Nothing guarded the enormous rotting barn that sat in the middle of the swampy bayou, so covered in moss it looked like a shaggy green carpet was draped over the roof. Mushrooms grew from the walls in bulbous clumps, huge spotted things that, if you looked closely enough, sheltered several tiny winged figures beneath them. They blinked at us as we went by, huge multifaceted eyes peering out from under the mushroom caps, and took to the air in a flurry of iridescent wings. I jumped, but Ash and the horses ignored them as we stepped beneath the sagging frame and everything went white.

I blinked and looked around as the world came into focus again.

An eerie gray forest surrounded us, mist creeping over the ground like a living thing, coiling around the horses’ legs. The trees were massive, soaring to mind-boggling heights, interlocking branches blocking out the sky. Everything was dark and faded, like all color had been washed out, a forest trapped in perpetual twilight.

“The wyldwood,” I muttered, and turned to Ash. “Why are we here? I thought we were going to New Orleans.”

“We are.” Ash pulled his horse around to look at me. “The trod we want is about a day’s ride north. It’s the quickest way to New Orleans from here.” He blinked and gave me an almost smile. “Or were you planning to hitchhike?”

Before I could reply, my horse suddenly let out a terrifying whinny and reared, slashing the air with its forelegs. I grabbed for the mane, but it slipped through my fingers, and I tumbled backward out of the saddle, hitting the ground behind the horse, snapping bushes underneath. Snorting in terror, the fey steed charged off toward the trees, leaped over a fallen branch and vanished into the mist.

Groaning, I sat up, testing my body for pain. My shoulder throbbed where I’d landed on it, and I was shaking, but nothing seemed broken.

Ash’s mount was also throwing a fit, squealing and tossing its head, but the Winter prince was able to keep his seat and bring it back under control. Swinging out of the saddle, he tied the horse’s reins to an overhead branch and knelt beside me.

“Are you all right?” His fingers probed my arm, surprisingly gentle. “Anything broken?”

“I don’t think so,” I muttered, rubbing my bruised shoulder. “That lovely patch of bramble broke my fall.” Now that the adrenaline had worn off, dozens of stinging scratches began to make themselves known. Scowling, I glared in the direction my mount had disappeared. “You know, that’s the second time I’ve been thrown off a faery horse. And another time one tried to eat me. I don’t think horses like me very much.”