And for the first time, I almost want to give it.
“Later,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over the soft hairs that curl at my temples.
A shiver runs through me. He’s very, very good at what he does. And he knows exactly how easily he’s getting to me. I can see it in the faint creases that line his eyes when he’s amused.
“Never,” I whisper back.
Thiago leans closer, his lips tracing the curve of my ear. “Then stop looking at me like you want to eat me alive.”
I jerk back from him. “I do not—"
A hollow throb pulses through me, breaking my gaze from that dangerous mouth. It echoes through the earth beneath my feet like the first vague trembling of an earthquake. Stronger this time, leaving ghostly shivers over my skin.
“Iskvien?” Thiago asks sharply.
I rub my arms. All is forgotten. “What is that?”
“What is what?”
It comes again. Stronger this time. Not an earthquake’s tremor, no, but something akin to sonar. It ripples over me and locks hold for a second, as if sensing me amidst the carnage of the city. Then the sensation sluices down my skin like warm water, leaving me trembling.
I stare at my fingertips. There’d been a hint of golden light rippling beneath my skin that time, as if my veins absorbed the… sensation.
Thiago grabs my forearm, staring intently at my expression. “Tell me what you feel.”
So I do.
His frown only notches deeper between his eyebrows. “You’re sensing the Hallow. It’s stronger than it should be. You should only be able to feel a faint quiver by now. The circle focusing its power inward was warded by wyrd stones, which lock the power of the ley line within it. The stones fell over two hundred years ago, during the goblin incursion.”
“That’s the Hallow? Wait. Why can I feel it?”
And you can’t?
“Some fae are sensitive. Come on,” he mutters. “We need to see the Hallow. It shouldn’t be active.”
The Mistmere Hallow lies in the heart of the city, and all the main boulevards lead toward it. Carved owls stare down from each avenue, their endless eyes staring right through us. The owl is the symbol of the Mother of Night, the Old One that Mistmere and its queen once revered. I can’t escape the sensation that she’s somehow watching us, even though she’s trapped in the Underworld.
More banes hunt the rubble-strewn streets. I dart down an alley on Thiago’s heels, and he bends to cup his hands, gesturing his chin toward the roof. The second I step into his cupped hands, he tosses me high, and I drag myself on top of the roof. He follows, hauling himself up a stone balustrade with the lithe grace of an acrobat and enough arm strength to make me jealous.
Just in time.
Another bane stalks around the corner of the alley, snuffling the cobbles. It’s larger than the one Andraste killed, and moonlight shines off the enormous spiked collar around its throat. This one seems more lion than wolf, a snarling, monstrous creature that looks like a nightmare called directly to life.
Head down, it follows our trail toward the wall. I freeze, pressed flat to the roof.
Thiago stares intently into the alley, weaving his fingers in an intricate fashion. The bane’s head jerks up, and it stares into the distance, where shadows flicker over the walls like a pair of people running. In the heavy fog, it’s a deft enough illusion to seem lifelike.
Baying loudly, the bane sprints after them.
A dozen voices rise to join it, all of them heading in the same direction. They stream from everywhere, galloping along on all fours, some of them mere stirrings of fog and others flashes of fur and claws.
“Erlking’s hairy cock,” Thiago swears under his breath. “Whatever she’s doing here, she’s got the entire city locked down.”
“We’re not going to get near the Hallow.” That we’ve made it this far is a miracle. And now— “We’re not going to escape. Not now they’ve got our scent.”
“One problem at a time, Princess.” Thiago scrambles over the rooftop. “Keep moving.”
We circle closer to the Hallow, leaping across alleys and rolling along rooftops. If I couldn’t hear the ever-present howling of the banes as they come across various scent trails, I’d be almost enjoying the exhilaration of the moment.
It’s not until we get close to the center of the city though, that I realize what Thiago’s been doing all along.
“You’ve been leading us in circles,” I mutter.
Ever since we exited the catacombs.
He flashes a smile at me. “Scent trails overlap. My shadows have been hauling a shirt of mine all over the city too. Let them track us. There’s too many trails for them to follow.”
“Your shadows can do that?” Despite myself, I’m impressed.
He arches a brow in a Princess-I-can-do-anything look.
Ignoring the howls, we inch closer until we’re finally crawling on our bellies across a roof. And what I see takes my breath away.
Mother of Cursed Night.
It’s not just a dozen banes. There are nearly fifty of them prowling the ruins. Teams of Unseelie yell and curse at each other, and a pair of huge, lumbering beasts strain against a harness. Canvas tents flap in the night, and a banner flies from the top of the biggest.
A soaring white wyvern, its teeth bared, against a black background.
Angharad.
I catch sight of a shock of white, and realize Isem, her pet sorcerer, is also there. Things just became dire.
“What are they looking for?” I breathe the words into the night.
Thiago’s face hardens, his eyes searching the ruins. “They’re not looking for anything. They’ve already found it. Look.”
Ahead of us, several workmen direct a taskforce. One of them cracks a whip, and the team of creatures harnessed to the crane strained forward. Enormous muscles flex in their backs, and I catch a glimpse of the elegant gold tattoos concealed beneath scabbed-over cuts and whip marks. Goblins, by the look of them.
The pulley systems jerk, and one of the enormous lintel stones around the Hallow slowly jacks upright. It joins three others, though the rest of them lie fallen around the top of the hill.
“They’re trying to recreate the Hallow,” I say breathlessly. “But… why?”
The circles were created to trap the Old Ones and cast them into a prison realm outside of time.
It was only by pure chance that the Seelie realized such portals could also be used to seek passage between kingdoms, Hallow to Hallow.
When Mistmere fell, its Hallow died. Why would Angharad be going to so much effort to create a portal here?
“She can’t bring an army through. Unless she has a few weeks.” The portal needs to repower after every transfer, and the more people it transports, the longer it needs to revive. “And this is the worst place to stage an invasion.”
She’d be crushed between the Prince of Evernight and the Queen of Aska.
“She’s not planning on bringing an army through,” he replies grimly.
“Then what—?”
“The only reason she might be resurrecting the Hallow is to bring one of the Old Ones back from the Underworld. This is the gateway to the Mother of Night’s prison.” Thiago scowls, setting a hand to the small of my back. “Let’s move. I’ve seen enough, and neither of us can afford to be caught here. We need to alert the alliance.”