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Yet out of that darkness, the cacica spoke, unmoved and unperturbed. “I will enforce the law as I must to protect the people. There can be no exception. And I will not be defied.”
A flame wavered into life, a single oil lamp catching fire. For after all, there was no limit to the source of fire as long as it had fuel with which to burn. As on an inhalation, she gathered her power back into her and began casting it off into her catch-fires. Filaments of cold magic streamed away in a growing flood, her net brightening as she gathered her power. Cold mages weren’t the only ones who could get angry.
She was certainly going to kill me, and possibly Vai in the bargain. I cast one last despairing glance toward poor Abby and the other prisoners, but I simply had run out of time and chance.
“Vai! Run!” I cried.
The cursed fool did not budge. “I’m not leaving you behind.”
A shadow quite inverse to the size of its human form loomed over us like a thundercloud.
“This has all been quite illuminating and much more diverting than my usual hunt.”
My sire’s right hand fell like fate on Vai’s shoulder. With his left, he grasped the chain and slipped the now-clouded ice lens into his palm as he might admire a lovely flower, then closed his fingers over it.
“I will take him now. You’ve done well, Daughter.”
I raised the machete. “You will not! He’s not the one I mean you to take.”
“Whenever did I give you the impression that your wishes, desires, or intentions mean anything to me?” His grasp had paralyzed Vai.
He glanced up at the sky toward the hunters and killers who, when he called, would sweep down to rend and dismember their prey. No human on the ground could see them; perhaps humans could not see the Master of the Wild Hunt either, not really, for he walked half in and half out of the world, perceived as fear and hunger but not truly seen.
The dusting of snow evaporated in a wave of rising heat. I was caught between an immensely powerful fire mage who was about to kill me, and the Master of the Wild Hunt, who was about to kill the man I loved. I could not fight, and I could not run. I had to think with my mind.
For the truth was, why would my sire appear as a good-looking young male? Why would he even care how he looked? I knew something about dealing with vain men.
“Father,” I said, “I know you do not hold me in any affection, but I am the weapon you forged, the one you alone can wield. Are you going to let that fire weaver destroy me? It makes you look careless. It makes you look weak. But I guess you can’t stop her.”
Killing fire pinched at my heart in that instant. I reached for Vai so that touching him would be my last memory before death consumed my flesh and mind.
My sire exhaled. Luminescent snow winked into existence, obliterating the heat. The white flakes were so scintillant they dazzled and blinded. My heart beat on, untouched.
He murmured, “Fire is the serpents’ weapon. You know how I hate and loathe serpents.”
Ice crackled across the stones.
“Kill her.”
The clamor of the hunt dusted down over us as his words released them. They flowed out of the heavens like nightmare, surging forward in a squall of sleeting rain whose icy touch cut skin and caused blood to flow. Deadly hounds loped down the risers, biting and clawing as they passed. I could not tell if they were solid or merely the shadows that haunt dreams, but their touch spread like poison. Hulking dire wolves snarled, and hyenas laughed mockingly as Expeditioners and Taino alike were eaten up by stark fear, even the disciplined soldiers.
Many people tried to run, but the crush was so great they only trampled each other. Others froze, unable to move. A few tried to fight, blocking with arms or clubbing with rifles or slashing wildly with their ceremonial spears. Yet they could do no damage to the sleek cats and men with animals’ faces who pushed through the ball court. A cloud of wasps stung, each touch raising a drop of blood. Bats swooped through, accompanied by silent owls. A red-gold-and-black-banded snake slithered over my sandaled foot; tiny frogs with skin as bright as jewels hopped alongside.
All swarmed toward the cacica’s platform.
“Son,” said my sire. “Did you not hear me? Kill her.”
With a glance at me as if to apologize, Rory sighed. He bent, and he flowed. Where a man had stood, a huge saber-toothed cat leaped in silent beauty. The change came so swiftly that people running across the ball court to escape the hunt had no time to break out of his path as he bounded to the platform.
The cacica was no fool. Nor was she a coward. She faced the hunt as she drew deep into the fire, but before she could release it, the great cat drove her down beneath claws and teeth. He snapped her neck with a casual shake.
He, my amusing, insouciant Rory. He was his father’s son.
The pack—wolves, snakes, cats, hounds, wasps, raptors, all—converged on the body, rending and tearing.
I had to look away.
The ball court was in chaos, the crowd streaming every which way. The Taino soldiers blocking the ends of the playing field had fled. People stampeded for safety, leaving broken and sobbing wounded behind. A few pockets of order held ground, among them Prince Caonabo who had not panicked but instead had taken advantage of the chaos to cut the bonds of his twin. Juba took the knife from his brother and ran to free the other prisoners. A ceremonial spear in hand, Caonabo approached the raised platform with soldiers at his heels. A shadowy hound loped past, a head hanging from its jaws by long black hair.
