As the huntsman followed Ashk’s men to the stables, the Hunter walked away from all of them, then broke the seal on the letter and began to read.

With shaking hands, Aiden helped Lyrra to her feet.

“Mother’s mercy, Aiden,” she said, clinging to him. “Did you know any of this when you decided to find the Hunter?”

“No.”

“Would you have still searched if you knew?”

“I don’t know.” Aiden led her to a bench near the edge of the open ground. “It wouldn’t have mattered. The Black Coats attacked her Clan, her family. She would have come east to gather the Fae whether we’d found her or not.”

But we wouldn’t have been riding with her, probably wouldn’t have been at this Clan house on this day to experience what she could do. The Inquisitors were a vicious threat to all of Sylvalan, but for the Fae personally, the Hunter was more terrifying.

Sinking down on the bench beside Lyrra, he rubbed his chest. He’d always felt embarrassed that his other form was a tiny whoo-it owl, and he seldom changed to that form to enjoy the gliding flight through woods and over fields except when he was alone—or with Lyrra, who ran beneath him, her red fox coat shining in moonlight. Knowing how easily it could be taken away from him, he didn’t think he’d ever feel embarrassed about his other form again. He didn’t want to lose it, didn’t want to lose a vital part of what made him Fae.

Ashk would have come east anyway. And some foolish Lord of the Woods would have challenged her because she was female—and the Fae would have learned why they should fear her.

“He challenged her,” Lyrra said, her voice sounding shaky. “It was within her rights to kill him.”

“I know.” He felt Lyrra shudder.

“Bard?”

He looked over at the young, terrified minstrel who stood a man’s length away from the bench.

“I’m the Bard.”

“W-what are we supposed to do?” The minstrel began to cry. “What are we supposed to do?”

Aiden was up and leading the youth to the bench. He hugged him, kissed his forehead to soothe as he would a frightened child. “We do as the Hunter commands.”

“But we can’t,” the minstrel wailed. “If we don’t obey the Huntress, she’ll be angry with us.”

A chill swept through Aiden. “You have a message for me about the Huntress?”

The minstrel nodded, his head resting on Aiden’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Aiden asked, working to keep his voice gentle.

The minstrel sniffed, then pulled a wax-sealed paper out of the inner pocket of his traveling vest.

With a comforting squeeze, Aiden withdrew enough to break the seal and read the message.

He read it twice—and then a third time.

“Aiden?”