Chapter 2

M ateo could not remember sleeping. His head throbbed as if he were an oak tree claimed by a relentless woodpecker. His sore eyes stung. His achy legs twitched. He fluffed his feather pillow and turned from side to side. He had been ecstatic about the hunt. Couldn't wait to be in those mountains putting all the other hunters to shame. But the night and the darkness brought with them thoughts of the last place death penalty. His empty gut twisted tighter. All excitement had evaporated, replaced by the weight of winning and the fear of losing.

He didn't want to let his family down or go to the Passing Place.

Early morning stillness filled his bedchamber. The hush of nightfall clung to the stone and sun-dried mud bricks of Mateo's home. His gaze roamed the pressing darkness, landing where Stormshroud lay curled in a ball. He didn't have to see her to know she breathed slowly, her paws twitching while she dreamed. Those things were a given. Maybe she chased a mouse or a rabbit. Maybe she fled the Passing Place .

A hazy and soft light began seeping into the room from his narrow window. Inch by inch it brought Stormshroud into full view. A ball of strong, sleek muscles with a fluffy black coat with that streak of white. She weighed over one hundred pounds and stood nearly seven feet tall on her hind legs—Mateo's height. But when he and his father had found her, she barely fit his hand.

They were hunting deep in the Sublands, far from the village. While they were sleeping in a cave, a raging storm rolled in. Through the deluge and over the thunderclaps, they heard whimpering from within their rocky shelter.

Deep in the cave, they found a decimated litter of wolf pups. All had perished, except for one. No larger than a fist, the pup could not have been more than a few days old. Eyes closed, she was helpless and barely had any fur. Mateo and his father brought her home, and she's faithfully served them since—the best wolfhound in the Sublands.

With the morning light growing brighter, Stormshroud recognized the new day. She lifted her head and yawned. Mateo yawned too and then flung off his thin cotton cover and rose from his narrow bed. The steward of the Sublands, Lady Verona, would be picking him up and escorting him to the Stromm Palace, where the Summit Range Hunt would begin.

Time was running out. He might as well get ready.

After a stop at the washroom, he put on his best travel clothes—dark pants, a long-sleeved silver shirt, and his newly polished black boots. He had already packed his weapons and clothing the night before. Yet, he added two more things from his bedside table—the black scarf his mother made for him when he was little and a wood carving of a cross his father had whittled one winter during a human time known as Christmas. These two items would either carry him to victory or join in death's defeat. Wherever he went, they went as well.

Head tilted, Stormshroud cast a stare at Mateo. His loyal wolf knew he would soon be leaving. "It will be okay, Stormy." He stroked her behind the prickly ears. "I will be back in no time."

He would've taken her if he could, but the hunt allowed for hunters and their weapons only. Stormy would've been the best weapon he could have taken from the Sublands. That, and the best companion.

The carriage ride from the Sublands to Summit Range Palace would take three days. Once there, he would endure the arrival festivities. The day after that, he'd attend the Gala of the Hunter's Moon. The next morning, the hunt would commence.

His mind zipped to the possibility of coming in last. How would the last place finisher be executed? His hand paused in the middle of stroking Stormshroud's back. Forget about that. It wouldn't be him anyway. That honor would surely go to highborn scum. Mateo would see to it.

He whistled and jerked his chin. "Come on, Stormy girl." Leaving his bedchamber, he headed for the cookroom. "We have lots to do."

With a yelp, Stormshroud dashed ahead of Mateo and disappeared around the corridor's corner. In the wolf's wake came Camilla. She held a mug of tea in her hand. A trail of steam floated from the top like a white lace ribbon. She favored their father with her small frame, big brown eyes, and long wavy hair. But she'd also inherited much from their fae mother. Pointed ears. Sharpened fae senses. Innate abilities with herbs and alchemy. She made the best herbal drinks .

She eyed Mateo while handing over the tea. "Sun, Moon, and Stars. Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Some." He brought the mug closer. The smell of mint and sage swirled around his nose. He took a slight sip. The flavors provided a pleasing warmth, and he perked up instantly but not completely. Camilla's flavored tea in the morning would've put him two steps in front of Stormshroud on most days. But today was far from typical.

"You can sleep in the carriage on the ride." She glanced over her shoulder at the cookroom. She moved closer to Mateo. "Please be gentle with Father and Floriana this morning." She raised her pleading eyebrows. "They are worried about the last place penalty."

Mateo lowered his mug and nodded. "Of course. How are their coughs?" They needed those healing seeds. He had no choice but to risk it all to get them.

Camilla's eyes watered. "The same. I have even gotten word from Gareth's mother that little Poppy is coughing."

His gut sank. "Now you see why I have to go?" His point had been proven. No further talk was necessary.

She wiped away a tear that had slid onto her face. "I do. But I still do not like it."

He wrapped his arm around her. "I know." He knew and accepted that his family would worry themselves, but Mateo could handle it. He would save his family and the Sublands. Or face his end trying.

After a quiet breakfast, Mateo's family gathered together around the crackling fireplace in the sitting room. His travel bags rested by the door while Stormshroud sulked in the corner. They stared at the flames and avoided talking about the hunt while waiting for Lady Verona. The tension was concrete and solid. Like a fortress.

His father broke the deafening silence. "We will throw the biggest party when you get back, Mijo ." He smiled wide. "Everyone will be invited." He scooted to the edge of his seat. "We'll have food and drink and games!" Manny was more than a good father. He was a good man.

Taking his lead, Camilla piped in. "I will make those powdery cookies." She put her hand on her father's shoulder. "Those little ones you love from the human realm."

Father smiled back. "Camilla's delicious pan de polvo . It's been a while."

"I will color flowers for decorations and hang them on the walls." Floriana covered her mouth while she coughed but kept a sparkle in her brown eyes. "I can also make a pi?ata from the human realm, like Father showed us." His little sister was the reason he could never say he wouldn't participate in the hunt. As long as she was in need, he could not and would not rest.

Talk of coming home to a celebration filled Mateo with hope. Knowing he had the full support of the ones he loved meant even more. "A party sounds great. And the cookies?—"

Stormshroud leaped to her feet, ears on alert. She howled at the door.

His father's smile dropped as reality intruded. He glanced at Mateo before he closed his eyes and swallowed. "They are here."

They rose, and his father started rattling off reminders. Mateo knew the exact words before they landed in his ears. "Stay true to who you are, Mijo ." Manny folded his hands under his chin, as if praying with each word. "Be as pleasant as possible to everyone you meet, but do not trust anybody."

Mateo nodded. "I know, Father." Manny always issued the same reminders in uncertain times. And there was no time more uncertain than this.

He interrupted Mateo and pursed his lips. "Fae are cunning, manipulative, and devious. They cannot lie, but they do not have to. ? Entiendes ?"

" Entiendo ," Mateo answered back in his father's native language, one Mateo had come to love, honor, and respect.

He pulled Mateo closer. "There is great strength inside of you." He moved his hand from Mateo's forehead, down to his chest, and then across from shoulder to shoulder. The sign of the cross—a symbol of his human beliefs. "Have faith in our Heavenly Father above. All will be as He wills it. Remember that. And always, always remember who you are."

Usually, Mateo scoffed at his father's human views on faith and religion. Not today. He welcomed all assistance, from any deity, from any realm. He wrapped his arms around his father's small and fragile frame. "I will remember who I am—the son of Manny Vela of the Sublands."

He brought his sisters in to join them. Soft whimpering came from Camilla while louder cries came from little Floriana. "Shhh. It will be alright. I will be back so fast it will seem like I have only been camping in Spirit Butte."

Mateo knelt in front of his faithful shadow, Stormshroud. "You be good, Stormy. Take care of Father and the girls. Don't let me down."

She nudged him with her snout and then licked Mateo from chin to forehead. He begged off with a smile. "Okay, okay. That' s enough."

Ka-dunk! Ka-dunk! A hard knock banged at the deadwood door. Father wiped his glistening eyes. He nodded to his children, then opened it. Two guards clad in all black stepped inside and took positions beside the entry. His time at home had ended. He would face whatever lay beyond that door with the grace and strength he'd been taught inside this home.

Lady Verona walked in. She tipped her head. "Manny."

"Lady Verona." His father returned the gesture.

Her copper-colored pants and long-sleeved shirt matched the rock and stone of the Sublands. Her long and dark, shiny hair was pulled up in the front. The thick remainder hung loose and reached the small of her back. Her piercing, sapphire blue eyes fixed on Mateo. "I am proud and most pleased to escort our first Summit Range Hunter, Mateo Vela, to the Stromm Palace."

Unsure how to respond, Mateo figured Lady Verona despised him. He, Lirien, and Gareth had appeared before her several times in their youth for pranks gone awry. Hardcore, she had never gone easy on them. "I am the one who is honored, Lady Verona. I am grateful for your escort."

"Indeed." Lady Verona spoke with her usual brusqueness. "Let us get on with it, then." She commanded her guards with a wave to take Mateo's things. "Daylight's wasting."

Stormshroud circled his legs, taking her place next to him. He patted her head. "Not this time, Stormy. I will see you again, but it will be in a few days, when I return to the Sublands."

Floriana and his father lowered themselves to the ground and wrapped their arms around the neck of the wolf. "Go on. We got her," his father said .

"I will take care of her for you," Floriana said in a tear-filled voice.

Mateo cast his eyes down at his boots. He did not want them to see the hint of sadness and twinge of heartache in his gaze. He also did not want to see the same emotions echoed in theirs. It would only make things worse. A clean break benefited everyone.

With a quick step, he followed Lady Verona out of the house and shut the door behind him. There was no going back now.

With the bags secured to the top of the carriage, Mateo climbed aboard first. He froze when he entered—not because of the simplicity of the wood interior, or the plain brown fabric on the flat benches that faced each other, or the rectangular wooden table in between those benches.

He froze when he saw the witch sitting inside.

Pale-faced, with red hair and white brows, she wore a lengthy brown dress with a short black cloak. She studied Mateo with sparkling black crystal eyes. He had heard of witches with crystal eyes, from his father mostly.

Manny often spoke of an evil soul-sucking witch named Draven who had tried to kill him and his friends when they arrived in Faevenly all those years ago. Did this witch belong to Draven's coven? Was she evil? And why was she with Lady Verona? All questions Mateo needed answered.

He clutched the cracked leather hand strap and cleared his throat, unsure of where to sit. "I uh…"

"Were you not expecting me?" the witch asked in a silky voice.

Mateo paused, then remembered his manners. "No, my lady." He nodded and smiled. "Apologies for my rudeness."

"No apologies necessary. I would have reacted the same way."

He lowered himself onto the bench across from her. He kept his gaze down and his hands on his knees. Lady Verona boarded soon after and sat next to the witch.

A crack of a whip and the carriage lurched forward. After a few bumpy turns, they rolled down the main road of the village. Shouting and clapping filled the air. Mateo peered out the window, seeing rows of villagers throwing flowers and beaming with pride. These people added to the reasons why Mateo could not stay home for fear of last place. They knew him and knew he was not only capable but likely to win the hunt for the honor and glory of the Sublands. They believed in him.

"Son of the Sublands." Lady Verona nodded. "They honor you."

He swallowed. He was not worthy of praise, not at all. But seeing the hope in their faces lifted his spirits and his resolve. "I will do my best to earn their honor."

With the crowd thinning out, the last faces he saw were Lirien's and Gareth's and their families. Lirien cupped his hands around his mouth, hooting and hollering. Gareth held his youngest sister, Poppy, on his shoulders while she tossed an armful of wildflowers.

Matteo waved until he lost sight of them, his heart overflowing. He sat back. "My friends," he said with a smile. "They mean a lot to me."

Lady Verona nodded. "They are good people. The Sublands love and honor their hunter."

With the village behind them, the bouncy carriage settled into a steady pace. Lady Verona took off her short black gloves, one finger at a time, settling in for the long ride. "With the pomp and circumstance behind us, allow me to introduce my friend and adviser, Rhyka. She will accompany us to Summit Range." She placed her gloves on her lap. "She possesses wisdom and counsel regarding the hunt and will share it so you do not finish last."

Relieved, Mateo cleared his throat. "Thank you. I appreciate any assistance." He shifted in his seat. "I only learned of the execution penalty last night."

"That was by design," Lady Verona said.

He tilted his head. "What do you mean, by design?"

Lady Verona and Rhyka exchanged knowing glances. Lady Verona folded her hands in her lap and held her head higher than usual. "I knew of the penalty because I asked for it."

Mateo's stomach dropped as if he were in freefall. What did she say? He needed to hear it once more because he did not believe his ears.

"You did what?"

"The Sublands asked for the death penalty."

His nerves skyrocketed. Why would she do that? He drew in slow, steady breaths and held his tongue while his mind processed her words. As steward of the Sublands, Lady Verona controlled the province to the extent allowed by the Stromms. But more than that, she loved the land and its people. He had heard tales of how she'd stood by the Strongs and defended the Sublands from Draven the Witch. Risking the life of a Sublander ran contrary to what he knew of Lady Verona.

Mateo's voice remained steady. He wanted to make sure he understood what he had heard, but needed to mind his manners. He promised his father to be pleasant. "You asked for the one who finishes last to be executed?"

"I did." She studied Mateo with a keen focus. "It was the only way we were allowed a competitor in the hunt."

"So, you wanted to put me at risk?" Forget being pleasant. His voice rose as he leaned forward. "To possibly die?" That made no sense at all to Mateo.

"Not at all. We want you to win." Lady Verona leaned forward and pointed her finger at him. "And show everyone who you really are."

Mateo backed away from Lady Verona as much as he could. Who he really is? He narrowed his stare. "What do you mean?"

Lady Verona motioned to the witch, and Rhyka took over. She lowered her voice as if sharing an ancient secret. "I see many things, and I have seen that you are destined to rise as a savior of the Sublands. Like a powerful storm. Not only to save our people, but to restore peace in Faevenly."

A chill swooped through Mateo. It sent his spine tingling and his stomach tumbling. "A savior?"

The witch's voice grew even softer. "Yes, a savior. The hunt is only the first step."

He had no doubt in his abilities to win the hunt, but Rhyka was claiming something more. Something he did not exactly believe. "Why me? I am only a lowborn."

"Because"—she held out the word like a hissing insect—"Strong blood runs in your veins."

Strong as in Strong Haven? He gripped his knees. His knuckles turned white. He made eye contact with Lady Verona and used a steady yet forceful tone. Fae could not lie, but somehow Rhyka's witchery was allowing her to spew untruths like a fountain. "Lies. I am not a Strong. That bloodline does not even exist today."

Rhyka sat back. She flashed Lady Verona a side glance. "He is not ready to hear the truth."

His pulse thrummed like the mighty blow of a blacksmith's hammer. He did not believe her deceiving tongue. Not for a minute. "There is only one truth here. I am Mateo Vela of the Sublands, son of human Manny Vela and fae Faeryn Vela. And I am going to win that hunt."

Finally, everything he wanted was coming true. The Sublands being included in the hunt. Him being selected. But now everything was spinning out of control. The death penalty for last place. Some so-called premonition about him being a Strong and some sort of savior. None of it made sense. Or maybe Lady Verona and the witch were manipulating him for their own gain somehow. His father did say to trust no one. Did that include Lady Verona? Everyone meant all people, including these two.

"We are on your side, Mateo," Lady Verona said. "I assure you."

His mind scrambled for a response. His ultimate plan was to take first, avoid last, get those seeds, and then go home. When he got back, he would tell Father and let him deal with Lady Verona and the witch.

His breathing steadied. He cleared his throat. "Lady Verona, I am grateful to have you as an escort, but I do not want to hear any more of this. All I want to do is win the hunt."

Rhyka sat back in the seat, angling away from Mateo. "You will come to me when you are ready." She fixed her gaze on the desolate terrain as they passed by towering spires of eroded red and orange rock formations.

No way. He would not be going to her for anything. He almost told her so but held his tongue lest he end up a toad…or worse.

Lady Verona huffed. "Your only worry should be Lord Engrendorn. He represents House Stromm and is highly skilled. We recommend you stay on his tail. You should strike hard and fast if you aim to beat him."

Now they were getting somewhere. Perhaps these ladies had more to offer than a ride filled with deception. "Good. And the other hunters?"

"No other hunter matters," Rhyka said, her eyes remaining on the desert scenery.

He cocked his head sideways. "What does that mean?"

Rhyka turned from the window and glared at Mateo. "I have foreseen that you and the hunter from House Stromm will be linked in the hunt." She threaded her fingers and folded them into a joined fist. "Two destinies tied, making one future."

The witch's premonition landed like a venomous kiss. His scalp prickled, followed by a slight shiver. Mateo's destiny tied to House Stromm? No way. His skin crawled like a thousand tiny spiders scurried beneath the surface. He'd rather be executed.

His logical brain screamed, but he bit his tongue. Rhyka's premonition was yet another change in plans, another surprise for Mateo and the hunt, and clearly a deception because he would never associate himself with a Stromm for any reason. He tossed the witch's words aside and took away her power. No one decided his fate but himself—not a witch, and certainly not a Stromm.

"Let him rest," Lady Verona said at last, diffusing the uncomfortable tension in the carriage.

Relieved, he muttered a thanks and angled himself away from the ladies. He folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. Even though he tried to push away Rhyka's words, they were all he thought about as he struggled to find sleep.

Something else was at work here, something larger than himself, and he had no idea what.