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The Baleful Hunt gives a ground-trembling roar that spills tiny rocks from his body like an avalanche. My heart clenches. I’m guessing the penalties aren’t as benign as missing eyebrows.
Goodfellow continues, “Upon arrival at the welcoming dormitories, you will gather your personal effects and transition into the Shadow’s dwelling within your House’s tower. The remaining regional aspirants will honorably delay their relocation until your task is complete. Training commences with the morrow’s dawn. You are dismissed.”
Each coupling unwinds its bindings, and then the House Radiant steps back, tilts their face to the sky, and opens their arms. One by one, each dragon bursts into their elemental substance and streams into their Radiant’s chest. Afterward, Ignarius snorts a puff of smoke and then cracks his neck as though he’s re-acclimatizing himself to the containment of his Hunt. Lady Nivene inhales a watery breath before righting herself. Lord Sylvanar appears to have indigestion, and Lady Selene’s glowing skin fades with each passing second.
A few murmured words are passed between mentor and protégé, but most disperse immediately. Lord Ignarius gives Legion a scathing look. But the others are hurried or less disgruntled about the disruption.
Legion does not uncouple us. He gestures to the three, and then we move toward the dormitory.
“Why are youallescorting her?” Goodfellow’s sickly sweet voice trails us. “Why are any of you going at all?”
None of the other Radiants have accompanied theirs. Legion stops and glances over his shoulder. He does nothing to veil his disdain. “We will collect our Shadow’s personal effects.”
“Transporting a Nothing’s belongings is beneath the station of a Radiant.” The wordNothingsounds bitter in Goodfellow’s mouth.
Contempt is echoed across the faces of all four Sluagh. They really don’t give a shit about being poised and pleasant. The only time I saw them smile was... when they chose me.
“Do not presume to order us, Puck,” Legion says.
Bodin adds, “Weare aboveyourstation.”
“I serve no master except Pain,” Emrys rasps darkly.
Goodfellow’s expression deadpans, and he steps back. I don’t blame him. Something about Emrys feels like phantom nails scraping down my spine.
“Control your Hunt.” Venom spills from Goodfellow’s lips. He strides up and narrows his emerald gaze at Legion. “Or the Keepers of the Cauldron will do it for you.”
“My, my.” Fox feigns alarm. “Whatever will we do?”
“Knight Inquisitor?” Goodfellow turns his attention to Emrys with forced bravado. “You have unfinished work at the palace.”
Emrys stands firm. “She is to remain at the Keep for the duration of the Gentle Interlude.”
“Absolutely not. This is a code violation!” Outrage flares in Goodfellow’s eyes. The Wild Hunt suddenly swoops, nipping at his auburn hair. He swats it away with increasing frustration, his faerie decorum melting by the second. “Shadowsmustrelocate to their respective House Tower.”
Emrys takes a menacing step forward, but Legion lifts an elegant hand, and he halts.
“That’s right,” Goodfellow retorts. “Keep your dog on his chain.”
“Careful, Puck,” Legion intones. “You know the punishment for spreading lies.”
“My mistake.” His eyes crinkle. “We all know it’s the queen who holds the leash.”
Bodin spits on the floor. “You think wechooseto live in close quarters with a Nothing?”
“We would rather burn,” Fox purrs, smirking at my surprise.
For a moment, I’d forgotten they were my enemy. What a fool.
Their vitriol placates Goodfellow enough to wipe his hand through his hair and straighten his vest. “Nevertheless,” he says, “the move is against the code. You break it for the enemy, no doubt. One would almost wonder where your allegiances lie.”
Legion’s patience evaporates. He moves in the blink of an eye to face the auburn-haired advisor and bares his teeth. “You dare question our motivations when we are the sole receivers of the Cauldron’s supreme blessing?! Avorlorna would fall to Oberon’s whims tomorrow without the House of Shadow. The Nothing comes with us because she will be exposed to military secrets during our patronage, and we would rather our sovereign queen’s decorum remain untainted by our... unique methods of discipline to keep those secrets where they belong.”
His words make complete sense. Even the eyebrowless jerk submits.
“Why do you sponsor her if you’re so repulsed?” he tests.
“Simple,” Emrys purrs.
