Mystified, Aodhan kept pace with the procession as they rode out into the forest. His instincts were still screaming that the changeling woman was in terrible danger, yet she didn’t seem to be a prisoner. She rode with her head held high, totally ignoring the clamor all around her. Aodhan couldn’t see her face from this angle, but he would have bet his best wand that her expression was set and serious.
Lady Maeve, in contrast, seemed to be in fine spirits. Perched atop a richly barded nightmare, she looked more like she was enjoying some feast-day parade rather than leading her host to war. She set a fast, thunderous pace, constantly turning in her saddle to call out to one follower or another.
Even as Aodhan watched, the fae noble leaned over the neck of her steed, apparently addressing some remark to her silent companion. As far as Aodhan could tell, the changeling woman made no response at all, but Maeve’s bright, cruel laughter rang above the drumming hoofbeats.
Not a prisoner. But not an honored guest either. What in Herne’s name is going on here?
It couldn’t be a hunt, because the high sidhe were making enough racket to scare off game for a hundred miles around. It was too big to be a raiding party, and if it was an actual party, it was a remarkably well-armed one. Of course, unseelie high sidhe didn’t consider any social event a success unless someone was bleeding over the canapés, but even they didn’t wear full armor to a picnic.
And they were heading for the seelie lands.
Aodhan kept waiting for the procession to turn in a different direction, but they didn’t. With typical disdain for paths, the unseelie rode straight for the border, plowing through the forest like a ship cutting through waves. From his aerial perspective, Aodhan could see woodland fae—satyrs, deer-folk, foxen—scattering in advance of the host, as though fleeing from an onrushing forest fire. The high sidhe trampled saplings and huts with equal disregard, leaving a wide trail of snapped branches and ruined dwellings in their wake.
Just as Aodhan was seriously starting to worry that he was about to witness the start of the next High War, Maeve held up a hand. Her host reigned in their steeds at the forest’s edge, where the darkness under the trees gave way to the green, open land of the seelie. Hunting dogs whined, flinching away from the bright beams of sunlight shafting through the thin canopy.
Maeve said something to the woman. The changeling warrior slid off the goat, not entirely gracefully. Her feet had barely touched the ground when Maeve spurred her own steed, yanking on its reins. Without so much as a backward glance, the entire unseelie host streamed back into the forest, leaving the woman alone.
Aodhan blinked.
The woman stood there, motionless, until the last hoofbeats died away. Then she seemed to crumple in on herself. For a moment, Aodhan thought that she was about to break down in tears—but then her shoulders went back again. She lifted her chin, facing the rolling fields of the seelie.
“Okay,” she said, the wind carrying the word to Aodhan’s pricked ears. He could barely make out her soft voice, yet it seemed to echo in his soul. “I can do this. For Kevin.”
Holding her weapon two-handed as though expecting an entire seelie war-band to erupt out of the inch-high grass at any moment, she took a cautious step across the border. When nothing happened, her tense shoulders relaxed a little. Still maintaining her guard, she struck out into the seelie lands.
The Call yanked insistently at Aodhan’s heart.
He coasted back and forth along the border for a moment, wrestling with himself, but it was no use. Muttering a curse, he banked round, following the woman.
He’d expected her to stop and wait for him, or at least acknowledge his presence… but she didn’t. His shadow skimmed the ground at her heels, overlapping her own, yet she never glanced up. It was as though she didn’t even realize he was there.
But that was impossible. It took concentrated effort to summon your soul-bonded steed. You couldn’t perform a ritual involving three days of deep, intense meditation accidentally.
Increasingly baffled, Aodhan dropped lower. Once again, he caught her tantalizing scent—and nearly fell out of the sky in shock.
Before, she’d been surrounded by high sidhe, shadowed by their perfumes and glamours. Now that she was on her own, he could evaluate her fragrance without interference. Bright as sunlight, complex as fine wine… and without the slightest trace of magic.
Everything that lived in the fae realms bore the scent of magic. It was the lifeblood that ran through everything; the secret heart of the world. Magic permeated every rock, every branch, every leaf. With every breath of air, you took it into your body. Even a child newly snatched from the human world, without a drop of fae blood in their veins, would acquire a faint scent of magic in a matter of days.
But this woman’s scent was as pure as spring water.
She wasn’t a changeling. She was a human. An actual adult human, fresh from her own world.
The only way adult humans entered the fae realm was unwillingly. In the distant past, some humans would routinely sacrifice one of their own kind to the unseelie high sidhe in return for riches or magical favors. But these days, most humans didn’t even know the fae existed. Tithing hadn’t been a routine event for centuries.
There had been Cuan’s mate Tamsin a few months ago, of course. And Aodhan had heard rumors that some human had been going around offering sacrifices to various unseelie sidhean, though he’d discounted them as no more than tall tales. With the Wild Hunt patrolling the borders between the human and fae realms, it didn’t seem likely that anyone would revive the custom of tithing.
Aodhan had been surprised enough to encounter a single human in his lifespan. Two in the same season was a veritable plague.
The entire situation, he decided, had descended into farce. Clearly, this human woman could not possibly be his fated rider. Something had gone wrong.
Yes. This was all some terrible mistake. He would go down there, and… and…
…lay his head in her lap, and swear to be hers until the sun was dust and the last star died…
…and demand that whatever she was doing to him, she stop it immediately.
Filled with renewed determination, Aodhan swooped down. He landed behind the woman, intending to shift and confront her right there and then.
Which he would have done, had she not whirled round, screamed, and hit him very hard over the head with a frying pan.