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Priestesses murmured around me, while others called out to me in protest. All I could do was stare at the unmasked rider whose face was devoid of any emotion save for focused intent. His golden eyes were as sharp as the day I’d first seem them in the faerie caves. I still didn’t know his name.
Slowly, I crawled to my feet, wincing at a deep cut on my thigh that I hadn’t known was there. My pants were torn and the wound was dripping warm blood down my leg.
I approached the windows with my heart in my throat, coming face to face with an elhorn. It stomped its hooves, kicking up dirt and dust as it huffed hard enough to fog up the glass with its hot breath. Flicking my eyes up and up and up, I met the stare of the rider to the left again, and found that I couldn't look away even though I wanted to turn and run again.
My mind immediately went back to that day in the cave when I’d come face to face with the Wild Hunt. Cadoc, Haelo and this golden-eyed faerie with the dark beard, golden tattoos, and death in his stare.
With no idea how long I’d been gawking at him, a feeling of bitterness rolled through me, poking through the stark fear that still lingered. I knew without a doubt that these riders could shatter this glass and probably kill everyone in this room, even if these human priestesses couldn’t see them. It would take seconds. But something was holding them back, and it gave me time to let the rage in.
I peered behind me at the altar against the far wall. A massive metallic bowl larger than my entire body was perched atop a marble platform. A blue flame raged inside the bowl, and several priestesses stood around it, as if to protect it from the unwanted intruder. They couldn’t see the faeries and elhorns, so they didn’t realize yet that I wasn’t a threat at all.
Was the living flame responsible for keeping the faeries out of the temple? The thought made me want to laugh. It was absurd. Humans didn’t have access to magic or spells. Faeries wandered amongst humans as they pleased while this blue flame did nothing to protect the city. It was a pretty ornament and nothing more. But it was strange, the way I stood on one side of the glass while the riders made no move to breach it.
My face twisted into a scowl as I held his golden eyes. I could have sworn they flickered with surprise for a split second, but before I could even blink, his face was a mask of cold indifference again. Squaring my shoulders, I approached the glass until I was nose to nose with the elhorn. Slowly, and with all the visceral hatred I could conjure up, I did something incredibly stupid. I held my middle finger up high, making sure it was visible over the elhorn’s massive head and horns.
To the priestesses gathered behind me watching the spectacle, I probably looked like I’d lost my mind completely. Oh how I wished it was as simple as that. The male narrowed his eyes, the first real emotion he’d let slip through that icy façade, and internally, I patted myself on the back. Whoever he was, he wasn’t immune, nor ignorant to whatfuck youmeant.
And then there was chaos.
All three elhorns reared up as I stumbled away from the window, barely catching my balance before I fell on my ass again. Someone grabbed for me but I shoved them away, watching in horror as they charged forward. I screamed and covered my face with my arms, shutting my eyes tightly as the wall of glass shattered into millions of tiny shards.
Everyone in the temple shouted at once. There was a sudden rush of priestesses and worshipers falling all over themselves, trying to get as far from the windows as they could. The entire front side of the temple was gone in an instant, lying in a pile of glass in front of me as I cracked my eyes open, feeling the cold winter wind on my cheek.
I blinked against the wind. Again, and again, trying to comprehend what I was seeing. Or rather, what I wasn’t seeing. The riders and their elhorns were suddenly nowhere to be seen. All I could hear was the ever-so-faint thumping of heavy hooves that faded away deep into the treeline ahead.
Kyre
My apartment above the rundown tavern loomed closer as the sun started to set. It took hours to convince the priestesses that everything they’d witnessed was simply a misunderstanding. I told them I’d been chased by bandits and I thought I could find sanctuary within the temple walls. Luckily for me, their devotion to the living flame was stronger than their disbelief of my story.
I was being watched closely and could feel eyes on my back every step I took. At any moment, the riders could appear and snatch me from the shadows before I ever saw them coming. But there was no sign of them. The wind whipped my hair around my shoulders and chilled me to the bone as I hugged my cloak tight to my body. The night breeze shook the trees and rustled the leaves, but nothing could mask the whispers.
So many whispers followed me, in voices as musical as they were terrifying. Some lilted like dozens of bells while others were more like a growl or a gurgle. They spoke in unison about the red-haired halfling who could see them as clearly as they could see her. I felt more vulnerable at this moment than ever in my life, and it scared me.
Passing under an archway of crumbling stone that connected two alleyways, I had to duck to avoid grabbing hands that reached for me. Glittering eyes watched me from above as claws curled into my coiled hair, pulling on the strands until I thought they would rip out of my scalp. A shadow moved out of the corner of my eye—vaguely human in shape, but not quite right. Its limbs were gangly and scrawny, and it moved too fluidly to be anything other than one of the fae.A primal most likely.
What looked like lightning bugs danced around in the dark, but I knew better. If I looked closer, I’d be able to see tiny human-like forms with little, gossamer wings that glowed brightly with magic. To a human eye, the night would be dull and shadowy, but to mine, it was alive with color and movement around every corner.
Picking up my pace, I nearly sprinted toward my apartment, no longer trying to seem inconspicuous anymore. Terror gripped me now that I knew they were on the hunt. A couple passed me on my left, frowning at the horror-filled expression on my face. The man gripped the woman tighter, his eyes darting around as if looking for a threat. The woman, who already appeared bedraggled and tired from a hard day in the slums, rolled her deep-set eyes and pulled him along, far away from the stranger running from the shadows.
I made it to my apartment on the third floor above the tavern, avoiding the boisterous noise from below where drunkards howled at card games and spent coin they didn’t have on warm ale and exhausted ladies of the night. I latched the door behind me, even going so far as to scoot a ratty, old armchair in front of it. As if that could really stop the faeries from coming after me if they wanted to.
I changed out of my sweaty day clothes, hopping directly into the cold bathing tub that I’d filled this morning. I shivered and grimaced as I sank down into the water, not bothering to heat it with a fire, but needing to wash off the day’s grime. The moonlight through my window was the only illumination in the room, turning everything faintly blue and dreamlike. Facing the wall, I sat in the sudsy water for nearly an hour replaying the day in my head.
My hands shook as I raked my fingers through my long, curly hair, washed my body and attempted to do normal things. All I could see were flashes of those fiery eyes staring down at me. I wondered who was waiting for me just beyond the veil. Was it the Wild Hunt? These faeries were different from the princes I’d met previously. Well, two of them were. I wasn’t sure if they were a part of the hunt, or if they were perhaps a couple of random sellswords the princes sent to do their dirty work.
I dressed in a tight pair of black trousers and my riding shirt that was thick enough to protect my arms from the winter frost. Keeping my boots on, along with a warm, thick pair of socks seemed like the best idea, just in case I had to make a run for it. The night was still young, and they were coming for me again soon. I could only evade them for so long.
I thought about the warning that Cadoc, the faerie with the blackest eyes I’d ever seen, had given me. There was nowhere I could run that they would not find me. I believed him. But that didn’t mean I had to make this easy for them. A life of servitude awaited me, so I figured I had nothing to lose by putting up a good fight.
Staring into my mirror, I could barely see myself. The glass was old and cracked, warping my image and so dull that I might as well have been staring into a murky pond. Somehow my face appeared pale, despite the fact that I was relatively tanned from my days out in the forest collecting materials to sell at the markets. I looked like the blood had been sucked right out of me, making my copper hair stark, and my brown eyes appear hollow and haunted. The beauty mark under my right eye was like an ink blot against alabaster.
Food.I needed food. That would make me feel better.
Setting down my comb and abandoning my curls, I trudged into the sitting room, which wasn't much aside from a rickety table and a pantry, and made myself a bowl of dried fruit and sliced cheese. I ate listlessly as I stared at the darkened walls of my home. They were covered in half-finished artworks—torn sheets of parchment with scribbled charcoal faces and splashes of paint. Colorful droplets covered the rotting, wooden floor and my ruined chaise that I used in place of a proper bed. Easels were strewn around the room haphazardly and brushes were left to dry carelessly in glass jars.
Surrounding me on every wall were rough sketches of the creatures that haunted my every waking moment. Creatures only I could see because of the faerie blood that ran through my veins. I painted every feature I could commit to memory. Most of the time it meant their flashing eyes or jagged teeth. Some of them were two feet tall while others were as tall as trees. But my paintings never depicted the creatures as a whole. It was almost like there was something fuzzy in my brain that blocked me from remembering exactly what they looked like until the moment I saw them again.
To anyone else these paintings might have looked like the hallucinations of a lunatic, but to me, they were a way to get those eyes out of my head and for the whispers to fall silent. I’d lived my whole life surrounded by humans who hated what I was, and who would condemn me for it if they ever knew. Most didn’t even believe in faeries, but they were still superstitious enough that one wrong word about me would be enough to sway them.
