11
I flee the tunnel into the cool night air on the other side of the lake, but I can’t escape the dirty sensation of something crawling over my skin. Whatever I felt at the circle lingers like little spiders crawling over me.
Thiago follows, cursing under his breath. “I didn’t think Angharad was this stupid.”
“They wouldn’t let one of the Old Ones out, would they? They couldn’t. They’ve been trapped since the wars.”
The Unseelie worshipped the Old Ones, and rode at their command, but surely they remember how dangerous they were?
“They would, and they could, if given the right spells.” He scrubs a hand over his mouth. “The right sacrifice.”
I hadn’t yet been born during the wars. “What do you mean ‘right sacrifice’?”
“What do you know of the wars and the Hallows?”
“We were losing,” I reply. “Badly. And then King Raen came up with a plan to trap the Old Ones and remove their power from the battlefield. Each King and Queen sent their most powerful warriors to lure each of the Old Ones into a Hallow. Once there, the trap was sprung, and the Old Ones were flung into a prison world they cannot escape.”
“They used an ancient spell and blood magic,” Thiago says. “The power required to access the Underworld is immense. A circle of stones to control the power of the ley line; thirteen fae sorcerers standing at each stone chanting; and a sacrifice within the Hallow. A kingly sacrifice, in most cases. They cut the heart right out of Raen’s chest in the middle of Mistmere. It was the only way to defeat the Mother of Night, and he knew it.”
My mouth slowly drops open. “He offered himself up as sacrifice?”
My mother would never do such a thing.
“The sacrifice is the key,” Thiago replies. “If the sacrifice can’t withstand the power of the ley line and the Hallow, then the spell is ruined.”
“So… how is Angharad going to reverse the spell?” She has the power, but I can’t see her sacrificing herself in order to bring back the Mother of Night.
“They need a queen. Or a prince,” he replies. “Someone who has a trickle of the old blood in their veins. The power required to break the prison open is immense, but they need someone who was tied to those who created the circle. A direct descendant, preferably.”
Like my mother.
Or me.
“But why would she…?”
“Power. Angharad signed the treaty, but let’s not pretend she would have any intentions of holding her people to it if she has a choice. It’s been a good five hundred years since the war. She’s bowed her head all that time, but she must have found the right spell to unleash an Old One.” He paces the hill, frustration edging through him. “The Seelie Alliance is not as strong as it once was. If she brings the Mother of Night back, she’ll have direct access to all that power. And we’re a fraction of what we once were, even if your mother could be trusted to guard our flanks during a war.”
“My mother’s many things, but she’s not a fool,” I bite. “If she doesn’t stand beside you in the war, then she’ll be wading through Unseelie the second you fall.”
“If you think, for one second, that she wouldn’t be tempted,” he shoots back, “then you’re the fool. Adaia thinks herself invulnerable. She might just think herself powerful enough to confront the three Unseelie queens by herself. Asturia is far enough south that she might think herself safe.”
I bite down on my words. There’s no point arguing. “So, what do we do?”
“We need to alert the other kingdoms.”
A howl goes up in the forest.
It sounds close. Far too close. And it sounds almost… gleeful.
My head snaps toward the sound. “Was that—”
“Yes,” he hisses, stepping between me and the sound, his hand going to the hilt on his sword.
We both freeze, heads cocked to listen. Hearts pounding and blood rushing through our veins. Every inch of me is on edge.
Another howl echoes.
And this time it’s to the left.
They’ve found our trail.
“Run!” Thiago gives me a shove in the back.
No need to tell me twice. The pair of us scramble up the slope, sprinting through the ankle-deep snow. Thiago seems to ghost over the top of it, leaving no tracks, whilst I’m forced to slog my way through it.
I sink into a deep hollow beneath the snow, cursing under my breath.
The prince returns, yanking me forward and nearly wrenching my arm from its socket. “Move!”
“I’m trying!”
He merely hauls me out of the deep snow and drags me forward.
“The second we get clear of these trees, we’re going to have to move fast,” he yells.
As if in answer, an arrow hisses past.
“Curse it.” Thiago draws his sword, glancing behind us. “Can you hit that archer?”
I slip the bow from my back and swiftly string it. “If I can see where he is. I don’t suppose you’d like to play bait?”
“Funny. Trying to get rid of me already?”
I shrug. “Worth a try.”
Thiago gives me a long steady look. “Don’t miss.”
Then he turns and walks out into the snowy clearing, an enormous target painted against the freshly laid snow.
Erlking’s hairy cock. My mouth drops open, then I wrench an arrow from my quiver and nock it.
An arrow arcs into the sky, and I turn and sight into the thicket it came from. Steel flashes at the corner of my eye; Thiago gracefully deflecting the arrow with the stroke of his sword.
I can’t see a cursed thing. Nothing moves in the thicket. There might be a shadow to the right, but it might also be a tree root.
“Vi,” Thiago mutters, under his breath.
“Hold still,” I hiss. “I’m trying to find him.”
Movement glides through the bushes near the thicket. There. The bastard’s on the move. My arrow tracks the target.
Another arrow flies directly toward the prince, a second hot on its heels.
I ignore Thiago and focus along the length of the arrow. I’m not the archer Andraste is, but I’ve spent too many hours on a range to embarrass myself now. Blocking out everything but the archer, I release a slow breath and then let my arrow fly.
It hits the archer right in the center of his chest, and he cries out, then slams to the ground. Thiago smashes the second arrow to the ground, breathing hard.
“Nice shot.”
“Thanks.” I share an exhilarated smile with him, before a baying sound makes my blood run cold.
The archer isn’t the only problem we have to contend with.
“How many arrows do you have?” Thiago yells.
“Not enough!” And banes are far more difficult to kill than the fae.
Bolting down the hill, I follow a narrow animal track that winds through the trees. Branches flash past me, tearing at my cloak, and I nearly lose the bow. I’m almost to a clearing when Thiago yells, “Vi!”
A heavy weight hits me in the back, and I go down, kicking and struggling as Thiago collapses over the top of me. Cold bites my front as I slam into the snow.