Chapter 22
Isla
He regards me for a few moments; his jaw is tight. “There is no ‘my way’ or ‘your way.’ Trust me when I tell you that this is the safest option for you, Isla. You need to go before it’s too late,” he insists, scrubbing a hand over his face, the stubble catching.
“What are you planning?” I ask. I don’t like this one bit.
His expression doesn’t change. His eyes give nothing away either. “The plan is simple…I need to take back the realm.”
“You do? Or all of the Lost Kings do? It sounds to me like you are planning a suicide mission. Is that it, Sebastian? Are you going to take on the queen alone? Because that would be foolish. She knows that you are still in the Shadow Court. It’s why she is still on her way here, despite your escape. Belen told Julienne and me earlier.”
His eyes flare with shock for a moment.
“It doesn’t change anything. You need to leave, Isla.”
“Why do I have to go?” I frown. “What if I refuse?”
A muscle twitches near his eye. I’ve struck a nerve.
Good.
“I won’t let you stay,” he tells me.
I want to scream. I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until the stubbornness falls out.
“I am a grown woman. You might be a king, but you don’t have any say over me.”
His mouth twitches in what I think is the start of a smile.
“For what it’s worth, I respect your courage. I like you.” He shrugs.
Something warms in me, but I push it down. This is no time for feeling warm and fuzzy over a stubborn male.
“But this is not your fight,” he goes on.
I frown, shaking my head. “Of course it is. It is all of our fight. We need to come together to win. You are only one; you stand no chance.”
He gives me the ghost of a smile, and my heart stutters. I’ve gone quite mad. That much is clear.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. Our time is running out. If you don’t leave now, we will be captured.”
“I told you I’m—” I start to say.
“Hold on tight,” he tells me.
“What?” I frown. “Why?”
My hands close around the saddle horn.
Sebastian leans over and brings his hand down hard on Jack’s rump.
I suck in a breath as Jack jumps beneath me.
Then he launches forward like an arrow from a bow, and straight for the barrier.
I’m thrown back in the saddle, my fingers grabbing tighter around the horn, my thighs grip too.
The world blurs around me as Jack tears across the grass at a flat gallop.
I have to hold back a scream.
It isn’t long before Jack hits the barrier at full speed. I feel that familiar tingling sensation rushing over my skin, and then we’re through. The air changes instantly. It’s colder, heavier, tasting of damp earth and rot. The ground beneath Jack’s hooves turns from green grass to grey mud.
Jack keeps running, his hooves throwing up clods of wet earth. The saddle lurches beneath me with every stride. I’m bouncing, my seat precarious.
I take in a few deep breaths and grapple for the reins. They’re flapping loose against Jack’s neck, just out of reach. I lean forward, stretching my fingers. One hand firm on the horn. Body low. Reaching with the other hand.
My fingers close around the leather.
“Whoa,” I say. My voice is thin, breathless. Jack’s ears flick back, but he doesn’t slow. “Whoa, Jack. Easy.”
I pull the reins back, steady and firm. I sit deeper into the saddle, pressing my weight down through my seat bones, and I keep my voice low and even.
“Easy, boy. Easy now. That’s it. Good boy. That’s it, Jack.”
His stride shortens. The wild gallop becomes a lope, then a jarring trot that hurts me in places I care not to mention. I keep talking to him, keep my hands steady on the reins, keep my legs pressed against his sides.
“Good boy. There you go. Settle down.”
Jack drops to a walk, blowing hard. His sides heave beneath my legs, his nostrils flaring with each breath. He tosses his head once, twice, then settles.
I sit there for a moment, breathing almost as hard as he is. My heart is racing. My thighs burning.
I look back toward the barrier and into the court beyond it.
There is no sign of Sebastian.
That stubborn, infuriating, self-sacrificing fool. That bastard! How dare he?
He’s going to get himself killed.
I should keep going. I should do exactly what he wants me to do. Ride south, find a settlement, start over. Forget about the Shadowfae King. But I can’t.
“Goddess give me strength,” I mutter.
I’ll need it to deal with a male like Sebastian.
He never planned to leave the court. He planned to wait for Queen Snow. To intercept her.
Blood roars in my ears.
And he’s going to die trying to do it, too.
That infuriating male needs me, whether he’ll admit it or not. We are stronger together. I proved it on that road. He can’t do this alone, and I won’t let him throw his life away without at least trying to talk sense into him.
I am going after him.
My father taught me how to track. It was one of the few gifts he gave me before the fever took him.
“The ground tells you everything,” he used to say. “You just have to know how to listen.”
I know how to listen, and I’m listening now.
I squeeze Jack into a lope, angling north along the tree line. Sebastian’s horse’s hoof prints are deep and fresh. The stride is long and even. He wasn’t zigzagging or trying to obscure his path. He wasn’t expecting to be followed.
I slow to a jog, and the sorrel responds. My grip on the reins is more natural now, my weight better distributed.
I follow the prints, keeping my eyes on the ground.
Where the earth hardens, I look for other signs.
At one point, I have to dismount, leading Jack.
Looking backwards and forwards for any sign of a horse passing through here.
It doesn’t take long to find a fresh scuff on a root where the gelding’s hoof caught the wood.
I mount up, pleased when I manage to get into the saddle on the first try.
A little further, there are young ferns crushed flat by a heavy hoof, as well as a low-hanging branch with its bark scraped raw where a rider passed too close.
The forest thins, giving way to scrubby undergrowth and rocky ground. The tracking grows harder here, the earth less forgiving of prints. But Sebastian wasn’t trying to hide his trail.
I find where his horse’s hooves churned the loose gravel on a slope, leaving a skid mark as it descended too fast. Pebbles scattered downhill, the disturbance still visible in the otherwise undisturbed ground.
A little further, there is a pile of fresh droppings, dark and steaming faintly in the cool air.
I’m close.
The rocky outcrop comes into view ahead. The large boulders are piled together like ruins.
The earth is loose here with deep grooves cut into the soft ground. It looks like Sebastian’s horse took off at a gallop.
I use my hand to shield my eyes, looking ahead, but there is no sign of the beast.
Why did Sebastian take off at a gallop? It doesn’t look like anyone gave chase.
I dismount, leading Jack backwards and forwards until I spot a footprint. It looks like Sebastian dismounted. I frown.
“What are you doing here?” Sebastian asks from between the boulders.
I half-jump out of my skin as I turn to face him.
“Don’t walk up on a person like that,” I tell him.
His shoulders lock. His hands ball into fists at his sides. His eyes blaze with fury.
“What in Kakara’s name are you doing here, Isla?” The words come out quiet, lethal. “You should have left this place. If you stay anywhere near me, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“I should ask you the same.” I put my hands on my hips. “What are you doing here?”
He takes a step toward me, and there is something almost wild in his expression. “Leave now. Turn that horse around and go.”
I hold his gaze. My pulse is hammering, but not from fear.
Then I reach back and slap Jack hard on the rump in much the same way Sebastian did before.
“Go home,” I tell him.
The sorrel bolts. He takes off at a startled gallop, heading south along the tree line, his reins flapping against his neck.
Sebastian watches as Jack disappears in a cloud of dust. When he turns back to me, his entire body is taut. His jaw could cut stone. His eyes burn with a heat that should terrify me.
It doesn’t.
He looks like a male ready to tear the world apart. Every line of his body is drawn with rage; his chest rises and falls with hard breaths. He towers over me, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
Something hot and liquid pools low in my belly at the sight of him standing there.
I’ve lost my mind. I’ve completely, irrevocably lost my mind.
His hand closes around mine. His grip is firm, his palm rough. He pulls me forward, through the narrow gap in the rocks, into the hidden alcove beyond.