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It seemed the hunt had been successful in other ways. A wolf named Donovan had brought down a malicious boggart that had found its way to the Human Realities and had begun preying on humans—feeding on their fears before eventually feeding on them.
We passed the bloody cloak in its display case and Fae of all shapes and sizes. Some I recognized from storybooks, and others I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams. Men with waistcoats and goat legs, or women with fingers made of branches and skin of bark.
Kaleb moved through the castle quickly, no doubt having spent years traversing its halls. He wasn't fazed even when he opened the door to open air a hundred feet above the ground. Though my stomach leaped to my throat. Instead, he shut the door and directed me to another path, finally reaching one of the upper towers of the castle—and the Huntsman’s private quarters.
Punishment.
Kaleb was going to get hurt. I just knew it.
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, wondering how the silver wolf was so calm about it all. He’d been there to hear the Huntsman’s threats. He knew I’d failed the Hunt. I didn’t want to go into the room. My fingers tingled, and my stomach gurgled as I rocked from one foot to the other. If Ithought it would have helped, I would have run away as fast as I could.
Kaleb knocked once, standing with his hands knitted together behind his back.
We waited several minutes before a deep, languid voice echoed through the door. “Come in.” It drawled.
Kaleb opened the door, gesturing for me to walk through first.
The Huntsman’s office was as dusty as the rest of the castle. Seemingly forgotten and lost to time.
The Huntsman sat behind his desk, his dark cloak draped over his shoulders, the hem picking up dust. He didn’t look up, midway through writing a letter as he dipped his quill in ink.
Kaleb locked the door behind us and stood at my side.
I felt sick.
Unable to focus, a bead of sweat rolled down my face before dropping from my jaw. My chest tingled with the same frenetic nervousness I’d felt when I’d done something wrong, waiting for Joel to notice. And he always did.
The lump in my throat grew larger with every second until every breath stung, and my eyes watered with unshed tears.
Finally, the Huntsman placed his quill in a little pot and shifted his still-wet letter to the side. He knitted his fingers together, placing them before him as he finally gifted us his attention.
“Yesterday was your first hunt.” The Huntsman said without emotion. I felt the weight of his gaze like a hand on the back my neck. “You will live because it was your first hunt.”
My eyelids fluttered as I tried to see through my unshed tears.
He had planned tokillme.
The Huntsman continued, not waiting for a response. “I am very interested in how you hid yourself for so long. It is not often that a new wolf can avoidthe call.”
My lips mashed together, but when the Huntsman looked at me with strange goat-like eyes, I felt the truth bubble on my tongue like a dissolving aspirin. “Herbs. A special concoction.”
“Hmm?” The Huntsman knitted his fingers together and leaned forward with his elbows on the desk.
The truth continued to pour from my mouth. “Chamomile, vervain. Wolfsbane.”
“That mixture would do more than hide a new wolf.” The Huntsman said with veiled interest. “But Weavers have no need for herbs.”
“I’m not a strong Weaver,” I told him, and it was the truth.
The Huntsman’s brows lifted, disappearing into his hairline. “You are a child. Barely thirty. I’m certain with time, you will come into your magic. Perhaps without sacrificing your hair.”
“Why do you need a Weaver?” I blurted out.
“To close the Gate.” The Huntsman cocked his head to the side, eying me with strange alienness. “You found the white stag but allowed the beast to go free. A dangerous criminal who had been gifted the chance for freedom if they could allude my hounds. Given the form of a stag and set free.” The Huntsman pinched the bridge of his nose. “You gave clemency that was not yours to give. You are a wolf, and it is the gods' will that you are their teeth. The hounds protect the veil between the human world and the Aos Sí. When the transformation spell wears off, that stag will walk on two legs and be free to commit many more crimes.”
I didn’t point out that offering someone the chance to be free and then getting angry when they took that chance seemed wildly unfair.
“It wasn’t a stag, Master.” Kaleb tilted his head with a bow. “It was a Horned Lord.”
