She closed her eyes and, after counting to three, dropped.
The ground swiftly rose up to meet her. As her feet hit the earth, she bent her legs to protect her ankles, which still spiked with pain.
“Ow!” she hissed, dropping to her knees, waiting for the sharp sting to subside. When it did, she rose and limped into the woods, noticing that the trunks of these trees were turning silver with disease.
Her stomach twisted with uneasiness.
Patches of starlight flickered through the leafy boughs overhead. “Where is he?” she asked the trees.
They murmured and swayed, as if consulting each other.
This way,they hushed, leading her to a gurgling river, which shone like a silver ribbon beneath the bright moon.Follow it west.
As she hobbled alongside its whispering current, the earth began to thunder beneath her feet, as if at the mercy of hammering hooves.
Emeline paused, listening. Were the ember mares running?
Don’t stop,said the trees.
Emeline scanned her surroundings. Something red flickered in the distance. She squinted, focusing on it, and found a dozen black mares galloping to a halt in a nearby grove, snorting smoke and stomping their fire-gold hooves, which sparked against the forest floor.
Unlike Lament—who was steady and calm—their whinnies were shrill and piercing, and they tossed their heads restlessly. Unlike the wild ember mares she once stampeded with through the woods, these had steel harnesses welded to their faces, the metal biting into their flesh, leaving raw, bleeding wounds.
Worse, there were shadow skins astride their backs.
Emeline sucked in a breath as the monsters rode their captives slowly though the grove, heads turning back and forth, as if hunting something.
When one glanced her way, Emeline dropped to the underbrush, her pulse pounding. Her breath came fast as she listened, but nothing encroached; there was no sound of fiery hooves or horrifying footsteps.
Hurry,begged the trees.
Emeline crawled forward on her elbows, pushing through leaves and burrs and thorns. If she could distance herself, keep out of sight …
A rough-soft voice pierced the quiet.
“Emeline?”
She stopped crawling.
Hawthorne?
“Is that you?” His voice shook, as if he was frightened. He sounded very close.
This shadow skin hunting party—they must be the ones who took him.
“Help me, Emeline.”
His panicked voice tugged at her, drawing her towards him. Emeline stood up. She turned away from the river and silently crept from tree to tree, trying to conceal herself as she moved towards the sound of his voice.
No,said the trees.
Sharp branches scraped her cheeks and caught at her hair, as if the trees were trying to stop her. Emeline ignored them as a shape appeared ahead, between her and the captured ember mares.
“Hawthorne?”
The figure halted, swinging in her direction with an unearthly swiftness. Two more shapes stepped out to join it. Emeline went still, staring at the three dark shadows from between the boughs of the spruce she hid behind. Their tall, thin forms were blacker than the night, and they had no eyes.
“Emeline!” Hawthorne’s terrified voice knotted around her heart.
