Her bad foot snagged in a patch of thorns, and she went sprawling. Emeline turned over, scrambling backwards. But it was too late. The monsters were descending from all sides.
Before they seized her, the starry sky darkened.
A raven cry pierced the night.
Emeline looked up. Hundreds of black shapes blotted out the stars. Ravens, circling. Readying themselves to dive.
But the wolves arrived first.
Emeline heard their growls before she saw them. The leader had russet fur and golden eyes.Sable?she wondered, remembering the fanged shape of the girl’s shadow. The wolf snarled at the shadow skins, keeping itself between the monsters and Emeline.The others followed suit as the ravens plunged down from the stars.
Wolves clashed with shadows. Ravens swooped and dived, keeping the monsters away. Beyond them, the trees hissed.Run faster!Emeline scrambled to her feet and kept going.
She ran straight into one ofthem.
The shadow skin grinned down at her from its sightless face. Out of its crackling mouth came Pa’s voice. Pa telling her everything was going to be all right. The shadow skin’s power curled like a snake through her mind until she no longer saw the monster before her, only her beloved grandfather. Pa’s arms were outstretched, ready to soothe whatever was hurting Emeline.
Come here, my duckie.
Her traitorous body rose to obey, bringing her closer to the Pa who was not Pa. A flicker of fear raced down Emeline’s spine as he reached to pull her into his arms …
And then a glimmering sword plunged through his chest.
“No!” Emeline screamed, despite herself.
Pa’s lips parted in surprise and his chin dropped as he stared at the blade protruding out of him, canted down towards the earth.
His form dissolved into a shadow skin falling to its knees.
Emeline stumbled away and looked up to see Hawthorne drawing his blade out of the creature’s chest. From atop Lament, who shone like black fire, Hawthorne gleamed in the moonlight, fury blazing across his face. If he was injured from his earlier capture, he showed no sign of it.
Lament regarded her with wide, fire-red eyes. She whickered, nudging Emeline’s cheek with her soft nose. As if to say,Tell me who hurt you, and I’ ll trample them into the earth.
That spent feeling was still heavy inside Emeline, making the world blur. She reached for Lament’s saddle, using it to stay upright.
Frowning, Hawthorne swung himself down. Sliding a warmhand behind her neck, he cupped the curve of it, his shadowed gaze drinking her in. “Did she harm you?”
Emeline shook her head. “No. I’m just …”Tired.
Unnaturally tired.
Sensing it, he reached for her waist and helped her into the saddle.
No sooner was she mounted than Lament reared at the approach of a shadow skin, flashing her fiery hooves. Emeline held on tight to keep from falling as Hawthorne plunged his sword through the creature’s heart.
“Ride straight to the city gate,” he told her. “No stopping.”
She was supposed to run and hide, while he battled shadow skins alone? No. She wouldn’t leave him here, surrounded.
At the ring of drawn steel, she looked to find he wasn’t alone. Sable was there in human form, swinging her enchanted blade, beheading shadow skins as wolves and ravens lunged for monsters, and claws and fangs collided.
Meanwhile, a horde of hedgemen teemed from the silver trees, their bronze breastplates flickering in the starlight as their spears flew through the air. They drew swords and rushed the shadow skins, swarming the clearing, armor clinking as they outnumbered the enemy, their enchanted steel blades ending the monsters swiftly. Sensing the turning tide, most of the remaining shadow skins fled, and the rest were quickly overcome.
When the woods fell quiet, Emeline scanned the surroundings from Lament’s saddle, watching the hedgemen push outwards, searching for lingering enemies. Nearby, Sable ran her fingers slowly over the black wing of a raven perched on her shoulder, as if checking for broken bones. Though she couldn’t say how, Emeline knew the raven was Rooke.
“I thought I told you to ride for the city gate.”
Emeline looked down into gray eyes—one dark, one light.Hawthorne wiped his glistening forehead and gripped the back of the saddle, wanting up.
