EMELINE KNELT IN THE dirt, frozen with shock.
Her rescuer stood two paces away. He seemed close to her in age, with maple-dark hair and skin the light brown of dusk. His feet were planted firmly in the earth, rooting him there like a tree, and he wore a gray overcoat stitched with a subtle pattern of sassafras leaves. Brass buttons ran down the front of the coat, matching the buckles on his dark brown boots, which were scuffed with dried mud.
Emeline remembered the mysterious boy from the bar last night. She hadn’t seen his face, but the height and shape of him, the way he held himself … there was an uncanny resemblance to this boy standing before her.
And yet it wasn’t possible, was it? For the stranger from last night to suddenly be here, hundreds of miles away, in the forest bordering Edgewood?
“Have we met?” she asked.
The boy kept his distance, glowering at her. As if Emeline’s presence was an unwanted irritation and saving her from a monster was an unpleasant disruption in his day.
“Certainly not.” His voice prickled. “I’d remember meeting someone foolish enough to walk alone through these woods at dusk.”
Rude. Emeline rose shakily to her feet, then pointed out: “Aren’t you walking alone through these woods at dusk?”
Her gaze lifted, colliding with his stern glare. His eyes were two shades of gray, like river rocks. One dry and one wet, both ringed in black at the edges. Emeline couldn’t help but find them striking.
He studied her back, a little warily, his curiosity getting the better of his restraint. “Why are you here?”
“I’m looking for someone.” She glanced to where his knuckles bunched around the pommel of the shimmering blade pointed down to the earth. Frowning, she asked, “Do you always walk around armed with a sword?”
His cool demeanor shifted. He opened his mouth to respond, only to stop himself at the last second and sheathe the blade in the scabbard at his back.
“I suggest you continue your search elsewhere,” he said, evading her question. “Night is upon us. The ember mares will be running soon. And who knows how many shadow skins are lurking about the Stain.”
Emeline went very still. Ember mares? They were horses made of fire, according to Edgewood stories. They galloped through the woods between twilight and midnight, and god help you if you got in their way.
“Who are you?” she asked him.
His jaw tightened and he looked away stiffly. “No one of import.”
“I’m Emeline,” she said. “Emeline Lark.”
He nodded, slight and stiff. Not caring in the least. “Let’s get you home, shall we?” Glancing over her shoulder, he whistled sharply.
“Wait, no,” she said, stepping back. “I need to find—”
Emeline turned around to discover the biggest, blackest horse breathing on her face. She stared up into enormous golden eyes. Flecks of red dusted the horse’s irises, like a fire sparking, and her hot breath smelled like smoke.
Holy hell.
Emeline stepped quickly back—straight into the boy. The scent of him enveloped her: like crushed pine needles and oiled leather.
“This is Lament.”
“Uh-huh,” she whispered, staring at the massive beast, which was pawing the ground as if to say, I’m getting impatient! Let us leave! When she threw back her head, those golden eyes flickered red. “Very … pretty.”
“Have you ridden before?”
No, and she wasn’t about to start now. Certainly not on this thing.
“There’s nothing to worry about; you’ll be riding with me.”
Uh, no. No, she would not be.
She stepped away from the demon horse.
This guy had just slain a shadow skin. If shadow skins were real, the Wood King was too. And the tithe marker in her pocket proved that her grandfather had been stolen. That he hadn’t merely wandered off.
That Tom and Maisie were right.
As the truth flooded through her, beneath her dread she felt an overwhelming sense of rightness.
She needed a new plan.
As her rescuer reached for the reins of his horse, rubbing the creature’s coal-black nose, Emeline asked, “Can you bring me to the Wood King?”
His face darkened. “Don’t be daft.” He nodded to the north, in the direction of Edgewood. “You need to get out of these woods before something worse than a shadow skin catches your scent. Here.” He held out his hand. “I’ll help you mount up.”
Emeline briefly wondered what was worse than a shadow skin, then quickly decided she didn’t want to find out.
“Trust me: I have no intention of staying any longer than I have to. But I think the Wood King has my grandfather.” She pulled out the cold, pebble-sized marker from her pocket and held it up to show him.
He lowered his hand as his eyebrows shot upwards, causing his forehead to crease. “A marble? That’s your proof?”
Emeline lowered the tiny orb. It wasn’t a marble. It was a marker—still cold, despite being in her pocket and close to her body. The colors beneath its surface kept shifting and changing in the murky light.
“It means the Wood King has my grandfather.” It was strange to hear the words come out of her mouth, after she’d so vehemently denied them before.
He studied her openly now, as if trying to decide what to do with her. “I hate to disappoint you, but your grandfather isn’t here.”
But how could he know that?
He couldn’t.
“And even if he were in the king’s court, there’s nothing you can do.” His voice was tense as he scanned the darkening woods. “We can’t linger here.”
He stepped to the side of his horse, waiting for Emeline to join him. As if he expected her to obediently climb onto the massive creature’s back. As if he wanted her to go home, forget about Pa, and carry on as if nothing were wrong.
Her temper flared. She wasn’t going back until she had Pa with her. “If you won’t take me, then tell me the way.”
“Get on the horse, Emeline.”
So he had been paying attention when she told him her name. She wished he’d given her his name so she could use it in the same condescending tone he’d just used on her.
“I’m not getting on your horse. I’m going to find my grandfather. And if you’re not going to help me, please get out of my way.”
He didn’t. In fact, he stepped closer, blocking out the rapidly fading sunlight with his tall frame.
“Do you have any idea what happens to people like you? People senseless enough to wander into these woods?”
Fury boiled in her blood. She held her ground as he bore down on her like a thundercloud.
“There are horrors here far worse than any nightmare. It’s only a matter of time before another one finds you. I can’t leave you here.”
Emeline fell silent. The only thing she knew about these woods was that the longer she was in them, the more she believed the stories she’d grown up with.
“Then don’t leave me,” she said softly. “Escort me to the king.”
His mouth twisted as if he tasted something rotten. “That I will not do.”
“Fine.”
Emeline scanned the ashy grove, searching for a path that might be difficult for a giant horse to follow. She remembered the voices of the trees. The way they’d warned her about the shadow skin.
He was close enough to seize her, and from the look in his eyes, that seemed to be his plan.
“Tell me where to go,” she told the trees.
South, they murmured. Follow the river.
“Who are you talking to?”
When he reached for her, Emeline dodged and ran.