Page 58 of Dark Sun (Wicked Lovely 6)

“I still feel the sense of foreboding,” Aislinn told him. “But I don’t want to run.”

“Nor should you,” Chela said as the first of the Hunt slid to a stop that kicked soil and flowers through the air, as if she could somehow hit Tavish with flowers as if they were weapons.

Chela grinned at him. “Tavish. Looking spry for an old man.”

“Gabriela,” he replied formally.

Thatwasher title, but Aislinn felt like the shift between them meant that she had leave to call the huntress by her first name. She smiled and said, “Chela.”

“Ash,” Chela returned the informality with a quirk of a smile that made Aislinn want to step forward.

“I trust you are well,” Aislinn said idly, not yet rising from her sunlit throne.

The rough woman grinned, feral teeth and sharp edges. There was blood on her cheek, but it looked like rouge on her. “And victorious.”

“Good hunt?” Aislinn looked past her, toward the seething mass of muscles and shadow. They weren’t moving now, but the whole of the Hunt shifted and writhed. Motion even when still, they were a fascinating force.

And Aislinn couldn’t resist the impulse to wade into those shadows. They felt like they were connecting to her, not directly but through Chela, through their Gabriela. She stood, not vanishing her throne, and held a hand toward Chela.

Chela laughed, but she strode up the pyramid and took Aislinn’s hand. “Afraid you’ll fall without me there, too?”

“Not at all,” Aislinn murmured, fairly sure that she wasn’t missing the flirtatious layers of meaning in those words.

The Hound, holding Aislinn’s hand aloft, escorted her to the bottom of the pyramid and gestured to the Hunt. “Walk among us, Summer Queen. Behold our power.”

As the two of them stepped forward, the crowd parted without a spoken word. The breath of dog-like creatures huffed hot on Aislinn’s bare ankles and feet. Creatures snorted or chuffed, exhaling plumes of heat against her bare arms and neck. No Hound moved. Their boot-clad feet didn’t shift or step out of place. They were steady statues as Chela and Aislinn walked forward.

At the heart of the crowd, she saw the quarry.

Hanging limp, held upright only by the hands clutching his arms, was Urian. His feet were bare and bloodied. Thorns and rocks were embedded in his exposed flesh. His jeans were torn, and the tops of boots were around his ankles like strange wide bracelets.

Aislinn glanced at Chela inquiringly.

“Prey runs, Ash.” Chela smiled, a cruel twist of lips baring her teeth. “If he faltered, we’d have carried him. He didn’t.” She shrugged, but the look she gave Urian was impressed. “Even after he wore out the boots, he ran.”

“He ran until he couldn’t stand,” Aislinn murmured.

She understood why Chela was impressed by Urian, but it changed nothing. He was the one who came into her court, stabbed her advisor, and threatened her. The Summer Queen had no room for mercy.

With a blink, she fashioned manacles of sunlight and thorns around Urian’s wrists. To them, she attached chain of vine, thick gnarled wood that was stronger than steel, and in the heart of it, she twisted sunlight and sand. They would burn, abrade, and restrain her enemy—but it was not painful iron or steel. She wanted Urian to fear her, but she wasn’t going to expose him to steel to achieve that goal.

Unless this doesn’t work . . .

She handed the end of the chain to Chela.

Then Aislinn stepped forward, so that she was in front of her uncle.

When he didn’t look up, she pulled a deluge from a nearby cloud, soaking him with cold water and tiny pebbles of hail.

“What the h—"

Aislinn grabbed his face, stopping words and forcing him to look at her. “I don’t believe we finished our conversation, uncle.”

He blinked at her, trying to speak.

Then Aislinn released her hold. “Until I am satisfied that you are no threat to me or mine, you will be a guest of my court.”

“Fuck you,” Urian said.

---