The stag lowers its head, sharp antlers glittering like icicles in the starlight. Carefully, it bends a knee before me, offering me its back to ride on.
I approach it, deeply aware of the danger. Even a normal stag has the chance to impale an aggressor, and this one is not normal. “Please,” I whisper, “I must get to Edinburgh quickly.”
It snorts, a steamy cloud rising from its nostrils.
As soon as I’m settled on the stag’s back, it nimbly turns before leaping toward the road exiting the castle. I catch a glimpse of Callum in the stables, eyes popped wide in shock. But humans will think I’m riding a stallion; certainly the guards at the castle gate don’t seem to register that I’m astride a fae stag’s back, moving quicker than should be possible.
Just outside the castle gates, I remember the bird code Samson told me about.
Robins,I think as the dark landscape blurs by. Robins mean danger, right? I cup my hand in the rushing air around me, combining it with my magic. My power feeds off the wilderness, and perhaps Beira is still aiding me. When I reach for the robins sleeping in their nests, my call spreading to every bird within twenty or more miles from me, I know they hear.
They hear, and they answer.
As I thunder through the gates, directing my horse toward Edinburgh, I see the robins who nest in the trees on the path rise, shooting like arrows through the night sky, zooming in the direction of Kirk o’ Field. It’s hard to tell in the darkness, the wind beating against my watering eyes, but I can feel the birds, hundreds of them, answering my call to warn Samson.
I just hope he gets the message in time.
32
Samson
The carriage jostles and bumps. Darnley drinks and grumbles to himself on and off, occasionally spouting some of his grand plans at me, telling me what else I’ll do for him. After killing Alyth, he’ll have me go after Mary. Then there are others, lords who’ve supported Mary too much, ladies who rejected his advances.
My eyes shut where I stay on the floor, the carriage lulling me into oblivion.
No, I want to say again.No, I won’t do any of that.
Because when he sends me after Alyth first, she’ll end me.
Christ, I hope she ends me.
In that second after finding out there was no cure for the curse that isn’t a curse, I thought that I could control it, direct these blackouts. Make something good out of what’s only ever been bad. If it’s always been me, I should be able to control myself.
But there’s no controlling this, is there? Not when spells like the one Darnley used exist. I’ll always be too much of a threat, too dangerous.
If my father is truly a Red Cap, how is he all right with someone the likes ofDarnleycontrolling him?
The carriage stops. Are we in a city? There’s racket just beyond, heavy noise I can’t place, but it’s too early for any city to be in such bedlam already.
Darnley waits for the door to open, and I look up at him. Wherever we’ve stopped, there are torches, and he’s cast in harsh orange and scalding yellow. His eyes are bloodshot, and he’s half-drunk—his usual state—and I want to rally some hatred for him. That desire’s still there, the hunger to attack him, but I know it’s futile.
At least while he’s conscious.
Has he got magic on him to keep me from gutting him in his sleep? I’ll find out.
The idea is the first thing to bring levity to my mind all night. Darnley, I’ll murder gleefully, and I won’t even need to be in a Red Cap state to do it.
A servant opens the carriage, and the outside noise sharpens in my awareness.
It’s birds.
Squawking, twittering, chirpingchaos.
Darnley staggers out before rearing back, shielding himself in the carriage door. “What in the hell is that?”
I crawl forward, leaning half out to see beyond him.
We’re at an estate, pulled into the stable yard, but servants huddle under the awning of an outbuilding. The one who opened the carriage door is holding a cloak over his head in protection.
