Page 19 of Thief of Dreams
But I hate the thought of Princess Ismena winning.
So, while I stay at the back of the pack as they gallop madly for the trees, I don't let Ghost fall too far behind.
Hours pass.
The darkhounds race ahead of us, slipping like shadows themselves through the trees as they hunt for any sign of the unicorn. The woods are old and tangled with thorns. Gnarled roots sprawl across the path, forcing me to keep my eye on what I'm doing. One princess has already fallen and been escorted back to the palace, though it’s her horse I feel sorry for.
Ismena cuts me off on a narrow path, forcing me to rein the gray in hard. I don't want him to twist his leg, though she has no such compunctions.
"Give in, worm," she calls, using brute force to push me back.
I rein the gray in tight circles, and suddenly we're knee-to-knee. I grab her reins, just as a flash of light highlights the knife in her hand.
For a second I think she's going for my leg, but then I feel the saddle pitch sideways, threatening to take me with it. The bitch has cut my girth.
Ismena laughs as she kicks me in the chest. I try to grab Ghost's mane, but all I get is a handful of etherealnothing. The virgin-hair bridle, damn it. I'm unceremoniously dumped on the ground. Thankfully, not into the vicious patch of brambles to my right.
A baying goes up. Clearly, they're on the scent of something.
Ghost bolts at the noise.
"Long walk home, worm," Ismena calls as she turns her horse in the direction of the cry. "I'll give your regards to the prince when I'm dining with him tonight."
Then she's gone, and I'm all alone in the middle of a shadowy forest with nothing but a fistful of virgin's hair.
"Cauldron's piss," I swear, kicking at the brambles.
There's no sign of Ghost, who's been aptly named. The bastard's probably halfway back to the stables by now.
And Ismena's laughter rings through the trees.
I never wanted to win the prince's challenge, but rage boils through me. It's one thing to lose fairly, quite another to have someone cheat you of the chance.
And I have a bridle. This game's not over yet.
Looking up, I focus on the shadows beneath the canopy, and a smile stretches over my lips. This is an old, dark forest. It was practically made for me.
I Sift into the shadows, moving faster than the swiftest horse.
Nothing moves faster than light, and I am merely the absence of it.
Ahead of me, the hounds are baying in excitement. A horn sounds, echoing through the trees. It's dark in the shadows, and occasionally I catch glimpses of gold embroidery or flashing gemstones as I pass one of the young princesses.
I Sift from tree to tree, until I'm finally ahead of them. Below me, darkhounds scramble around a narrow valley, sniffing and baying.
Forging back into mortal form, I run along the bridge of a tree limb, as nimble as a squirrel.
The unicorn snorts in front of me, cornered in a rocky canyon snarled with brambles. Dapples of light gleam on its pale coat, and its mane is long and tangled. A horn juts from between its eyes, as dull as unpolished marble. There's a certain sense of wildness that emanates from it that almost makes me catch my breath.
That anyone could think to hunt it down for its horn makes me feel ill. This is a creature to worship, to cherish. It belongs here in the wild, not harnessed by any man's hand.
"Easy," I whisper, as I slip from tree limb to tree limb until I'm on the ground.
The creature snorts, its eyes flashing their whites.
That horn lowers in my direction, and suddenly I'm staring directly at a two-foot-long weapon that could impale me.
"I'm not here to cause trouble, old friend," I murmur, holding up a hand. "I just want to borrow you for a few hours."
