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I drag in a calming breath, but it does little to ease my growing fear. I can’t go through that again. What if Valerian is hurt? What if whoever knows his true name is here?
The Winter Prince would be powerless.
“And what better way to test those powers than hold a Wild Hunt?” Hellebore continues, his smug gaze lingering on me. “I know that’s what your academy called the final trial you all passed last year, but the true, ancient Wild Hunt of our ancestors is very different.”
He lifts something up. Wrapped in purple velvet, the item is roughly the size of a basketball. Gasps slip from the crowd as he removes the cover.
It takes a moment to realize the smooth, spiraling item is a horn. My body reacts viscerally, every muscle tensing as one word echoes through my skull.
Run.
“When I blow this horn, the hunt begins. The hellhounds will rise from the depths of the Fae underworld, as they’ve done since the beginning of time, and stalk any mortal not wearing this mark.”
He summons one of the mortal attendants serving inside the pavilion. She doesn’t even blink as he drags down the neckline of her blouse to reveal the strange symbol scrawled across her chest in . . . blood.
A jolt of panic constricts my vision.
Valerian’s head whips in my direction. He mouths, I’ll find you.
I give a brief nod, trying to look brave. But I know he can hear the heartbeat roaring in my ears, can probably feel the blood rush making my limbs feel heavy and my head spin.
Everything’s happening too fast.
The tinkle of delicate metal clinking fills the courtyard. I claw to the surface of my panic just in time to make out the golden chains being passed around to the Evermore students.
Mother-freaking chains.
“The rules are simple.” Hellebore holds up his chain to show off the two thick circlets of metal on either end, one small enough to fit a wrist, the other just large enough to go around a neck. “Once you have a shadow chained into submission, they are yours. Finders keepers.”
“And the hounds?” someone questions from the Summer Court tent to my left.
Drugged nearly stupid by the cocktail of panic and fear poisoning my blood, I nearly don’t recognize the Fae female speaking. Nearly—until the picture Valerian gifted me breaks through my desperate haze.
The Summer Queen . . . and my mother. Sort of. Not that I feel even a sliver of emotion looking at this regal Fae Queen.
Hellebore glances over at her in a way that makes me instantly think they would be enemies, if not for the alliance between Spring and Summer. “The hounds are ravenous, Queen Larkspur. By the ancient law of the hunt, they are allowed three mortals.”
The wave of panic I’ve been drowning under lets up as another emotion takes over: fury. Once again, the Fae are proving just how dangerous they are to our world, our survival.
I glance over at the new shadow recruits in the middle. They look horrified, a few crying quietly.
Screw this. Shoving past the others, I step out from our group and lock eyes with Hellebore. Ruby hisses in my ear and tries to yank me back into the crowd, but I ignore her. “This is bullshit and you know it.”
I swear the Fae-hole grins, as if this whole thing was a game to get me to react. “Excuse me?”
Ruby has resorted to pinching the back of my neck and cursing. Valerian and Eclipsa are glaring at me, both trying to force me to stay quiet, but right now, I’m so pissed, I despise them just for being a part of this deranged system. “No, you’re not excused. We’re not here for your entertainment. We’re human beings with families and hopes and dreams . . .”
Silence. Frick. As if they care about any of that. I suddenly see myself through their eyes. Hands on my hips, dress barely covering my ass. My sprite attacking the back of my head like it wronged her in another life.
I thought it was quiet before, but when the Spring Queen rises from her throne, even the insects stop chirping. Her hair is the same delicate pale rose color of the castle, elaborately braided and pinned atop her head. Bile warms the back of my throat as I spot the live butterflies impaled on the pins.
“Who sponsored this mortal’s enrollment?” The Spring Queen’s voice is lazy and soft, like a sluggish breeze, but something about it makes my skin crawl.
I’m screwed. I learned from Mack that all mortals who apply to Evermore Academy have to have one Evermore sponsor. Nick’s old keeper, a Summer Evermore high in the Summer Queen’s inner circle, sponsored Mack.
But I have none of that.
Murmurs and gasps break the stillness, including my own, as the Summer Queen calls out, “I did.”
