Looming before them was Pa’s house—the bedroom lights on from when Emeline left in a rush.
“But …”
Behind her, the stranger dismounted, leaving her alone inthe saddle. Emeline’s thoughts spun, trying to make sense of it. His two strong hands clasped her waist and dragged her down.
“You said …”
As her feet hit the ground, realization set in. That startling joy from a moment ago shattered like glass.
She spun to find him already remounting.
“Youliedto me.”
“Think of it more as a favor,” he said, back astride his horse. The moon and stars sparkled in the sky above him, making him appear more majestic than he deserved. “You’re looking in the wrong place.”
“You’re lying to me still!”
The only place Pa could be was in those woods. She knew it now. After being attacked by a shadow skin, after riding with ember mares—Emeline was certain.
She needed to get him back.
Fury and anguish warred within her. She seized Lament’s bridle, stopping the young man and his horse from retreating. Her grip tightened around the straps.
“Tell me your name.” The words were bitter in her mouth. “So I can find you and pay you back for this.”
He leaned over the saddle, staring down at her. His face was inches from hers as he said, “Go home, Emeline.”
He clicked his tongue twice. In response, Lament reared up, reminding Emeline that this was no ordinary horse. She swiftly released the bridle and stepped back.
Turning Lament, he disappeared through the space in the hedge, where Emeline’s tree was once rooted.
His words floated back to her from the darkness: “Live your life. Forget the woods.”
The night was suddenly silent and still around her.
As if he’d never been there at all.
SEVEN
EMELINE WANTED TO SCREAM.
Instead, she picked up a rock and threw it at the gap in the tree line. She threw a second rock. Then a third. When none of them made her feel better, she turned and marched around the side of Pa’s house, storming into the garage.
Horrible, wretched man.She would not let him stop her. She’d return to the woods, find the king’s gate, and bring back her grandfather.Tonight.Because after she’d faced down a shadow skin and ridden an ember mare, Emeline had to believe that Pa was in the hands of the Wood King—and she was going after him.
Mounds of boxes bordered the walls, all of them full of her and Pa’s belongings, hastily labeled and packed by Emeline when she’d first put the house on the market. She moved past them, heading for Pa’s workbench, trying to remember where he kept his yellow flashlight.
Halfway there, her phone buzzed several times from her back pocket. Emeline paused and pulled it out.
Notifications flooded the screen, mainly texts from Joel. But the most recent was an update from Elegy—the app she and her songwriter used to share music files back and forth.
The notification read:Chloe Demarche uploaded a file to your shared folder.
Chloe was her songwriter. Emeline hadn’t written—or performed—a song of her own in almost two years. These days, she only sang Chloe’s songs.
Emeline swallowed the bitter taste that accompanied this fact, then nudged the notification aside and quickly scanned Joel’s texts.
The first read:Did Edwin get a hold of you?
