Will climbed off his horse and hid behind a dead tree.
He’d found her.
A stag stood next to the carria
ge. His antlers were wider than Will could stretch his arms. Two horses were searching the yellow grass for shoots as green as their coats. The man fitting the harness over their necks wore clothes that reminded Will of Scheherazade and the tales of a thousand and one nights. Those had been their mother’s favorite stories. Will could no longer tell whether the memory of her was more of a fairy tale than what he was seeing now.
The Dark Fairy was kneeling in the grass a few feet from the carriage. The gathering dusk made her green dress as black as the approaching night. Will lost himself in the images brought back by being so close to her. Forgotten images: The day the Goyl had brought him to her. The time spent by her side. And the night she’d let him go. They’d all been so exhausted. Exhausted, betrayed, half of them dead. Who did he mean by “them”? Him and the surviving Goyl. Jacob had been there, and Fox, among the human prisoners. They’d come for him, but he’d had no memory of having a brother.
Maybe he didn’t want to remember.
Enchanted.
The stag looked at him. What did he see? Even Will could barely make out Seventeen in the fading light of the dying day. And he hadn’t seen Sixteen in hours.
He pulled the swindlesack from under his shirt.
The Fairy rose.
“Do not look at her, fool! Never.” The Goyl who’d trained him had warned him over and over. Hentzau, yes, that had been his name.
Will tried to pull the swindlesack off the crossbow, but his hands seemed to resist. It’s her magic, the silver under his fingers seemed to whisper. Fight back! But what if the Goyl was right? What if she took the jade with her? He so longed for the stone.
The Fairy looked toward him. She was as pale as the stars gathering in the strange skies above. So beautiful. The stag wanted to shield her, but with one swipe of her hand, his legs were caught in vines that wouldn’t budge, no matter how he kicked and thrashed his antlers at them.
Shoot! the wind whispered. It brought a smell. A hospital corridor. A quiet room. Clara’s motionless body on the bed. Like the princess in the tower. Dead because her prince had never come.
Shoot!
But he heard the Fairy inside his head.
“What did they promise you?”
He didn’t know she could sound so weak. So vulnerable. The moths swarmed from her hair and clothes. Even the coachman in the fairy-tale clothes grew wings, and Seventeen disappeared under the fluttering mass, his scream frozen into bark. Sixteen’s stiffening arms were raised in self-defense. The sight silvered his mind, but his heart was jade, the jade the Fairy had given him.
Don’t look at her, Will.
He cocked the crossbow.
“No!” The Bastard sounded as if his tongue was silver, too. “Let her go!”
The moths let go of Seventeen and swarmed toward Will. Like black, winged smoke.
As in Her Dreams
He hesitated. Just like she’d seen in her dreams again and again. But even Fairy dreams didn’t always come true. Was that why she hadn’t hidden from him? No. Why lie to herself? She’d been too preoccupied with her own lovesickness.
The sickness was gone, as was the love.
The Mirrorlings who’d been shadowing the hunter had been born from her sisters’ foolishness. So much rage. Payback for an ancient debt. More ancient than herself.
And she was so tired.
It was all she could feel. Tiredness.
Her hunter was still hesitating. No, that’s not what she wanted to call him. His destiny was to protect her. That’s why she’d sown the stone in him. But the crossbow had its own will. He’d just had to bring it here.
So much rage. So much ancient rage.