potent enough to punish her as she deserves.”
The very earth seemed to freeze under Arion’s feet. “You have lost, Cairbre, or you would not be here,” he said. “How long before Oberon strips you of your power again?”
“Too late for your intervention.” Cairbre gazed at the girl who sat mumbling on the ground. “I understand that you humans have appropriate habitations for the mad. Perhaps you will enjoy undertaking the task of dealing with her, Donnington.”
But the earl’s face was as blank as Mariah’s. He gave no answer. Arion dropped to his knees beside Mariah and gently turned her toward him.
“Perhaps you will not understand me,” he said, stroking her cheek with his fingertips, “but I will say what I should have said long ago. I love you, Mariah. I would have stayed beside you if I could. I would have cared for you until death claimed us both.”
Cairbre clapped his hands. “Very touching. Very human. But your death will come too soon. She may live another fifty years as she is now.”
Arion cradled Mariah’s face against his shoulder. “You will find your punishment, Cairbre. Perhaps not for a hundred years. Perhaps not for a thousand. But it will find you.”
“I grow weary of this game,” Cairbre said. “Donnington, kill this beast.”
But still the earl didn’t move. Arion changed and laid his horn acr
oss Mariah’s shoulder.
“You cannot heal her,” Cairbre said. “My spell is too strong even for one of your kind.”
Arion remained still for a dozen heartbeats, then rose to his feet and faced Donnington.
“Be done with it!” Cairbre snapped.
Donnington held Arion’s stare. “I will do what I can for her,” the earl said, and raised his rifle. Arion stood ready. The small wood grew silent.
Cairbre laughed.
Arion reared and charged the Fane, his horn incandescent with his rage. The rifle’s report shattered the stillness, sending a flight of screeching birds from the trees. Arion stumbled. Cairbre clutched at his chest, a look of surprise on his face. An instant later, Arion’s horn entered his body. Cairbre wrenched himself free, staggered backward and fell through the Gate. Immediately the light went out like a snuffed candle, and the stones became implacably solid.
Trembling, Arion shook the blood from his horn and turned toward Mariah.
“Stay where you are,” Donnington said.
Arion stopped. He knew what was to come. He changed and moved away from Mariah, who was still rocking, oblivious, in the dirt.
“It has gone too far,” Donnington said. “It must be ended.”
“What must be ended?” Arion asked. “Your guilt for what you did to Mariah?”
“My guilt?” Donnington’s hands shook on his weapon. “Are you any better than I?”
“No.” Arion glanced toward the quiescent Gate. “I have betrayed a woman of such purity and courage as neither of us can comprehend. I have used my horn to bring death. My life is over.” He met Donnington’s gaze. “How do I know that you will care for Mariah?”
There was something like respect in the earl’s eyes. “You have my word. My word as Earl of Donnington, backed with the honor of my family name. And because…” He looked down at Mariah. “I would have loved her, if I had been given the chance.”
“You wasted your chance, Donnington. As I did.”
The earl’s expression hardened. “You will have no more time to grieve,” he said, and aimed.
But he was not fast enough.
Mariah darted between Arion and Donnington with the speed of one of Cairbre’s sprites. She fell as the bullet pierced her chest.
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