It struck me as odd, how many goblins fought to become the next Erlking without thinking about the responsibility behind the job. Only the power and prestige at being the best hunter, the most powerful predator, out of the group. How many other goblins were unprepared for what actually lay ahead of them once they started their rule?

And what of me? I took the stag’s mantle, knowing it was the correct choice, the one needed to save what I loved—or at least I thought so at the time—but in the end, I was still a human in the Permafrost trying to control magic that was beyond the scope of my very reasoning. It was like trying to move a limb that you couldn’t see or feel, but you knew it was there.

Had it been different, had Lydian and Soren’s confrontation not caused the Erlking to die and thus not trigger the Hunt, where would we be now? Not together, that was for sure.

I wished I could take the burdens off Soren and carry them myself, to take the pain from his shoulders and merge it with my own. Let him understand that there was no reason for him to feel guilt, to blame himself. I’d been through a crisis of identity before and I could do it again. But Soren was always so sure of everything. Until now, when his very existence was revealed to cause calamity.

I stroked his hair, brushing the feathery white strands out of his face, and kissed his forehead softly. He moved a little but remained asleep as I pressed myself against him once more, hoping to get lost in the warmth his body created.

WHEN NIGHT CAME on the second day, both of us somberly got ready for our mission. I put on my hunting leathers—worn and broken in until they molded to my body—and pulled on boots with the similar comfortable feeling of being made solely for me. Underneath the dyed-black leather were warm cotton underlayers that acted as a shield against any bit of cold that might slip through. On my forearms were leather bracers: my shooting arm had two thin rods of metal attached across the bracer by straps and it covered the top of my hand until it met my archery glove; while on the other arm, the bracer was more traditionally covered with steel boning so it was flexible, but could also be used to stop an attack from a sword.

Two axes hung from my hip—courtesy of Rosamund—and my quiver was attached to my belt, my bow slung across my back.