Page 45 of The Brightest Fell

The branches tore at my clothes and hair as I ran, slowing me down. They seemed to put themselves into my path on purpose, moving with a slow, malicious intent. That wasn’t as far-fetched an idea as it might seem. Acacia was the Mother of Trees, Firstborn to the Dryads and the Blodynbryd. In her presence, even ordinary trees might have more of a consciousness than the usual.

Quentin was somewhere up ahead, and I could hear Simon crashing through the branches behind me. At least we were staying together.

“Quentin!” I shouted. “Come back!”

The horns sounded a third time, so much closer that it felt like I should have been able to turn around and see the Riders bearing down on me. Which didn’t make sense. The Riders avoided the forest. When Blind Michael had been alive, they had steered clear because it was Acacia’s territory. Even now that he was dead and everything was her territory, there were good reasons to stay out of the trees. It was virtually impossible to ride a horse there, for one thing. The branches blocked too much of the light, making it hard for even fae eyes to see what was going on.

Would the Riders even have horses now? The ones they’d had originally had been transformed children, mortal and changeling kids who hadn’t been suited to join the Ride as anything other than transportation.

The forest ended abruptly, sending me stumbling as I ran onto the open plain. Quentin was less than ten yards ahead of me, backing up, his hands raised in a useless gesture of defensiveness.

Around him, in a loose semicircle, were Blind Michael’s Riders.

They were hulking figures, dressed in mismatched leather-and-silver armor, sitting astride vast, strong-legged horses that pawed at the ground and snorted as they waited for the signal to run. None of the Riders belonged to any clear and obvious fae race: they were as patchworked as their armor, blending claws and talons and scales and fur. Some of them had horns. Others had fangs that barely fit inside their mouths, leaving trails of drool to run down their misshapen chins. All of them had weapons: spears and swords and crossbows.

“Quentin, get back here,” I said quietly, hand going to the knife at my belt. It wasn’t enough. It could never have been enough, not against this nightmare army. But if we were going to go down, I was going to go down swinging, protecting the people I loved.

Tybalt, I’m sorry, I thought. Maybe someday Amandine would have mercy and let him go.

The Riders looked toward me. One of them raised a horn and blew, sending a long, loud note cascading across the waste. It gained strength and volume as it traveled, seeming to feed off of its own echoes, until it was loud enough to fill the entire world. Quentin clapped his hands over his ears, legs shaking as if they were on the verge of buckling.

That was the last straw. I bolted forward, stepping in front of him, knife already drawn, like one silver blade the length of my hand could hold off the Riders for more than a fraction of a second.

“Back off!” I snarled. “If you want him, you’ll have to go through me!”

“You never change, do you, October?”

The voice was Acacia’s. I whirled, and there she was, Blind Michael’s widow, the Mother of the Trees, standing between us and the forest. Simon was somewhere behind her, a pale smear at the edge of the shadows. I couldn’t spare him much attention. Acacia was a much more pressing issue.

Her skin was daffodil-yellow, and her hair was a rootlike mass of green-and-yellow strands that snaked over her shoulders and continued down her body, vanishing in and out of her clothes. She no longer wore a cloak, and her wings were exposed, enormous and green, marked with bright yellow circles like eyes. The scar that ran down the side of her face kept her from smiling with both sides of her mouth, but still, she looked kind.

“When I felt the Babylon Road seeking an anchor, I’ll admit, you’re not who I expected,” she said. “You know my doors are always open to you. But it would have been a good idea to call first.”

“Tell your people to stand down, Acacia,” I said, voice tight with adrenaline. Quentin was still shaking, still terrified. I needed that to stop.

Acacia blinked, looking genuinely surprised. Then she shook her head and said, “They were looking for the Road. They’re not here to hurt you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” mumbled Quentin.

“My apologies,” said Acacia. She looked to the Riders. “Go home. I’ll be there soon, and you’ll be rewarded for your work.”

The Riders lowered their weapons and their horns, some quickly, others looking like they had been hoping for a fight. Then they turned their horses and rode away across the waste, kicking up dust and debris in their wake.

Quentin relaxed further, head hanging. I turned to face Acacia, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“Sorry,” I said. “Turns out Quentin and I still have issues with the sound of that horn. I thought you were going to help them recover.”

“I am,” she said. “Some of the horses refuse to return to any other form. They’re too broken to want to go back to what they were. They’re treated kindly now. Fed and watered and rested. I’m looking toward acquiring Kelpies or Each Uisge for the Riders to use after these horses are gone.”

“Oh,” said Quentin, and shivered under my hand.

Acacia looked at me calmly. “Can you tell your friend to leave my trees? It’s hard to believe you come in peace when you keep someone at my back.”

“Sorry,” I said. Raising my voice, I called, “Simon, it’s safe now. You need to come out.”

“I doubt that most sincerely,” he said, and emerged from the trees, walking slowly across the open ground to stand at my other side.

Acacia tilted her head, looking at him. “You are not my daughter’s husband, but you look like him,” she said. “Are you his Fetch? Is my Luna to be a widow?”