Page 122 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
A branch snapped under my shoe, announcing my departure. Conversation morphed into shouts as my captors scrambled to find their weapons and begin their chase.
I pumped my arms, racing through the maze of trees. Moonlight shined through the leaves overhead, lighting my path with shifting silver beams. The underbrush was brittle, branches snapping and cracking, snatching at my dress. Roots and soft patches of decay made the ground treacherous, but I maintained my reckless pace, crashing through the gloomy darkness as fast as I could.
My chest ached with each breath, my pulse throbbed in my temples, but I pressed on, knowing I had to ignore the discomfort if I wanted to escape.
The deeper I ventured, the denser the forest grew. Scraggly bushes and gnarled tree trunks hunched over me like huge, ancient beasts, curious about my frantic presence. The terrain was changing, too, mounds of half-rotted logs and large stones creating new obstacles. But my pursuers were quicker than I’d hoped, running just as carelessly as I was over the ankle-breaking ground.
I needed to find cover.
I needed to lose them.
Fates, I needed to catch my breath.
Cresting a gentle hillock, I spotted a huge boulder halfway down the opposite slope. It was at least twelve feet high, tucked within a stand of pines, and covered in shaggy moss and vegetation. I could climb it and hide above my pursuers’ sightline until they passed, but—no, that was too risky. If they spotted me, they could encircle my perch, and I’d be trapped. Best to use it as cover, instead, and hope the sudden silence would cause them to lose track of my direction. Then I could press on at a more sustainable pace.
My shoes sank into loamy soil and soft decay as I ran downhill toward the boulder. When I reached it, I circled around the back, skidding to a halt. I placed my palm on the cool stone, lungs burning from the exertion, muscles quivering from fear and exhaustion.
But the forest did not quiet when my movements did. The snapping and cracking continued, as if I were still clambering through the underbrush. At first, I assumed it was the raucous pursuit of my captors—but the sound was closer than their shouts. And it was coming from the opposite direction, deeper in, northward—not just the snaps of twigs underfoot, but a terriblegrinding, with sharper cracks like breaking bones.
I turned toward the sound, peering into the woods.
A shadow lurked.
It was at least the height of a man, with hind legs that bent backward at the joints. When it passed into a patch of moonlight about sixty feet away—emitting that horriblesplittingnoise—I saw claw-tipped arms. Red glowing eyes. A crown of black antlers. Its body was mangled, skin stretched in some places and nonexistent in others, with white ribs poking through tendons and sinew, and a fringe of pointed appendages lining the sides of its torso. Black veins spider-webbed across gray slabs of bare muscle.
I’d never seen anything like it. Or maybe…maybe I had.
It was a creature ofnightmares. An abomination.
And it was coming straight for me.
43
Fears
Noble
The night was too peaceful for the tempest raging in Noble’s heart.
While starlight twinkled above, he was filled with wind and rain, a thunderous fury streaked with bright, brilliant fear. Yet he sat tall and stoic atop the horse Mariana had secured for him in Fenrir, keeping the storm contained, even as it threatened to tear his inner world apart.
Mariana had kept her word. As they rode out of Fenrir City, she’d explained what happened to Hattie. How Mariana had been leaving Fenrir’s Ire and heard Hattie screaming her own name—herrealname. How Mariana ran toward the shouting and saw that Hattie’s assailants matched the descriptions from previous incidents. How she’d watched them carry Hattie away, Mariana opting to notify Noble instead of pursuing them on her own (“Not because I couldn’t take them,” Mariana had said, but she hadn’t bothered to explain her true reasoning).
That had been twenty-four hours ago.
Twenty-two hours ago, they’d found the tracks of Hattie’s captors on the outskirts of the city, heading east.
Eight hours ago, while resting their horses, Noble had spotted a shiny, metallic flash in the grass: one of the pins Hattie used for her hair. He’d had to take another dose of Hylder to maintain control of the monster inside him, even though a part of him wanted to let it rampage. Hunt down Hattie’s captors and tear their limbs off one by one.
Now, the eastern flats of Fenrir unraveled before them like a pale ribbon, framed by the forested foothills of the Axe Mountains to thenorth and the jagged treetops of the Great Forest to the south. Stars twinkled, unobscured by clouds. An owl hooted, answered by the call of another.
Noble’s horse—a bay mare with a quick walk—snatched at the feathery tips of the tall grass stalks, surprisingly energetic considering their almost nonstop pace. To Noble’s left, Mariana whistled a jaunty tune that made him want to wring her neck. The calmness of evening and his company was not a comfort, but an insult.
How could the moon shine so brightly when Hattie was in danger?
How could the Fates continue to unspool their cosmic yarn when Noble’s entire future was at stake?
In truth, Noble never had much faith in Fate; his had changed too much over the years.
