Then I raise my blade, presenting it to my opponent. I salute her in the mirror.
Back and forth, I dance across the floor, fighting her. I strike and parry, parry and strike. I feign. I duck. I watch sweat bead on her forehead. I battle on until perspiration stains her shirt, until she’s shaking with exhaustion.
It’s still not enough.
I can never beat her.
The trap for Orlagh is set. I spend the day with Madoc going over the particulars. We created three specific times and places where the Undersea could strike with some confidence:
The boat itself, carrying a decoy, is obvious. It requires a hob to pretend to be Oak, huddling in a cloak, and the boat itself to be enchanted to fly.
Before that, there is a moment during Taryn’s reception when Oak is to wander off on his own into the maze. A section of the greenery will be replaced with treefolk, who will remain unseen until they need to strike.
And even before that, upon arrival at Locke’s estate for the wedding, Oak will seem to step out of the carriage onto an open patch of land visible from the ocean. We will employ the decoy there as well. I will wait with the real Oak in the carriage while the rest of the family goes out and—hopefully—the sea strikes. Then the carriage will pull around, and we will climb straight through a window. In this case, the trees near the shore will be full of sprites, ready to spot the denizens of the Undersea, and a net has been buried under the sand to trap them.
Three chances to catch the Undersea in an attempt to harm Oak. Three chances to make them regret trying.
We do not neglect protecting Cardan, either. His personal guard is on high alert. He has his own coterie of archers who will follow his every move. And, of course, our spies.
Taryn wants to spend her last night before the wedding with her sisters, so I pack up a dress and the earrings in a rucksack and tie it to the back of the same horse I once took to Insweal. I strap Nightfell across the back of the saddle. Then I ride to Madoc’s estate.
The night is beautiful. A breeze runs through the trees, fragrant with the scent of pine needles and everapple. Distantly, I hear hoofbeats. Foxes make their odd screaming calls to one another. The trill of flute music comes from somewhere far off, along with the sound of mermaids singing their high-pitched, wordless songs out on the rocks.
Then, abruptly, the hoofbeats are no longer distant. Through the woods come riders. Seven of them, mounted on the backs of pearl-eyed, emaciated horses. Their faces are covered, their armor splashed with white paint. I can hear their laughter as they split apart to come at me from different angles. For a moment, I think there must be some mistake.
One of them draws an axe, which shines under the light of the first-quarter moon, putting a chill into my blood. No, there is no mistake. They have come to kill me.
My experience fighting on horseback is limited. I thought I would be a knight in Elfhame, defending some royal’s body and honor, not riding into battles like Madoc.
Now, as they close in on me, I think about who was aware of that particular vulnerability. Certainly Madoc knew. Perhaps this is his method of repaying me for my betrayal. Perhaps trusting me was a ruse. After all, he knew I was headed to his stronghold tonight. And we’ve spent the afternoon planning traps just like this.
Regretfully, I think of the Roach’s warning: Next time, take a member of the royal guard. Take one of us. Take a cloud of sprites or a drunken spriggan. Just take someone.
But it’s just me. Alone.
I urge my horse to greater speed. If I can make it through the woods and get close enough to the house, then I’ll be safe. There are guards there, and whether or not Madoc put the riders up to this, he would never let a guest, not to mention his ward, be slain on his own lands.
That wouldn’t be playing by the rules of courtesy.
All I have to do is make it.
The hoofbeats pound behind me as we streak through the woods. I look back, wind in my face, hair blowing into my mouth. They’re riding far apart, trying to get enough ahead of me to herd me away from Madoc’s, toward the coast, where there’s nowhere to hide.
Closer and closer, they come. I can hear them calling to one another, but the words are lost in the wind. My horse is fast, but theirs flow like water through the night. As I look back, I see one of them has drawn a bow with black-fletched arrows.
I wheel my mount to one side, only to find another rider there, cutting off my escape.
They are armored, with weapons to hand. I have only a few knives on me and Nightfell back with my saddlebags, along with a small crossbow in the pack itself. I walked through these woods hundreds of times in my childhood; I never thought I would need to be armored for battle here.
An arrow whizzes past me as another rider closes, brandishing a blade.