HE AND HIS HELL-BEAST gave chase, thundering behind, yelling for her to stop. Branches snapped and bracken crunched beneath the horse’s mighty hooves.
Emeline flew south, where the silver trail was thinnest between the decaying trees, making it cumbersome for her pursuers to follow.
There seemed no end to this dead place. Ashy white aspens and rotted cedars rushed by as she ran. Too soon, her path arrived at an open thicket. Emeline stumbled, wasted precious seconds regaining her balance, then kept going.
The horse and her rider caught up.
They flew by Emeline’s side through the clearing. Labored breaths filled her ears; pounding hooves echoed in her bones. Emeline’s legs burned beneath her.
She kept running.
In a burst of speed, the horse rushed ahead. Her black hide flickered as she wove in front of Emeline, who swore she saw twisting flames flare across the animal’s flanks. The horse turned to face her, blocking the way. Emeline skidded to a stop inches away from her chest.
Rearing up on hind legs, the horse pawed the air above Emeline’s head with ember-bright hooves, eyes raging a hellish red. Emeline’s heart thudded like a kick drum as she stumbled backwards. Her foot caught on a raised root and twisted beneath her. Losing her balance, she fell, hitting the ground hard. Pain flared in her elbows—which took the brunt of the impact—and she hissed through her teeth, “Ow!”
“Are you really such a fool?” Swinging himself down from the horse, the boy advanced on her. “You cannot outrun us. Nor can you be in these woods when night falls.”
Emeline tried to scramble backwards, away from him, only to find herself stuck, her Blundstone lodged snugly in the very root system that tripped her.
When she tried to tug herself free, she couldn’t.
Dammit.
She maneuvered her foot out of the boot, intending to escape that way, but froze when a cool shadow slid over her.
Emeline glanced up.
He crouched down.
She lay beneath him now, on a bed of ashy leaves, propped on her elbows. He held himself over her as restrained fury blazed across his face.
“Get on the horse, Emeline, or I will be forced to put you on the horse.”
Above him white branches rattled, and silvery leaves tumbled to the forest floor, like snow falling from the sky.
“I’m afraid of horses,” she told him. “I’m not getting on one.”
It was mostly true. Certainly true when it came to horses with raging infernos for eyes.
He ran a hand through his dark hair and released an irritated breath. “Lament is well trained and well behaved.”
Emeline glanced over his shoulder, to where the golden-eyed horse watched them. Lament. A vision of flickering flames rose up in Emeline’s mind. Had she imagined that fire as the horse descended on her?
Eyeing the beast—which had to be the size of a small elephant—Emeline said, “I don’t know how to ride.”
“Not a problem.” He rose to his full height, then turned to the twisted, hoary roots where her boot was lodged. With one easy tug, it came free. “You’ll be riding with me.”
Emeline sat up. “Yes, you said that already. And it wasn’t a comfort the first time.”
He held out the Blundstone. She stared at her boot, speckled with mud, trying to think of something—anything—to convince him to take her to the Wood King.
She tried to remember Tom’s stories about the king’s walled city deep in the forest, the gate hidden from human eyes. Tom found a way in—or so he believed. Had he ever told her how?
Emeline wished she could recall more of his ramblings.
“I’d prefer to walk,” she said after taking the boot and pulling it on. She got to her feet and dusted the dead leaves from her jeans. “If you could lead me to the city gate, I’ll find my way from there.”
His knuckles bunched at his sides. “Did you not hear a word I said?”
She shrugged.
He looked truly annoyed. As if he were considering not just abandoning her to the stampeding ember mares but throwing her into their path. “Fine. If you get on the horse, I’ll take you to the gate. All right? But we cannot tarry here any longer.” He pointed to the darkened canopy above. “The sun is down. We must go now.”
He didn’t wait to hear her answer. He simply grabbed her hips in both hands and lifted her without warning. Easily. Swiftly. Up onto the saddle. Startled by his strength, she didn’t fight him. Only landed with a jolt, her weight settling on Lament, her legs hanging down the horse’s left side.
Unfair, she thought, then froze as the beast swayed beneath her. Fearing a fall, Emeline reached for the saddle’s leather edge with one hand and the horse’s woolly mane with the other, gripping both very hard.
The whole world looked different from this vantage point.
Mostly more terrifying.
She stared at the ground—far, far below her. Too far. She would definitely break something if she fell.
Lament turned her head, scrutinizing her new rider with one golden eye. Suddenly, all Emeline could think about was the size of those hooves and the sound of her own bones cracking after the horse tossed her off and galloped across her body while she lay sprawled on the forest floor.
She could see exactly how this day would end.
“Are you all right?”
“Um,” she managed.
His hands still held her hips, stabilizing her. “Unless you prefer to ride sidesaddle, I recommend one leg on either side.”
From atop his demon steed, any desire to defy him fled. Emeline nodded. Willing this all to be over, yearning to be at the king’s gate and forever rid of this horse and her rider, Emeline slowly turned herself, lifting her right leg up and over the other side. Both her hands fisted in Lament’s mane, the strands thick and wiry against her fingers.
He put his foot into the stirrup. The saddle lurched slightly to the left when he pushed up, making Emeline cling harder. As he settled behind her and his thighs pressed against her own, panic morphed into something else. Her body temperature rose as she became aware of him—how solid and steady and close he was.
One of his hands reached around her to take Lament’s reins; the other slid across her waist, pulling her gently against him.
A startling warmth spread through her belly.
“Are you ready?”
No, she thought, relieved that he couldn’t see her blushing face.
He was escorting her to the gate, she reminded herself. She could ride with him if it meant finding the Wood King and bringing Pa home. And then she would never have to see him again.
“Okay. Yes. I’m ready.”
With a simple nudge of his heels, the horse lurched forward. Emeline’s grip tightened in Lament’s mane, every muscle in her body going rigid as they began to trot through the silvered trees.
Lament’s trot soon became a canter. Her canter, a gallop. The forest blurred around them as they picked up speed, blazing through copses and thickets, the rhythm of the horse’s hooves drumming like thunder.
Despite the stinging wind rushing past them, it wasn’t cold. Heat radiated from Lament’s black coat, and when Emeline looked down she found red flames flickering in the horse’s mane. Tongues of fire engulfed Emeline’s fingers, licking her skin. She jerked her hands free, staring in horror. But her fingers were unsinged.
Holy cats!
Was Lament an ember mare?
It was impossible. The wild, unearthly horses were forged of fire and said to be uncatchable. Untamable. In no story she knew had one ever been ridden.
But Emeline had thought shadow skins impossible too.
The pungent tang of smoke smoldered in the air. They were out of the Stain—nothing dead surrounded them here. The forest was lush and green and living. But in the distance, Emeline saw red.
Fire.
It surged towards them from the right, spreading quickly. Emeline was about to cry out in alarm, in case the boy at her back hadn’t seen it, when she heard the sound of hoofbeats. Hundreds of them. Pummeling the earth in time with Lament’s.
Wait.
Emeline squinted into the distance.
It wasn’t a forest fire advancing on them. It was a massive herd of ember mares. Their black bodies raged red, like burning coal, and their manes smoldered with bright flames. They were stampeding, headed straight for Lament with no sign of slowing or stopping.
Lament picked up speed. But even Emeline could tell she wasn’t fast enough. In mere seconds, they were going to be trampled. As if sensing this, the rider at her back leaned forward, his arm tightening around her waist.
Emeline reached again for the horse’s fiery mane—which was warm, but not blisteringly so. Her hands remained unburnt. Holding on tight, she squeezed her eyes shut as her heart hammered in her throat.
The galloping hooves roared in her ears. The encroaching heat of their bodies seemed to scorch her skin.
Any moment, Lament would be broadsided. They would be trampled.
“Emeline,” a rough-soft voice whispered in her ear. “Don’t be afraid.”
Don’t be afraid? Now was exactly the time to be afraid. She opened her eyes intending to tell him so, but the words died on her lips.
All around them, ember mares rushed alongside Lament. They had never intended to trample her but to join her. The graceful rhythm of their muscular bodies, the thunder in their hooves as they ran … they mesmerized Emeline. Moving as one, they reminded her of a cresting wave. A sea of fire.
And beyond their blazing splendor, all was black.
Night had fallen in the woods.
In the steady rhythm of Lament’s gait, Emeline heard assurances she’d been too frightened to hear before. I have you, Lament’s hooves pounded out. I am steady and true. I won’t let you fall.
Emeline calmed, leaning against the boy at her back. Her vision filled with flames as the sheer joy of the run infected her, making her grin.
“Still afraid of horses?”
When he wasn’t being surly, his voice was resonant and deep. A pleasant baritone.
She looked over her shoulder to see his mouth quirk upwards in the light of the horses. Her eyes lifted and their gazes caught. No trace of anger lingered in him, as if the heady rush of the running horses had pierced his hard exterior and he’d been forced to let down his walls.
Why do you feel so familiar? she thought as she studied him.
Too soon, the herd began to slow, then fall back, whinnying as they did. One by one, the horses turned west. Lament didn’t go with them; she kept to her path, running north.
The thunder quieted. The darkness returned. Soon, Lament was slowing.
Then stopping.
Not at any gate, though.
Emeline frowned as the horse stepped across the tree line and out of the woods, shaking her black mane. Her breath puffed like smoke, her haunches steamed like hot stones, but the flames in her eyes were gone.
Looming before them was Pa’s house—the kitchen lights on from when Emeline left in a rush. The sleeping garden was quiet and still.
“But…”
Behind her, the boy dismounted, leaving her alone in the saddle. Emeline’s thoughts spun, trying to make sense of it. His two strong hands clasped her waist and dragged her down.
“You said…”
As her feet hit the ground, realization set in. That startling joy from a moment ago shattered like glass.
She spun to find him already remounting.
“You lied to me.”
“Think of it more as a favor,” he said, back astride his horse. The moon and stars sparkled in the sky above him, making him appear more majestic than he deserved. “You’re looking in the wrong place.”
“You’re lying to me still!”
The only place Pa could be was in those woods. She knew it now. After being attacked by a shadow skin, after riding with ember mares—Emeline was certain.
She needed to get him back.
Fury and anguish warred within her. She seized Lament’s bridle, stopping the boy and his horse from retreating. Her grip tightened around the straps.
“Tell me your name.” The words were bitter in her mouth. “So I can find you and pay you back for this.”
He leaned over the saddle, staring down at her. His face was inches from hers as he said, “Go home, Emeline.”
He clicked his tongue twice. In response, Lament reared up, reminding Emeline that this was no ordinary horse. She swiftly released the bridle and stepped back.
Turning Lament, he disappeared through the space in the hedge, where Emeline’s tree was once rooted.
His words floated back to her from the darkness: “Live your life. Forget the woods.”
The night was suddenly silent and still around her.
As if he’d never been there at all.