“Make a fire. I’m cold,” he says.
“If I make a fire, then every predator in the vicinity is going to smell it.”
The grimalkin gives me an unblinking look. “Do you insult me?”
“How is that an insult?”
“I am the Lord of Shadows.” He pushes to his feet and stalks toward me. “I am the Merciless Night. I am the Teeth That Tear At An Unprotected Throat and the Claws That Slash Like Knives. There are no predators in these parts, for they fled the second they heard me moving through the woods.”
Someone thinks highly of himself.
“There were shadows on the mountainside,” I grind out.
“They will scent me and know to avoid me. I am the Terror With No Mercy.”
“If you’re such a terrifying creature, then why are you following me?” A thought occurs. “Did she send you to me?”
The last thing I remember is the Mother of Night’s touch across my forehead.
“I have no master or mistress. I came because I Saw you. And I need you.” He sniffs and settles himself near my feet.
“Need me to do what?”
“Do I look like I have hands? Make yourself useful for once and fetch some wood. And then do the thing that makes the fire. We have hours before the Hallow is recharged enough to use, and I intend to spend them in comfort.”
I grit my teeth. “I am not taking orders from an overgrown cat.”
It continues licking its paw, but this time, little scythes cut through the furry pad, and it looks at me as if to say, Claws That Slash Like Knives.
“Make the fire, and I will tell you where you are and which rune aligns with your home.”
“You furry little son of a—”
“Careful.”
“You know which rune I need?” I push to my feet.
And the grimalkin stares back at me, unblinking.
Of course it knows.
And of course it’s not going to tell me unless I do what it wants.
A minute later, I’m slipping through the underbrush, gathering dry timber as I curse under my breath. Somehow, I’ve gone from being the ruling Queen of Evernight to cat lackey within the space of a few hours, and I don’t know how it happened.
I dig a hole into the dirt in order to hide the flames and then set the fire.
“There doesn’t appear to be enough wood,” the grimalkin tells me from his perch on a nearby rock.
“We’re not laying the Samhain bonfires,” I reply through gritted teeth. “And I intend to use the Hallow to get out of here the second it’s recharged.”
Snapping my fingers, I set the pile of tinder on fire.
The grimalkin’s eyes thin to pleased slits, and it basks in the heat. “You are useful, after all. I may keep you.”
“And you owe me answers. Where are we?”
“The ruins of Charun.”
I rub my arms and look around. Not so far north of Valerian and Evernight, but too far for comfort. And deep in the lands of the goblin horde. “Why would the fetch have brought me here?”
“I know not what fills its filthy mind,” the grimalkin assures me, “though perhaps it sought to meet someone here.”
“Thank you for planting that thought in my mind,” I mutter, suddenly wondering if the shadow to my left is a tree or a monster.
“There is also a direct ley line to the Black Keep from here. There are very few Hallows that lead to the keep.”
“Also not helping.”
The Black Keep is where the Horned One finally fell and was locked away in a prison world. Though it’s not the seat of Angharad’s power, if she wants to resurrect him, that’s where she will do it.
And she needs my blood to resurrect him.
I need to get safely home, but he’s right. The low-level buzzing through the Hallow tells me we’re still hours away from it replenishing itself.
Pushing myself to my feet, I wince at my aching bones and cross to the edge of the circle of firelight. The Hallow stones form slowly as my eyes grow accustomed to the lack of light out here.
This is where Maia revealed her godhood and overthrew Sylvian. This is where they both fell, and where Maia ascended to rule over us all. Charun’s been a holy site for centuries, and the fae used to make pilgrimages here until the lands were ceded to the goblin horde during the Wars of Light and Shadow as payment for siding with the seelie.
I press my palm against the nearest Hallow stone.
Little pockets scar the surface where the glyphs were once laid, and I frown as I lean closer. I’d thought they were chiseled free, but the stone beneath my fingers is roughhewn and pitted, as if the stone itself exploded.
And then I blink.
There are three moons in front of me. One in the night sky; one reflected in the water of the lake; and the last shimmering in the distance, just above the lake’s surface.
I don’t know whether it’s a trick of the light or—
“It’s what remains of the crystal keep,” the grimalkin muses.
“The what?”
“It was built by the otherkin who worshipped the Daughter of the Three Moons. It stood here for centuries until the fae arrived and destroyed it, as they destroyed everything.”
I shoot him a look.
“What?” He tilts his head. “Do your history books not speak of the invasion? The fae came and conquered all who walked these lands. They chained them, and broke them, and shattered their Hallows. Your great goddess herself is responsible for the one you stand beside.”
There’s a dirty taste in my mouth. “Maia was trying to overthrow Queen Sylvian. She’d gone mad.”
“Ah, yes,” the grimalkin purrs. “But have you ever wondered precisely how Maia conquered her fellow queen? They were much of a muchness, were they not? And little Queen Sylvian had her own personal army of fused warriors. An army that could not be defeated, they
