Chapter 23

Twenty-Three

WESLEY

W e walked a while. Not in circles, as I identified a few types of trees and plants, but helpful mushrooms or guiding kittens remained elusive. Finn stumbled twice. The first time I had thought maybe I’d missed a root as I led him, but the second time he leaned hard into me, breathing tight, one sleeve pushed up to reveal the mark extended all the way to his wrist.

His touch on my side ached with a growing chill, adding to my worry.

The longer we walked the more frustrated I got. The world around us was changing, but none of the old landmarks reappeared. Finn slowed until he only moved because I did, leaning into me as if I were the only thing keeping him upright. I stopped, fearing he’d fall over. He slid to the ground. The mark stretched up over the left side of his face, blending in with the heavy bags of exhaustion around his eyes.

I shifted to my human form, pulling him into my arms. “Hey,” I said.

He fought to open his eyes, but they only fluttered.

“Fuck,” I cursed.

“Sorry,” Finn slurred. “Tired.”

But with the sky overhead darkening to full night, and the pinprick of stars illuminating the barest of details, resting for the night was a bad idea. With little more than a handful of trees and distant bushes, we were too vulnerable. I needed to get him up and moving and to find something to put to our backs for safety.

“Hey,” I shook him. “I’m going to change, and I’ll need you to crawl up on my back.”

“You’re so pretty.”

“And you’re delusional. I’m not using any glamour right now. This is as ordinary human as I can be.” I tried to lift him, but he sighed and stared at my face, hand lifting as if to reach my hair.

“It’s like spun rose gold.”

“In the dark?” I asked and pressed my fingers to his forehead. “You’re not feverish.”

“Cold,” he said, shivering and pressing himself into my touch. “You’re warm.”

And since the mark sprawled over his skin, I worried.

“Mhmm. Oh, you’re naked.” He shut his eyes.

“Yeah, well pretty comes with all the parts. If I change into the Stag, can you climb on? I’ll try to find us a safe place for the night.”

“Sure, but you’re really tall in that form.”

“I’ll crouch. Remember not to touch my antlers.” I leaned him up against a tree and shifted. The air crackled with energy as the change slid over me, muscles rippling beneath my skin as I became the Stag.

When I bowed beside him, he didn’t move. I waited, hoping he hadn’t passed out. After a few seconds he slid one arm over and then the next. His movements painfully slow as he climbed on, my clothes grasped tightly in his arms as though he were afraid to lose them. Everywhere he touched ached with an icy bite, reminding me of the Winter court and the endless torture at the Queen’s feet.

Finn settled onto my back, the weight of his exhaustion heavy, his breaths uneven and labored. The darkness of night cloaked the landscape, and the sound of the forest faded to chilling, ominous silence. I studied the darkest edges of shadows, searching for signs of the shadow beast, or any movement. The weight of being watched was heavy even though I saw no one. The longer I stared at the distant trees, the edges rippled with a trickle of movement. An illusion?

I cursed the realm for being tricksy, remembering how terrible Underhill had been, and headed toward the trees. Finn sprawled over my back like a pulse of living ice. I could feel him breathing, and the gentle grip of his fingers in my fur trying to keep himself steady. If he passed out and fell, I’d have no chance of catching him before he hit the ground.

Approaching the magic quiver of forest, the air shimmered with a faint otherworldly glow, casting strange shadows that danced on the forest floor. I hesitated, half worried stepping through the veil would bring me to the den of the shadow wolf, and half hopeful it would rip us free from the realm altogether. Would the mark vanish if Finn escaped? Or would it force him to remain in this madness, tearing him from my back?

As I stepped into the midst of the illusion, the world around us twisted, the familiar landscape morphed into something altogether unfamiliar. Mushrooms popped up in an array of color and sizes not typical to a part of the mortal world. Trees sprouted where none had stood before, their branches reaching out like twisted fingers grasping at the darkness. Faces carved from their bark with contorted expressions.

My heart flipped over with fear at the memory of Underhill before its collapse and how blighted the landscape had been. The mushrooms provided light, but cast squirming shadows over the gnarled faces making them appear alive.

Autumn as a king had been the first to be lost, and his chaos spread to Underhill in this sort of Halloween-esque nightmare. Was this the final sign that the new king was already beyond saving?

I stared at a nearby tree, feeling the carved face tug with a sense of familiarity. The longer I studied the carve of the face, the more real it felt. As if a person had been sucked into the tree and entombed there.

I took a few steps back, the ground beneath my hooves soft and unstable, like I walked on shifting sands rather than solid earth. The deafening silence chilled me to the core, making me wonder if I’d lost my hearing. I froze and listened, hearing Finn’s sluggish heartbeat after a few seconds. I really needed to get him to safety.

Should I go back? The arch of surrounding trees filled with frozen and contorted faces loomed close. Finn’s grip tightened. I steadied my breath hoping to give him the impression of calm confidence, though my anxiety rose as we wove through a dozen carved trees.

The gnarled growths of Underhill vibrated with magic. Their roots having eaten fae much as the kings could, though unable to weave the remains into anything other than a resonating nightmare of the past. The faces, trees, and even the brush surrounding us in the faint light of glowing mushrooms lacked any sense of life at all. More like statues than plants, or a carved area of the realm meant to reflect the living sense of a painting, only filled with the life the onlooker gave it.

“What is this place?” Finn whispered. He clung to my back, lying pressed against me, grip tight. “Are they people? Fae?”

An array of bright mushrooms surrounded a nearby tree, illuminating it to clarify the face with an uncomfortable familiarity. Not people, I realized, but perhaps a shrine to them. Parts of the Autumn king’s past? This one lacked the contorted nightmare expression of the others, appearing with eyes closed, half turned away, and calm.

Sebastian.