“And Cyril isn’t my Master,” Viola finished.

Barclay wasn’t surprised by what Viola said, only that she finally admitted it. He wanted to ask her about it, and by Tadg’s expression, it looked like he did too.

But both were stopped by a huff. That was the only word for the sound, like something letting out a great deep breath.

The three of them turned and came face-to-face with a set of nostrils.

They looked up. The Beast in front of them was nearly fifteen feet tall. Barclay counted four legs, three tails, and two giant tusks sharp enough to pierce a man through.

It was a boar, if boars were as large as buildings and had pelts rougher than mountain rock. Bugs buzzed and crept all over its skin—some normal fleas and ticks, others small Beasts.

It let out a second huff, and all three of them cringed from the smell of its breath.

Root whimpered again.

They took several careful steps back.

“Time to run,” Barclay rasped.

“We’re not running,” Tadg snapped. “Then it will think we’re food.”

The boar treaded forward and sniffed them.

“I’m pretty sure it already does,” Barclay said.

“Step back,” Tadg commanded, and Barclay and Viola happily obliged.

The ground softened below them as water bubbled up to the surface. It crept across the grass in a puddle below the Beast. Then Tadg, the same way he’d done during all the matches of the Exhibition, placed his palm in the water. Bright currents sparked out of his fingertips, and the Beast gave a disgruntled sort of snort.

Tadg frowned and tried a second spark.

The Beast pounded its feet into the mud, as though preparing to charge.

“Why isn’t it working?” Tadg grunted.

“Look at its tusks. Look at its hooves,” Viola said. “They’re stone. They don’t conduct electricity.”

Tadg’s gaze flickered to Root. “We’re not all going to fit on the back of that Lufthund.”

“I can run beside Root,” Barclay told him.

“Didn’t you hear what I said about it thinking you’re food?” Tadg asked.

“It won’t catch me.”

Seeming to like what it smelled, the boar opened its jaws wide to take a bite. Viola screamed and narrowly missed becoming an appetizer. She and Tadg scrambled onto Root’s back, and all of them took off, Barclay dashing alongside them.

Though they didn’t run as quickly as earlier, they still moved fast. The boar’s footsteps thundered behind them. Birds flocked out of trees. Smaller rodents and Beasts ducked for cover.

And larger Beasts came looking.

Erhart had been right about one thing—at only one night left until Midwinter, the Woods crawled with Beasts. Eyes watched them as they passed. Shadows crept through the trees around them, branches reached for them. It was as though the Woods itself had teeth.

When the trio finally stopped, it was late in the evening. Barclay and Root, exhausted, both collapsed under a giant tree with violet sap leaking out each of its knots.

“We should keep moving,” Tadg said. “Soren and the others could be close by now.”