If he had to pick a way to die, Tristan thought, being eaten by ravenous glowing hounds was not at the top of the list.
Then again, it wasn't at the bottom, either.
So at least there was that.
Tristan leapt aside, narrowly avoiding a snapping hound. Shit. Shit, this was bad. His heart was crawling into his throat, and he tried desperately to count the creatures. Four? Five? Ten? They seemed to be multiplying at an alarming rate.
"Give me a sword," Anna said.
She was raising her hands, silver threads tumbling like silk to the floor. Tristan took an instinctive step backward. Eris snorted.
"Absolutely not," he said.
"Other Delafort." Anna's voice was a warning. "If you want to live, give me a godsdamn weapon."
"No." Eris's face was hard. "I won't risk it."
A hound launched, snapping at Eris's face. He swore viciously, careening backwards, his hands pulling desperately at the creature's neck. Eris yanked the knife from his hat, plunging it into the creature's neck; the hound made a whining noise, bursting into a cloud of golden goo. Eris made a noise of disgust.
Anna plunged into the frenzy. Eris's face was a peculiar shade of eggplant.
"She doesn't even have a weapon," he snapped.
"Of course she does," Tristan said. "She took yours."
Eris's hand jumped to his thigh. The sword holster was empty save for a mossy stone, which was currently leaking green water all over his trousers. He let out a string of colorful words, his green eyes flashing.
"I'll kill her," Eris growled. "I'll—"
Eris cut off, yelping as a dog sprung at his face.
Tristan watched as Anna leapt gleefully into the fray, swinging the sword in a graceful arc. She was a whirlwind of steel and fury, her blue eyes blazing with cold flame; silver ribbons slashed out like lightning. There was, Tristan begrudgingly admitted, something oddly mesmerizing about watching her; she came alive when she fought, her eyes narrowed with determination.
A hound jumped at him. Tristan leapt to the side.
Right.
Back to business.
He gave a sharp whistle, backing up against the tree. Several hounds bounded toward him. Their fangs gleamed white in the moonlight, their eyes throwing off golden sparks; Tristan forced himself to wait. One second. Two. Then — just as the hounds were meters away — he threw the first orb.
The ball exploded into purple flames.
The hounds erupted into golden dust. Several more approached, their claws sending up showers of earth. Tristan launched a second explosive. A third. Blood sang in his ears, a haunting, eerie rhythm. He'd packed five explosives — thank gods he came prepared — but after that, he was defenseless.
The fourth explosive went off.
Tristan gripped the fifth with sweaty fingers, trying to steady his breathing. There were only a few hounds left; Anna was grappling with two smaller dogs, and Eris was wrestling with a large one. Two others charged toward him.
He released the explosive.
The first dog vanished. The second hound dodged, hurtling straight toward him.
"Shit," Tristan muttered.
He hardly had time to throw up his hands before the hound pounced. Hot breath washed over his face. The beast's breath smelled like rotten meat, and Tristan pushed desperately at its shoulders, trying to shove it off. Searing pain exploded in his shoulder, and a cry was ripped from his chest.
He was going to die, Tristan realized, his blood running cold. He was going to die, right here in this godsdamn forest, and—
The hound vanished.
Anna stood over him, panting. Her sword was covered in strange golden goo. Tristan sat up; his shoulder was throbbing, and judging from the look on Anna's face, it looked how it felt.
"Stay down," Anna said. "It's safer."
A hound leapt on her.
Anna whirled, sending out a silver whip. The magic sliced the hound in two. The other dog charged, and Anna raised her hands, silver stars crackling around her fingers. Then she cried out, doubling over. Her body was trembling.
Tristan blinked. What in the burning hells was she—?
"Move," Eris said.
His face was like cold thunder. He flung his knife. For a long, terrible moment, Tristan thought that he'd aimed for Anna — that the knife was going to collide with her throat — but it struck the dog instead. The beast let out a whine, dissolving into golden goo. Slowly, Anna clambered to her feet.
"Shame." Her voice was light. "I liked these boots."
Tristan got to his feet, wincing as his shoulder throbbed. "What was that?"
She shrugged. "I'm out of practice."
Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
He couldn't keep the skepticism out of his voice. This was Annalise Cidarius, after all. She was the Queen of Shadows; the Nightweaver Queen. She'd pulled a castle full of nightmare magic into her body four months ago and survived the ordeal. To be felled by one hound...
No.
Tristan didn't believe her.
Anna ground her shoe into the earth, scraping off the goo. "You try being locked in a tower for four months and tell me how you like it."
She shivered. She looked pale, Tristan thought; he could see the blue veins standing out in her neck. But maybe that was normal. He didn't know much about nightmare magic — had never bothered to learn — so he didn't know how the Low worked. Did Nightweavers shake after using magic?
Maybe.
He had no idea.
Not, Tristan thought firmly, that it mattered; Annalise Cidarius might have just saved his life, but she wasn't his friend. Not by a long shot.
Eris's eyes were on the dark forest. "I'm going to scan the perimeter. Make sure that was the last of them."
He stormed into the bush. Anna crossed to the horses, rummaging in her saddlebag. She produced a roll of bandages and a small green bottle.
"Sit down," she said.
Tristan's shoulder gave a painful throb. "I'm fine."
"You're bleeding everywhere." Her voice was calm. "Riding tomorrow will only agitate that injury. Trust me."
"But I don't," Tristan said, eyeing the small bottle. "Trust you."
They studied each other. Anna's face was half-hidden in shadow. The only sound was the faint crackle of the flames and the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Finally, Anna blew out a breath, shifting her weight to one hip.
"If I wanted to kill you, Beauchamp," she said, "I'd have the decency to stab you in the face."
"Would you?"
"I would," Anna said, and Tristan was surprised to find that he believed her. "Now stop being a child and take off your shirt."
Tristan sighed. Slowly — painfully — he shrugged off the shirt, biting down on his tongue until he tasted blood. Great bloody dragon balls, that hurt. A strange ringing began in his ears, and he hardly felt the sting of it as Anna poured the bottle over his shoulder.
"There." She corked the bottle. "That should clean it. And help with the pain."
"Thanks." It hurt him to say the word.
Anna lifted an eyebrow. "You're welcome."
She began to unwind the white bandages, her fingers working expertly. Then again, Tristan thought, she was an expert; she'd fooled them all into believing that she was a healer for the better part of a year. He stared into the flames.
"Could you have helped Ryne?" Tristan asked.
Anna paused. "What do you mean?"
"The curse." Tristan turned to look at her. "If you'd known what it was, could you have helped him?"
Firelight flickered across her face. "Curses are different to regular injuries and sicknesses."
"That's not an answer."
"No," Anna said. "I couldn't have."
She lifted his arm with surprisingly gentle fingers. Tristan winced as she wrapped the bandages. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it was an odd sort of pressure. Like feeling too hot beneath a comforter.
"I almost died in his place, you know," Tristan said. "When I was fourteen. I was in love with him and I took on the curse." The fire was hot on his face. "Ryne came into the infirmary and told me that he found me disgusting. I didn't speak to him for three years. At the time, I thought I hated him."
He wasn't sure why he was telling her. To punish her? To shock her? Maybe he was in shock, Tristan thought, wincing as Anna tightened the bandage. Yes. That must be it. Anna tied the end of the bandage into a knot.
"And now?" she asked.
Tristan lowered his arm. "Now, I feel foolish for not realizing the truth sooner. Ryne and I used to go fishing with his father, you know. Out on Rosewood Lake." He thought of the water, dyed pink by the coral; how fish lay snuggled at the bottom like pastel-coloured sweets in a dish. "Arthur preferred catch-and-release, but Ryne always insisted on killing a fish and taking it home for supper. He couldn't understand why people enjoyed hurting hundreds of fish purely for the sport of it."
Anna sat a healthy distance away. "What are you trying to say?"
"Ryne is ruthless," Tristan said, "but he's sensible. Everything he does has a purpose."
He could feel Anna watching him. "So you forgive him for what he did?"
"Yes."
"You're not upset with him?"
"It must have been lonely," Tristan said. "Pushing people away. Never letting anyone get too close." He picked up a stick, drawing a six-pointed star in the dirt. "No, I'm not upset with him. I only pity him."
Anna shifted her weight. "What if he'd forced you to fall in love with someone else to break the curse? Would you have forgiven him then?"
Tristan shook his head. "Ryne would never do that."
"Say that he did."
Anna's eyes were dark blue, the underbelly of the sea. Tristan picked up a stick, poking at the flames; they hissed and crackled beneath his touch.
"I don't know," he said. "But I do know one thing."
"And what's that?" Anna asked.
Tristan threw the stick into the fire. Flames licked at the wood, eating away at the skin; white ash drifted down like snow. When he looked at Anna, something cold settled in his chest, heavy as lead.
"Ryne would never forgive himself for that. Never."
***
Eris Delafort stormed through the woods.
Birds startled in the trees, silhouetted against the moon like dark ghosts. Somewhere, a fox screamed. He picked up his pace, branches snapping beneath his feet. Part of him was aware that he was being loud — conspicuous, even — but he didn't give a single shit. Not after what had just occurred.
"Lucia!" His voice carried through the trees. "Lucia, show your godsdamn face."
No response. Eris turned in a circle.
"Lucia!" Fury clawed at his chest. "Where in the seven hells are—?"
"Hello, little lordling."
Eris whirled around. Lucia stood in the clearing, her golden hair floating in a phantom breeze. She was dressed as she always was — a white dress, golden bracelets, and a crown of flames above her head — and her feet were bare. Normally, Eris found the sight of them erotic. Today, he could have happily chopped her toes off with a sword.
"What the actual fuck was that?" he snarled.
"Sun Hounds." Lucia's face was impassive. "Magnificent creatures, aren't they? I have formed many creatures over the millennia, but my hounds are my best work." He could see the outline of trees through her ghostly figure. "They're so... obedient."
His heartbeat pulsed in his ears. "You could have killed me."
She folded her hands. "The hounds were under strict instruction not to harm you."
"Well," Eris muttered, "they had a bloody funny way of showing it."
Lucia cocked her head in a gesture that was distinctly otherworldly. "You're upset with me. How human."
Eris crossed his arms. "You should have warned me."
He sounded sulky. He felt sulky, Eris thought darkly; he'd spent the last few weeks running around to seedy pubs like Lucia's errand boy, collecting ingredients for whatever possession ritual she was cooking up. And this was how she repaid him?
Bloody ungrateful wench.
Lucia took a step forward. "Then your reaction would not have been genuine." She cupped his face, her golden eyes gentle. "Annalise Cidarius needs to trust you, little lordling. She needs to believe that you're on the same side."
Eris looked down. "She'll never trust me."
"Of course she will." Lucia's voice was soothing. "You're Eris Delafort. You're far cleverer than she is."
He sighed. "I can't keep this up for much longer."
Lucia brushed a hand against his cheek. Eris leaned into her phantom fingers, trying to imagine how they would feel. Warm? Smooth? He tried to imagine gripping her hips, her naked silken flesh writhing against him. How good it would feel to take her; to have a goddess at his mercy, begging for him to keep going. To worship her in every way that mattered. Soon, Eris told himself, closing his eyes. I'll have her soon.
"Just get her to the Tower," Lucia murmured. "I'll take care of the rest."