edge, running through the trees and into the mist-shrouded night. The blood knew the way, and so I trusted the blood, not questioning my steps as I ran into the gray. Before I’d run very far, I could see the distant glow of the fire burning in the clearing of Blind Michael’s village. The Riders were gathering again. Good. That meant that he’d be there for me to find.
At least the realm wasn’t actively hindering me. I stumbled on a few rocks, but that was only to be expected; I was running over ground I couldn’t see, and if I hadn’t tripped, I’d have thought that I was running into a trap.
I really need to learn to think more.
I could hear the Riders shouting when I was barely halfway across the plains. They sounded pissed, and I couldn’t blame them; from their perspective, the Luidaeg and company had interfered with their big holiday parade. Of course, their big holiday parade consisted of kidnapping and brainwashing, but what’s a little horrific torture between friends? There was nothing left to distract me and no one left to save. It was almost a relief; sometimes it’s nice to get back to basics. I’d kill Blind Michael or die trying. Kill or be killed. Live or die.
A cut had opened on my forehead, and blood ran into my eyes as I ran through the village, heading for the light. No one stopped me, not even when I burst into the clearing, screaming,
The whole Court was there, gathered for whatever celebration I was interrupting. It was too much at once. I stumbled, surprised, and two Riders stepped out of the crowd to grab me, pinning my arms to my sides. “Fight me, you bastard!” I kicked wildly, trying to free myself. They just laughed.
Blind Michael was sitting where I’d known he’d be, high on his throne—the small part of me that wished I’d finished the Ride always knew where he was. For that traitorous part of me, he was still my god.
He must have seen that tiny part of my heart shining in my eyes, because he laughed, saying, “So the prodigal returns, as I knew she would. I had enough time to work on her. Let her come to me.”
The Riders let go of my arms and fell into line with the others, forming a wide circle around their lord. Probably wise. If I lost, they’d be right there to get the body; if I won, they’d be close enough to take me down. Pessimism really doesn’t improve most situations.
I glared at them, spitting blood onto the ground as I walked toward Blind Michael. He was wearing the armor he’d donned for the Ride, but the mirrored sheen was gone, buried under dust and smears of dried blood. His supernatural composure was gone as well, replaced by an expression of angry irritation.
He only held my attention for a moment. Then it was drawn to the chair next to him, where Acacia sat, yellow eyes wide and empty. Her hair was woven into the chair’s wicker back, locking her in place.
“What have you done to her?” I demanded.
Blind Michael frowned, brows knitting over ice-white eyes. “Don’t speak to me that way.” His words held the weight of commandments. I felt another cut open on the inside of my left arm, adding its silent trickle of blood to the rest. “Never speak to me that way.”
It was hard to move with him staring down at me like that, but I managed to raise one hand to my mouth, licking fresh blood from my fingers. The pressure of his words and gaze subsided, fading to an annoying buzz at the back of my mind. My power has always come mostly from the blood. Not even he could touch me while I had it.
“I’ll speak to you however I like,” I said. “Now get down here and fight me.”
“Why?” He narrowed his eyes. My vision fragmented, coming from every direction at once as he forced me to look through the eyes of the Hunt. “You’re mine. Why should I fight what belongs to me?”
“I’m not yours!” I shouted. There was a brief, stabbing pain as my sight returned to normal. I couldn’t trust it to stay that way; he was too close to me.
“You Rode. You’re mine.”
“I stopped before the end.”
“It doesn’t matter; you belong to me. Everything here belongs to me.” He turned and ran his hand down Acacia’s cheek, almost tenderly. There was love there once, before he twisted it out of shape. “How should I scar her this time? Last time she betrayed me, it was her face. What should it be now? She’s suffering for you. You have some say in her pain.”
“Let her go, Michael.”
He turned back toward me, smiling. “Why should I?”
“Because if you do it on your own, I won’t have to force you.”
He actually laughed. “Oh, little changeling, Amandine’s bastard daughter. What makes you think you can make me do
“Then I’ll save myself.” I glared at him, spitting out another mouthful of blood. “I didn’t come here for her.”
“No, you came for yourself. Stupid little hero.” He reached between the cushions of his throne and pulled out my knife, pressing it against Acacia’s unscarred cheek. His smile didn’t waver. “It’s a wonder any of my father’s children—or grandchildren—have survived.”
“Give me back my knife and let her go.”
“Why should I?” He didn’t bother to turn. “Kneel.”
I was on my knees before I realized what he’d said. Hitting the ground opened more cuts on my legs and knees. Swell. We were bantering while I bled to death. “Bite me,” I snarled, forcing myself to stand. It wasn’t easy; my legs kept trying to buckle underneath me.
“Pretty words, but you’re not strong enough. Go die somewhere else.”
“Make me,” I said, gritting my teeth but managing not to fall again. Blood was running into my eyes; I wiped it away with one hand. Then I paused, looking down in disbelief.
My candle was lying near the base of his throne. I hadn’t been able to hear it singing to me under all the fresher blood, but as soon as I saw it, I knew it for my own. That made a certain amount of demented sense: they obviously didn’t clean up much around here, and once I’d thrown it away, it was just trash. I’d given up its protections—but that was then, and this was now. If I could reach it, I might still be able to get out by a candle’s light.
“I’m not going to die,” I said.
“Aren’t you?” He smirked. “A pity. If you won’t die, it’s not worth my time to kill you.” He turned back to Acacia, drawing my knife down the side of her face. Her eyes stayed glassy and unfocused, even as the blood started running down her cheek.
Blood ran down my fingers and along the length of Sylvester’s sword as I leveled it at him, the metal gleaming purple and gold in the firelight. “Leave her alone and
Blind Michael dropped my knife into Acacia’s lap and stood, sightless eyes narrowed. “Do you really think you can challenge me?” he rumbled. “You, who have turned your heritage aside to live as less than nothing? You’re a fool, October, daughter of Amandine. Have you forgotten your god?”
“I’m more of an atheist, really,” I said.
“I see.” He smiled, extending an empty hand toward me. I thought I heard the Riders around us shout in triumph; then they were gone, voices fading as the mists surged up to block the landscape. “But church is such a quiet, welcoming place. There’s no pain there, little changeling. No death. No need for swords.”
The sword in my hands vanished, swallowed by the mist. I clenched my fingers together, trying to find it, but touched only air. I looked up, furious—and met Blind Michael’s empty eyes. His smile didn’t waver. I couldn’t look away.
“No pain,” he whispered. “No death, no need to fight. Come back, little changeling. Come back to me and be with me forever.”
The whiteness of his eyes expanded, just like his sister’s, and I was drowning. “I’m not yours,” I said, forcing the words out one by one. It was getting hard to move or think, and something in the back of my mind was shouting hosannas, ready to leap back into his arms.
How much of me belonged to him? How much of me was ready to betray the rest? I sucked the inside of my
