I tried to raise a green-tinted glass of cider to my lips with trembling hands, nearly spilling it on my lap. I left the glass on the tabletop after that, watching as the pine-wrapped woodsmen and woodswomen came to take their places around the feasting table, branch-antlers piercing the night sky. The Evergreen Host stationed themselves in the shadows at the edge of the woods, the evening breeze fluttering their emerald capes as they leaned their weapons—axes, bows, and sheaths of arrows—against the trees.

Even in my lush, fur coat, I shivered. Below the chatter and loud storytelling, I heard the cries of the Patrolmen in my ears like they were around the table with us. I heard Wanda screaming. I heard Kilen shrieking. I heard Mirkra banging on the cell bars.

Zane’s hand crept beneath the table and slid over to take mine.

“I wish you could tell me a story,” I whispered to him, staring at the dark parts of the forest with glassy eyes.

“I’d spend the rest of my timestring telling you stories if it would fix you,” he said. “We’ll slip away tonight, Trite. We’ll go back to the Chocolatiers.”

Eliot stepped into view across the clearing. His silvery coat glittered in the moonlight as he sat with a frown. He stared at the prickly, olive centrepieces.

Candles were lit to begin the feast, cider was poured, and the shouting grew in volume as the folk tried to overpower each other. Drums and the clanging of cutlery echoed through the forest.

Minutes into the feasting, I realized Eliot was looking at me. He hadn’t taken a bite. Neither had I.

His low voice met my ears. “There’s a tree with orange leaves and golden sap, thirty strides that way.” His sapphire eyes flickered to the left. “Make sure you find it first.”

My brows tugged in as Eliot rose from his seat, eyes sinking to dusty turquoise. Lucas rose too, as though wondering if he should follow. Eliot brushed past elves serving platters of fruit skewers, his curls bouncing. He snatched a Host’s bow leaning against a tree, along with a single, emerald-feathered arrow, and he disappeared into the darkness.

“What in the fluffy frostbite is he doing?” Lucas dragged a butter knife toward himself, scanning the trees where Eliot had vanished. One second went by. Then two. Three.

Finally, Lucas sank back to his seat.

“I’ve got a scotchy feeling,” Zane admitted as Lucas hauled a mouthful of pumpkin pudding into his mouth.

“Take it as a victory,” Lucas mumbled past the glob. “Maybe we should go now before he comes back…” But his voice trailed off and his eyes widened.