Page 123 of Bride of the Midnight Prince

He can move quickly. Since the cart has not been moved, I must assume all his progress was made on foot, speaking to his physical fitness—and he has excellent knowledge of the Paths in Caphryl Wood. The Paths that transcend time and space and make travel through the Wood possible instead of a death sentence.

But no matter how quickly he moved, there isnopossible way he was able to successfully sneak the slaves out of their posts in that short timeframe. He has allies in Faerieland. People—or a single person—who gets the slaves ready, and then the Ivy Mask is the one who escorts them out of Caphryl. I need to find this person.

To do that, I need to find out what Paths the Ivy Mask took on the last raid.

I pull out my human pocket watch. One hour and fifty-three minutes—the entire time the Ivy Mask was inside Caphryl Wood. Twenty-nine spent traveling to the kravok’s lair, hiding, fighting the monster, before he escaped. That leaves eighty-four minutes between the moment he left the kravok and the moment he left Caphryl.

“Who goes over yonder?” cries a loud voice. “Ymer will grind your bones to make Ymer’s bread!”

I sigh, turning toward the great lump of troll not far away. “You know you’re going to have to leave, Ymer,” I call. “You don’t want to stay in the human lands. Why don’t you make it easier on both of us and just leave now?”

“This is Ymer’s land!” he roars, swinging his club into the ground. He reeks of rot even at this distance. “Ymer will not leave it!”

“The ruler of this land will bid you go. You know it will happen. You might as well go squat somewhere else instead of waiting.”

“You are not the ruler of the land! Ymer does not listen to your poisonous lies!”

“You couldn’t have sentanyone elseto deal with this, Ash?” I growl under my breath as I steer clear of the troll’s club and march through the sparking, tall grass to get to the Wood.

Now comes the fun part: spending the night walking Paths to see which ones fit the timeframe. It’s not as daunting of a prospect as it would be if I didn’t know the targeted court based on news I received this morning.

The Pyrenar Court.

I mark the minute on my watch and begin.

TheIvyMaskwenttoValehaven. I shake my head in disbelief, staring down at my watch as I stand on the rocky shore of the Maltun Sea. A bridge spans the rushing river emptying into the sea, and beyond it, a white stone palace rises above the cliffside. A thin crescent moon hangs above the towers.

He used the Path from the Pyrenar Court to go to Valehaven, and then from there back to the human lands. Since he left no scent trail, I couldn’t have tracked him. That is how he managed to lose me and make it back to Harbright before I caught up.

It’s brilliant.

It is a great shame that this fellow must die.

Chapter 37

Kat

ThetrektoVandermoreManor takes forever on foot. I wouldkillto have Bartholomew back. Or even just some random horse from the market who wouldn’t buck me off the moment I sat in its saddle. It’s also a feat to avoid the notice of the patrolling city guards, but I am getting better at it.

Between these two matters, it’s been well over an hour since I left—judging by the height of the quarter moon.

When I finally arrive, I slip around to the back, climb through the hedge, and reach the trellis I always used to sneak in and out for my raids.

This time, I stop at Agatha’s window. The room is dark and empty, as expected. I pry open the window with some effort, then slip inside. I expect the impact of my feet hitting the floorboards to jar my injury and send a bolt of pain shooting up through my body, but Rahk’s salve is working miracles, and I only feel a deadened ache.

“Maybe I should be stealing their medicines along with their slaves,” I mutter to myself in the darkness. I could make a fortune selling them to humans. Since I no longer have my own.

The only light comes from the stars outside. I’ll need a candle. I grab Agatha’s shawl from the back of her chair and stuff it under the door. Then I return to her desk, my hands gliding over the surface of the wood until I find a stubby candle and a match.

The quiet glow of the candle doesn’t illuminate much, just the span of her desk. It fights against the oppressive darkness of the room and fails miserably.

But all I need is the desk.

“There’s got to be something here,” I whisper under my breath. Everything is neatly arranged on the desk. There is a vase of trimmed roses from the front landscaping and a little picture frame with the busts of her two daughters. Of course there wouldn’t be one of me.

Not what I’m looking for.

I ease open the first drawer. Stacks of fresh parchment and unopened bottles of ink. I close it and open the next.

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