You have to get the lay of the land.
And you need to locate the thing you’re trying to steal.
You need information about what you’re going to encounter. Guards. Opposition. Vaults and magical deterrents. The wards you’re likely to breach…. Everything.
Then the magic happens: You create a distraction, something that’s going to pull everyone’s attention like an explosion. Something like… a wedding where the groom seemingly dies. Throw in a fake bride. An assassination of the prince of the court. Mix it with hundreds of wedding guests all trying to play their own power games, and you have one potent moment in time where nobody’s going to be thinking about the horn.
But the secret ingredient that binds everything together?
Timing.
You have to know when to make the grab.
I Sift along the hallway, alighting in each shadow only long enough to get my bearings before I vanish again. I can’t afford to have anyone see me, but what I really needed was to take Falion out of the equation.
Good thing I have his secret weakness up my sleeve.
He’s been itching to get the upper hand on my sister ever since the summer she tried to kill Mistmark, Soraya said.
She’s going to kill me when she discovers the truth about those wedding vows. But I’m starting to learn my lessons. I can’t trust anybody. Not truly. She’ll betray me the second she gets a chance, and so this time, I took the leap first.
Now how are you going to work your way around Keir?
Later, conscience. We’ll have this discussion later.
The whiny little bitch sighs, but she gives up. Maybe she knows this is not the right moment to be trying to get me to be a better woman.
Two seconds later, I’m standing at the entrance to the maze.
The questing beast lurks in there somewhere. I just know it.
There’s a reason the fae have been vanishing. It’s got nothing to do with the antics of the Court of Blood, and everything to do with an enormous chimera of nightmarish form who might not be getting fed as frequently as she’d like.
I think about everything I know about Mistmark and Falion.
The first time I saw them conspiring, they were in the checkerboard garden. And according to Mistmark’s letter, the horn is “right where the queen should be.”
Checkerboard.
Or chess board?
I Sift through the maze, bouncing between each dapple of shadow until I reach the magnificent checkerboard of lawn. Nothing moves but the whisper of wind through the trees, but I can smell something gamey.
Perfect. The beast must be close by.
Wrapping the shadows around me, I creep along the wall of the hedge as I scan the area.
There’s something hidden there in the shadows of the enormous bloodstar tree. I don’t think I’d have even noticed it myself if there wasn’t something about the way the shadows twist that catches my eye as wrong. And I certainly wouldn’t have noticed it if I wasn’t looking for it.
Taking a slow breath, I ease toward it, hoping the beast can’t scent me.
It’s a casket woven of shadows themselves. They’re bound together so tightly I can barely see through them, and if not for my gifts, the golden chest beneath them would be almost invisible.
The Horn of Shadows.
Falion.
It’s incredible work, somewhat like that cloak of his. I’ve never even thought it was possible.
But how to pierce the shadows?
I can hear the questing beast’s breath writhing through its lungs like the sound of three dozen distant hounds wheezing. The echoing timbre of that sound makes it difficult to pinpoint, but I know it’s here somewhere. Each breath is slow and steady.
Asleep.
Sifting closer, I try and shield myself in the shadows.
Nothing moves.
But every instinct is on alert as I kneel before the casket.
I tentatively touch the casket before me. It’s chill and cool and somehow impenetrable. And yet, it stirs beneath my touch, like a cat arching into a pat.
Somehow, the shadows meld around my fingers. It’s not unlike the way I can slip through them, but this time, I’m using them to coat my skin. Allowing them to part around me like a glove.
Is this how he does it?
I coax them to part, feeling the cool slip and slide of them. The chest appears, gold lock dulled by years of wear. It’s a simple thing to pick for a master thief.
I glance around as I slowly open the chest. The hinges squeal, and I freeze.
Only the wind stirs through the trees of bloodstar, but there’s a different timbre to that wheeze now. If the beast was asleep, then it’s only dozing now.
I ease the chest open, and my breath catches as I find the horn, nestled in a bed of red velvet.
The Horn of Shadows is cast of ancient brass, and you can almost see the marks where someone has lovingly polished it in the past.
I stroke the smooth curve of the horn. It was created by the same dwarf who crafted the cauldron. They say a single blow of the horn will bring the ghostly hunt to life, the hounds who guard the cauldron riding at the bidding of the horn blower.
But the horn can only be blown by one.
Your life will be tied to it forever—or at least, until death.
“Well,” says a voice behind me. “It’s all starting to make sense now. You’ve grown a little more ruthless, dearest sister. You lied right to my face. We were supposed to retrieve the horn together, but imagine my surprise when I came across that brainless little apparition that’s perched on Keir’s lap, eating sweetmeats.”
Leaves rustle as if something enormous is moving behind them. I slash a hand through the air in desperation as Soraya stalks into the clearing, trying to urge her to shut up.
It’s too late.
I finally realize where the bloody beast is.
It’s not hiding behind the bloodstar trees.
It’s been there all along, right in plain sight, the scales on its body rippling into a patterned background that matches the maze as it moves. Dapples of its
