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The female’s lips moved. There was no true sound, but he felt the word more than heard it. A single word. A question.
“MaryAnne?”
His mate nodded, tears streaming down her face. “It’s me. I’m so glad I found you. All of you,” she said, her eyes sweeping around her younglings and then widening briefly as she caught sight of the others crowding closer with curiosity. Many others. She swallowed and looked back over at the female.
“Sabrina, we’re going to help you, but we need to know where you are!” The apparition lips parted in hesitation as it looked over at him uncertainly, and MaryAnne cleared her throat. “He’s with me. I was wrong about everything. The fae here have been trying to help. He wants to help. He’s my mate. You can trust him.”
The female’s eyes widened for a moment, and her hair floated around her as she looked sharply over her shoulder at the males. The younger offspring watched curiously, and the males eyed him, but one by one they reluctantly nodded. Sabrina turned toward them again and nodded but then grimaced and shook her head.
“You won’t tell me?” The sound of heartache in his mate’s voice was almost too much to bear.
Sabrina shook her head more vehemently, her lips moving again. “I don’t know where we are.”
A choked cry left his mate, and Raskyuil hugged her to him as he glanced around at all the younglings surrounding them. His eyes settled on Sabrina.
“Can you help us?” he asked her.
She paused and then nodded. “I can show you.”
“Show us what?” MaryAnne whispered.
“Come.”
Sabrina suddenly floated off the spinning platform, merging with the fog. She didn’t disappear entirely; he could still see her clearly as she waited for them.
Raskyuil didn’t wait for the ride to stop. Slipping off the back of the wooden crocotta, he plucked his mate up into his arms and took a flying leap from the ride, making the goblin stumble back with a shout of surprise as he landed a short distance from him. He gave the male an impatient look, but Zagrol wasn’t paying attention. He slowly straightened, his glowing eyes widening as he suddenly saw the younglings streaming from the ride, no longer hiding.
“Raskyuil? What’s going on?” the goblin barked in shock.
“I don’t know, but I’m about to find out,” he replied as he charged after the fleet female bounding through the shadows and fog ahead of him. “Find the others,” he growled over his shoulder. “Gather them in the galley and wait for me there.”
He saw the male’s quick nod but nothing more as he faced forward and raced after Sabrina. Children darted through the fog at all sides of him. The fog rolled as they ran, streaming out from the carnival paths, far beyond its border. He felt the moment that they crossed the boundary of the carnival and the keen absence of its magic. He also felt the attention of the servitor rise, its regard turning toward him, but he ignored it.
Only the roads were open for passage, and he could feel its warning rumble through him. It would try to get them to return by whatever means necessary, and he was prepared for that. But they still had a small opening to try and do something.
MaryAnne’s nails bit into his arms and shoulders as she bounced lightly in his tight grip, steadying herself against the rock of his body as he ran. She had turned slightly in his embrace to look over her shoulder and all around her. Her arm suddenly shot out to the right.
“There! She’s standing right over there!”
Rumbling in appreciation to his mate, he turned, his feet kicking up fallen leaves and dirt. Sabrina stared at him with her blacked-out, shadowed eyes, her hand stretching out in front of her, and she pointed to the ground in front of her, her mouth twisting with grief. The fog shifted and whirled, and suddenly she was gone—they all were—but something was there beneath the ground.
“Oh no,” MaryAnne whispered and immediately dropped to the ground, clawing at it the moment he set her on the ground.
Crouching beside her, he did the same, his claws tearing up earth far more efficiently. They dug at the ground, ripping up clods of cold hard earth, tearing through plants that had overgrown the area. MaryAnne had to stop at times to rest as the evening wore on but still, they worked long after the sun began to set and he unclipped MaryAnne’s small flashlight from his belt, glad that they had preserved its power. His mate gave it a curious look, noticing for the first time that he had it, and smiled with relief as he set it on a nearby rock as they once again returned to work as night descended and the forest around them became pitch black except for the milky fog and the gleam of stars and the full moon breaking through the canopy overhead. The hour was getting later, he could feel it clawing at him as certainly as he could feel his claws tearing up the ground beneath him.
A growl of frustration broke from his lips, and he considered shifting his position again when his claws scraped something hard. He frowned and tested his claws on it before digging them beneath it, slowly prying it from the ground. They scraped something hard, and he frowned and dug the edges of his claws beneath it, slowly prying it from the ground. Soil shifted, and young roots of plants that had grown all year over it tore free.
There was a howl in the distance, and his skin shuddered. Fairy hounds. He needed to be quicker. The carnival pulsing, angry energy was attracting them and calling them from within the woods. He gave another hard yank, and it came free—a small brown skull grinning as its empty sockets where its eyes once were stared back at him.
He made a rough sound, choking on his shock, and clawed at the soil some more until he was certain that he had partially uncovered several more in a shallow grave. MaryAnne stumbled to her feet, her wide eyes staring down at the grim remains. Her pale lips moved soundlessly for a minute, and she shook her head in horror.
“He killed them after all.”
“Not our younglings,” he growled as he stood, picking up the slowly dimming flashlight in the process. . “Not yet. And it will not happen again. Not this time. Not ever,” he growled. “The goblins, the orcs… none of the fae within the carnival will stand for it. His rules were a clever disguise for what he was doing, but it stops now.”
“How?” She looked up at him, her eyes dim with sorrow.
“With this,” he growled, holding out the grisly skull. “Irrefutable proof. This ends and the Hallow Night will never again be marred with such a horror to pollute the Mother’s Feast.”
