"You need to apologize," Tristan said.
They were standing at the edge of the Somnus Woods. Early morning light trickled through the trees, illuminating the green underbelly of leaves. The scent of damp earth and crisp apple and horse hung heavy in the air. Isaac paused, his hands on his mount's bridle.
"You're joking," he said.
Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"
He cut his eyes to where Owain and Sophie were examining a map, speaking in low voices. It had been like that all morning, Isaac thought: low voices as they ate handfuls of cheese and nuts for breakfast, low voices as they led the horses up the winding path from Tarhalla, low voices as they filled up their flasks in a stream.
Sophie knew something. She'd guessed something.
That much was clear.
"He lied to us." Isaac's voice was terse. "For gods' sake, Beauchamp, he pretended to be a bloody cat for the last three years."
"He didn't pretend," Tristan said mildly. "He was a cat."
Isaac yanked on a strap. "Do you hear yourself?"
"If it wasn't for Owain," Tristan said, "we'd still be in prison. He risked everything to break us out of Stillwater." He fiddled with a lump in his pocket. An explosive he'd squirreled away, no doubt. "Or have you forgotten that part?"
"Fine!" Isaac held up his hands. "Fine. Look, if you want me to apologize to your boyfriend, then I will."
Tristan studied him calmly. "Good. Go apologize." He shifted the saddlebag into place. "I'll finish with the horses."
Isaac sighed.
Well. No putting it off, then.
He stalked across the grassy pitch. Sophie and Owain fell silent. Isaac's expression must have been unpleasant because Sophie muttered something about filling up her flask, disappearing toward the stream.
"Hi," Isaac said.
Owain took a sip of water. "Hi."
"You all set?"
"Yes," Owain said.
A short silence fell. Isaac briefly fantasized about impaling himself on the nearest tree branch. It looked sharp enough to do some serious damage, Isaac thought hopefully; might even hit an internal organ, if he played his cards right.
"Look," Isaac said, "I'm sorry about last night."
Owain didn't smile. "Oh. You mean when you almost exposed my true nature to a group of potentially hostile resistance fighters?"
"Yeah," Isaac said. "That." He paused, searching for the right words. Apologies weren't foreign to him but lying was. He made a point of telling the truth, even when it wasn't convenient. "I was being a dick."
Owain nodded. "You have a lot of rage inside you."
Isaac blinked.
Right. Good chat.
He nodded at the map. "Do you need help with that?"
Owain shook his head. "I wouldn't advise going into those woods." He rolled up the map, stuffing it into his pocket. "The faeries do not take kindly to visitors."
"I need answers," Isaac said.
Owain frowned. "You will not get them."
"Well," Isaac said dryly, "thank-you for your sparkling optimism." He clapped Owain on the shoulder. "I'm going to go mount my horse now."
He turned back to the horses. Isaac was just swinging his leg over top of the saddle when Sophie appeared, her chin damp with water. She wiped at it impatiently with her sleeve, and Isaac was surprised to feel a pang. It was a very Anna thing to do.
"Shadow," Sophie said.
He raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"
Sophie rested a hand on his horse. "The faeries give nothing for free. Be on your guard."
Wariness filled him. "I'm aware."
"Good." Sophie stroked his horse's ears. "You were right to be suspicious yesterday. The poison was on your pillows, though; an odorless gas, easily disguised." She dropped her hand. "You'll need to return within twelve hours if you'd like the antidote."
Isaac sighed. Gods-damn nightweavers. "What's the alternative?"
Sophie smiled. "You die."
"You know," Isaac said, "I can see where Anna gets it from."
Sophie shrugged. "I can't take all the credit. Some people are born to be great." She patted his horse's rump. "Safe travels."
Isaac squeezed his thighs. The horse lurched forward, meandering into the woods. Golden light trickled through the canopy, curling around toadstools and blue butterflies and moss-covered logs. It was beautiful, Isaac thought, in the way that the most dangerous things were always beautiful.
Tristan drew closer. "Do you know where you're going?"
Isaac nodded. "Sophie showed me a map."
Tristan squinted through the trees. "How far is it?"
"A few hours," Isaac said.
"Right."
They splashed through a stream, leaning forward as their horses scrabbled up the muddy bank. Isaac relaxed into his saddle. He felt better when he was moving, even when that movement was taking him towards a group of hostile faeries.
Isaac steered his horse around an overturned log. "Have you been in the Somnus Woods before?"
"Once." Tristan's voice was short.
"What happened?"
His jaw tightened. "Eris Delafort locked me in a tower and starved me for three weeks."
"Delightful," Isaac muttered.
They lapsed into silence. Isaac stroked his horse's neck absently, taking in the white star near its eye. Once, there was a calf in the stables that looked just like this. Aster. He'd been a little thing, all brown-and-white, with legs like spaghetti noodles. "He's a twin," the stable hand had explained. "The cow can't recognize when she's had two children, you see. She orphans one of them. Starves him of milk."
The stable hand tried everything. Wrapping the calf in a scented blanket so another cow would take to it. Bottle-feeding. Injections. But Aster had grown weaker and weaker, just a sack of bones on a pile of hay.
Isaac mentioned it over breakfast one morning. He cut into a piece of sausage and said, "I think that new calf is going to die."
And Camille had looked at him and said, "No. He isn't."
They began visiting the stables together. Taking picnic baskets of fresh milk, and warm blankets, and chopped grass. Camille lay on her stomach and read stories to the calf. She would giggle at the parts she found funny, occasionally putting on silly voices. Aster grew fat and content, venturing closer until he was in Camille's lap.
"It's working," Isaac said, shaking his head. "It's actually working."
"Yeah," Camille said.
"Why?"
Camille shrugged. "The calf just needed to be loved. Everyone needs love."
Isaac's hands tightened on the reins.
He wondered what happened to Aster. Camille would know. She was always better at following up on things, on sending birthday letters and remembering servant's names and checking whether the kitchens had received those potatoes. His chest tightened, so suddenly that it was painful.
"Here," Owain said.
Isaac looked up. They'd reached a small stone bridge, stretching between two idyllic green banks. The air smelled of honey and roasted nuts. A stream burbled over grey pebbles. It would have been charming, Isaac thought, if it weren't for the flowers.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
All red. All veiny. All with razor sharp teeth.
He slid from his horse, poking at one experimentally with a stick. The flower snapped its jaws, wrenching the wood from his hand.
Tristan swallowed. "Those flowers look..."
"Creepy as hell?" Isaac finished.
"I was going to say hungry."
"Go ahead," Owain said. "I'll remain here."
The other boy was sitting atop his horse, his hair a brilliant red flame in the sunlight. Irritation flickered in Isaac's chest.
"Nice try, cat-boy," Isaac said, striding forward. "I don't think so." He yanked Owain from the horse. "If you think I'm leaving you here with all our supplies and three horses, then you're even more deluded than I originally thought."
"Webb," Tristan said.
His voice was a warning. Isaac ignored him, grabbing a fistful of Owain's shirt. The other boy looked chagrined.
"Please," Owain said. "This is silk."
Isaac ignored this. "You're coming with us."
"No."
"Why?" Isaac raised an eyebrow. "Are you scared?"
Owain's face was calm. "You're trying to bait me. It won't work."
Isaac dropped him. He half-expected Owain to stumble, but the other boy merely stepped back with an infuriating amount of grace. Blood pounded in his ears. Did nobody else find that strange? Did nobody else find it alarming that three days ago, this dickhead had been a cat?
Sod it.
Owain was coming with them, Isaac thought grimly, whether he liked it or not.
He drew a knife.
"I have an idea," Isaac said, stepping forward. "Why don't you summon the faeries?"
Tristan held up a hand. "Webb, don't."
"I suggest you back away from me," Owain said.
He didn't sound particularly worried. He was overconfident in his skills, Isaac thought grimly, or deluded enough to think that Isaac wouldn't actually hurt him. Either way, Owain was wrong. Big mistake.
"I have a suggestion, too," Isaac said. "Why don't you tell us who you really are?"
He backed Owain into the stone bridge. The knife felt warm in his hands. Isaac grabbed a fistful of the other boy's shirt, slamming him against the wall. Tristan took a step forward, his face alarmed.
"Isaac!"
"Unhand me," Owain said. "Now."
"Who are you?" Isaac demanded. "What do you want?"
His heart slammed in his ears. Isaac felt like he was shuddering apart, a man on a ledge, staring down into the vast black emptiness beneath him. What was there left to live for? He'd lost his home. He'd lost his best friend. He'd lost the woman he loved. Now, he was just going and going and going, because he didn't know how to do anything else.
He didn't know how to stop.
"Let go of me," Owain repeated.
He shook him. "Tell me!"
"Isaac," Tristan said.
Tristan lunged. Isaac spun, catching him in the chest with a hand. His knife slid into something soft and warm. Blue droplets spattered the ground, and it took him a moment to realize that he'd struck Owain, that he'd sliced him across the forearm.
Owain stared at the blue droplets in horror.
"No."
The other boy fell to his knees. The blue liquid was seeping into the cracks of the bridge, running into the hungry mouths of the flowers. The red blooms cackled and jeered. Owain clawed at the ground.
"No." Owain's hands were covered in blue. "No, no, no."
Thunder rumbled. The bridge rocked.
Isaac stumbled sideways. Grey clouds were closing in, casting the woods in shadow. The stone bridge was vibrating. He gripped the ledge.
"What's happening?" Isaac demanded.
"You moron," Owain said. "You have no idea what you've done."
His heart pounded. "What are you talking about?"
Owain threw back his head and laughed. Something about the sound of it raised the hair on Isaac's arm. "It's too late. I can't stop it."
"Stop what?" Isaac demanded.
Owain looked up at the sky. "He's coming."
"Who's coming?"
Owain's eyes were dark. "You've just summoned the King of Faeries."
Lightning split the sky. Water churned beneath them, frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. Rain lashed down in sheets. Owain tipped his head back, red hair plastered to his pale skin, and laced his fingers as if he was praying. Slowly — mechanically — all the flowers turned their heads towards the treeline. A shiver slid down Isaac's spine.
A man stepped out of the trees.
His body was tall and lean, blooming open at the shoulders like a spring flower. His brown hair fell past his shoulders, and a crown of thorns haloed his head. He could have been twenty. He also could have been sixty, Isaac thought; it was impossible to tell.
"Owain," the man said. "I did not expect to see you this soon."
Slowly, Owain opened his eyes. Rain clung to his coppery lashes, and his shirt was soaked through, revealing the knobs of his spine. He bowed his head.
"Father," Owain said.