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“We don’t know that! She was born here—she hasn’t crossed the boundary before. And she’ll be with us. The border will open for its subjects, if she stays with us…” She looked at Juliana, almost imploringly. How much of this plan had she thought out? She had only one guard with her, little in the way of belongings. How much was riding on desperation?
“Juliana?” The pleading in Hawthorn’s voice was impossible to ignore.
If she knew she could return, there would be no question. But if Maytree was wrong—
You might be able to find your mother again. To ask her why she left—
But she’d be stranded there, away from everything she knew, everything she loved. It would feel like death to her.
And yet… was she willing to let them face it on their own?
Was she willing to leavehim?
“Your Majesty—”
Something screeched through the air, a cry that made her bones tremble.
Sluaghs.
Juliana dashed outside the carriage, drawing her weapon. Kieran had scrambled out of his seat too. Markham was holding the horses as they strained, sluaghs swarming over them, a black cloud of cries.
Three struck the carriage like a hale of bricks, claws tearing at the roof. Maytree pushed Hawthorn out, shielding his body with hers, roots twisting through the earth, swiping at them. Juliana swung her sword, trying to keep them at bay. There were too many, too many to fight at once—
Black talons flashed in front of her face. A shapeless mouth opened, letting out a long, dreadful scream. Juliana thrust her sword upwards, but a spiral of roots reached the sluagh first, catching the creature round the throat and twisting it towards the ground, branches shooting through its body like bolts.
Juliana swivelled, expecting to see Maytree behind her, but Hawthorn was there instead.
Without speaking, their backs snapped together like magnets. Hawthorn’s roots gathered around them, swiping sluaghs out of the sky for Juliana to skewer.
The carriage shot forward, several sluaghs toppling off. A group swooped towards the fleeing horses, clawing at them. Blood flashed in the air like ribbons, along with the sound of braying cut short with a sickening crunch.
Someone—Markham or Kieran, Juliana wasn’t sure—cut the remaining horses free. They bolted into the wilderness.
“The border!” Maytree hissed. “Get to the border!”
Roots ripped through the earth, thick as the trees themselves, half whip, half battering ram. The entire wood bent to the might of the seelie queen, the trees blazing like banners.
Juliana seized Hawthorn’s hand and hurtled down the path Maytree had cleared for them, towards the fog.
The border between the mortal and faerie realm.
A sluagh made it through Maytree’s defence, barreling into Juliana and tackling her to ground. Claws strained against her lightweight armour, her sword thrown loose.
“Go!” she hissed at Hawthorn, struggling for her dagger.
He didn’t even look ahead. The roots currently bending to his mother’s will alone, he seized Briarsong and sliced the creature through.
He didn’t start to run again until she was on her feet, sword returned to her.
Ahead of the border, something was forming, a creature of mist and shadow.
Juliana halted as it emerged: a tall, graceful man, with full horns, long black hair, and two giant leathery wings. He was as straight and pale as moonbeam, his bare chest glistening wetly beneath a feathered robe.
Beautiful and terrifying.
Ladrien. King of the Unseelie.
Maytree’s onslaught increased, her roots twisting towards him, but Ladrien merely smiled. He raised his weathered staff and a thousand thorns sprung at his feet, multiplying like ants springing forth from a hill as they raced to meet Maytree’s branches.
