Page 30 of Promise of Darkness
Or a god?
And how many times has he done this?
I can’t help thinking of the old tale of the prince with nine wives.Don’t go down into the cellar, he warns his final wife, but of course, she does.
“So tell me,” Thiago says, “what is that bitch up to now? My scouts report there’s movement across the borders.”
“There’s always movement.”
“Not to this extent. There are banes in the wyrdwoods, hunting for fae flesh. Some of them wear Angharad’s sigil. There are goblins in the mountains, and they wear no clan marks. And something is leaving nothing but scorch marks where villages once stood.”
The stranger looks away. “There are rumors the Heartless are walking.”
My breath catches. Fetches hunt the nights and can twist along shadows themselves. They were never fae, but Angharad cut their hearts from their chests and with it, what remains of their souls. Bound to her will, they’re her hunting parties, and nothing escapes their grip. “What are they looking for?” Thiago asks.
“Nobody seems to know. The only whisper I’ve heard refers toleanabh an dàn, but that’s a myth, a legend.”
It’s also the old tongue, brought from the Other world we were exiled from all those years ago. I would love to be able to speak it right now.
Thiago paces, shooting the stranger a sharp look. “Are you sure they saidleanabh an dàn?”
“As sure as—”
Snow drops from the tree above me, right down the back of my neck. A hiss of shock escapes me before I can smother it.
Both men freeze and turn toward me.
I duck back behind the tree, my heart pounding. Just one glimpse, but it’s enough to assure me the stranger’s eyes are pure black, and small horns curl out of his hair.
“What was that?” the stranger whispers.
Thiago’s definitely meeting with one of the Unseelie.
Why? Is the stranger a traitor to his queen?
Or is he planting suggestions in Thiago’s head at his queen’s behest? It wouldn’t surprise me to see Angharad pulling Thiago’s strings, though that presumes he’s a puppet, and so far, he’s given me no reason to think him a fool.
Thiago’s answer is a low rumble I can’t make out, and worse, it sounds as though it’s coming closer. Steel hisses in a sheath as someone draws a sword.
I need to get out of here.
But the snow’s going to lead him directly toward me. There’s no hiding my tracks, painted across the powder white snow like a beacon.
Looking up, I grab hold of the branch above my head and haul myself into the fir above me. I chose it because of how dense it was, and now it seems I made a smart decision. Sliding along the branches, I slip into the next tree, and then the next, using them to hide.
I can just make out Thiago as he darts around the first tree, pausing when he finds my tracks.
“Hmm,” he murmurs.
“Someone’s been listening,” the stranger hisses.
“I’ll deal with it.”
They share a look, and then the stranger draws his cloak tighter. “Make sure you do. I’d rather not have to explain to my queen just why I’ve been whispering her secrets in the Prince of Evernight’s ear.”
“It won’t reach your queen,” Thiago assures him.
It’s all I hear, because I’m easing down the tree and using a thicket of thorny brambles as cover as I slip away. The second I put some distance between us, I run for my mare.
