Page 171 of Kingdoms of Night

She placed her hand on the soil, summoning up the energy and letting it pool in her palm. “Hello,” she said softly. “I’ve never tried talking to you directly before, but is there something that you want me to see?”

As she held her hand there, she frowned. Something burned a little. A poison of some sort. She hadn’t noticed it before. She dug her fingers into the soil, letting the faint burn pass into her. If she closed her eyes, she could see it, feel it drawing up into her other hand.

Except it didn’t stay poisonous.

That burn intensified, then it twisted and flowed out. A small green plant pressed up from the soil. It blossomed swiftly, the tendrils and stems easing up and unfurling leaves and flowers. The fragrant sweet scent reminded her of blackberries and blueberries at once.

And it was easy. So easy and beautiful. She smiled down at the plant and then cupped her hand beneath the delicate leaves.

“What are you?” she whispered. She turned back toward Puck. “Do you know what this is?”

He crouched beside her, squinting. His turquoise tailcoat dragged over the soil. “Nope. But it’s pretty. Berry plant, I guess.” He then lightly thumped her shoulder. “Come on. While this finishes growing, let’s go up and get things ready for your beloved. He’ll be here soon. By the way, I have some supplies you might want for this.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE

FERON

Feron gripped the reins. This horse was already following the rest down the marble pavestones. How many twists and turns could a day take? The horse knew its path at least. He looked back over his shoulder to keep Idalno in his sight as long as possible. His heart, his life, his home.

The hounds resumed their baying as they raced out of the courtyard. The horns sounded at intervals. Now, instead of paralyzing, it sang with his blood. They had been calling him. Not Titania. But this—the Hunt. He breathed with ease, his mind sharp and clear. As wrong as it felt to leave Idalno, he knew without doubt he could not avoid this calling. It was as powerful as the Change. And likely just as much a curse.

The Wild Hunt galloped through a circle of shining yellow light. The castle courtyard vanished, and they were out in the grasslands. As they rode, more and more riders joined them, turning their assemblage into a horde. Some riders wore great, shining armor while others wore nothing but clothes. Amid the mass of scents ranging from horse to sweat to dirt to magic, there was the sharp tinge that reminded him of other werewolves. Not entirely the same but similar. The blood thrummed faster through his veins, his gut clenching.

The hooves pounded louder and louder. Black dogs joined them as they crested yet another hill. Their baying howls offset the sharper barks of the red-eared hounds. The hunting horns bellowed a deeper bass, shaking the air and thundering in his ears. Even in daylight, this Hunt was a sight to behold. What would it look like in the night?

He shuddered at the thought, but whether from anticipation or fear he didn’t know.

The spectral horse moved beneath him with powerful strides, devouring the distance.

“You’re Feron, right? Tybalt.” The warrior who had told him about Lambton Village rode alongside him. “You feel the joy of the hunt, my friend?” Tybalt laughed heartily, a full belly laugh that carried over the sound of the hooves and the hounds. The great winged helmet almost completely masked his face except for the narrow triangle of space in the center, it was clear this man was having a magnificent time.

Feron returned his focus to the path ahead. As much as he hated to admit it, this man was right. Even if it turned out it was his destiny, these people had separated him from Idalno. And that was unforgivable.

“You’ve got it in your blood. I know the look. Stick with me, pup. I’ll make sure you learn the ropes without having to make any deals. Which, whatever you do in this place, don’t make deals. Things get funny with words here.”

Things were definitely odd in this place.

Faster and faster they rode across the countryside. The fog billowed and flowed along with them as if drawn by magical cords. They passed over fields of flowers, cut over hills, surged under passes in the forest, and gained more and more speed until it all blurred in a mass of colors.

Whatever the size of this world, it felt as if soon they might reach its end. Onward and onward they rode, practically flying at points. Never in all his life had he ever ridden so fast. The wind in his hair and against his face, the primal call of the hunt thrumming in his blood as if he had indeed been made for this. By the gods, this alone was wonderful. Even better if he went out and ran as his wolf. To go this fast and with such purpose.

Titania held her arm high.

Almost at once the riders and horses slowed. His horse responded to her command. They crested the hill and then poured down it into a dark-wooded valley of bald cypresses and blood oaks. The grass grew darker and sparser here, sprouting through cracked and drying mud.

His muscles tightened, his blood heating even more. Whatever had called them was stronger here.

An enormous, black-barked tree had been felled near a broad chuckling river, and large chunks of stone rubble lay about. Caught on the outcropping branches and uneven burls were large strips of something white and glittery. Almost like a veil but a little denser. It glittered in the golden sunlight and looked as if it had something imprinted on it. Something like bits of molted dragon scales.

All around it poured dozens of creatures. Spriggans, trolls, goblins, serpents, and more. Some winced and grabbed at their faces as the golden sunlight poured down upon them. But still they advanced, some already snagging pieces of the white strips.

“Don’t let any of it be taken!” Titania shouted, her soprano tones ringing out over the gathered assemblage. She lifted her golden spear high, the sunlight glinting off its edge. Great golden-feathered wings flared out from her back, ignoring her armor and stretching wide as the eagles on her neck mirrored the same. “The Gift shall not be wasted!”

His new friend nudged him, his yellow-green eyes squinting. “It’s the scales. The scales of Jormungandr. We collect it. Or rather, we make sure the monsters don’t get it. Your job and mine is to kill as many of the beasties as possible while her servants gather it. Not that it makes much difference. Nothing does as the world ends.”

Feron started to ask what he meant by that, but the riders surged ahead and his mount followed in their path. The valley was a mass of snarling creatures, ripe with their stench. So many monsters and—

Antlers thrashing, a great wyrm forced its way through dozens and dozens of goblins, kelpies, bluecaps, redcaps, trolls and more. The Lambton Wyrm.

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