Red Hood's Revenge (40 page)

His face tightened. He knew which knife Talia meant. “That weapon has been passed down for more than fifty generations.”

“
Why
does Zestan fear the Kha’iida?” Talia handed him the glass sword without waiting for an answer. “This sword belongs to my friend Danielle. It’s as precious to her as your knife is to you. Please see that she receives it back.” Unspoken was the assumption that any of them would survive.

Muhazil reached into his robe. Talia moved so her body would block Zestan’s view as she took the crystal knife from his hand. She tucked it away, then drew Snow’s knife.

Talia flipped open the mirror at the crossguard. “I hope you can hear me,” she whispered. “I need your help.”

“I offer you one final chance,” Zestan shouted. Flames the color of blood grew within the whirlwinds. Smoke darkened the sky overhead.

“Dammit, Snow, wake up or we’re all dead.”

“Stop yelling at me.” Snow’s voice was strained. “What’s happening out there? It sounds like thunder.”

“You don’t want to know. Are you strong enough for one more spell?” If Talia hadn’t already known how drained Snow was, the lack of an indignant response would have told her. “If I had any other ideas, I wouldn’t ask.”

Snow gave a weak laugh. “You see? All that fighting, and you still turn to me and my magic in the end.”

 

Talia held her cape shut as she approached the palace. The hood blocked her vision to either side, shutting out the burning whirlwinds of peri magic that threatened the others. That threatened Faziya. She stopped herself from turning back. Why hadn’t Faziya had the sense to stay behind? If Talia failed—

If that happened, at least she wouldn’t be around long enough to wallow in guilt or grief.

The Wild Hunt waited to escort her inside. Many were still mounted, mostly those in older armor. Talia wondered if there was any truth to the rumor that the original hunters would be destroyed if they ever dismounted. She fought the urge to drag one from his horse and find out.

Instead, she stopped at the doorway to the palace, reaching out to touch one of the old statues. The stone was rough, cracked and pitted from age. As a child, she had named the statues Qazella and Anil, “Big Nose” and “Ugly.” Her father had
not
been pleased when he overheard those nicknames.

Talia followed the hunters up the staircase. She and her brothers used to compete with one another to see who could jump from the highest step. She smiled again, remembering the day those games had come to an end. She had been seven years old. It was the first time she learned her fairy gifts couldn’t protect her from her own stupidity. Her broken leg had eventually healed. More important to young Talia, none of her brothers had dared to match her final leap.

The edges of the steps had crumbled with age. She glanced down into what had once been the great hall. Her father’s hunting trophies used to decorate those walls. How many times had she and her brothers and sister snuck down to sit in their parents’ thrones? She could hear her sister’s voice, a perfect imitation of their mother, addressing the imaginary crowds.

There was no door at the top of the stairway. Nor were there guards, at least none Talia could see. Zestan stood on the wall, staring at the people below.

“I can’t let them leave after seeing me,” Zestan said. “But I will keep my word. In exchange for your surrender, I will spare their lives.”

“That’s your mercy?” Talia stepped forward, but two hunters cut her off. “What will you do, transform them into animals with no memories of who they were?”

“They will be safe, with neither fear nor worry. How many of your kind can say the same?”

Talia turned to look out at the sandstorms Zestan had raised. Despite their fury, the air here was still and silent, as if she had passed into another world when she entered the palace. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Indeed?” Zestan spread her wings.

“If not for you, I never would have found Naghesh.” Had Talia’s smile been any more wolfish, she would have grown fangs.

Zestan brushed a hand through the air. “Naghesh served her purpose. The poison is prepared. I can control you myself if I must, once we destroy that cape.”

“I’m through being controlled,” Talia said.

Zestan laughed, a sound so empty of joy she might as well have been weeping. “You plan to steal my victory by killing yourself?” She pointed to the hunters. “Fairy magic is stronger than death. Your suicide would delay matters, but a changeling raised on your blood would serve just as well. I’ve grown weary of waiting, though.”

The hunters reacted as one, seizing Talia’s arms and wrenching her hands out of her cape. She grunted in pain as her arms were bent back.

Zestan studied the crystal knife in Talia’s right hand. “We created these blades. Did you think I wouldn’t feel its presence?”

Talia reversed her hold on the knife and stabbed the tip into the hunter’s wrist. There was no blood. She stabbed deeper, but the fingers gripping her arm merely clamped tighter. The hunter twisted. Even with the wolf’s strength, she couldn’t escape that hold. Her bones would snap before much longer. She tried one last time, shoving the knife as deep as she could.

The hunter’s other hand closed over hers. He yanked the knife from her grip and shoved her to the ground.

“You have so much in common with the Lady of the Red Hood,” Zestan said. “Such hatred. It killed her in the end.”

Talia flexed her hand. The fingers were numb, and bloody blisters showed where the hunter had squeezed her wrist. She hugged the wrist close to her body, beneath the cape. “Hate was all the Hunt left her. It kept her alive. It gave her purpose.”

Zestan took the knife from the hunter. Her smile disappeared. “What is this?” She raised the knife, and Snow’s illusion fell away, revealing simple steel. The mirror at the crossguard was still exposed.

Talia’s right hand shot out from the cape, throwing Muhazil’s knife. At this distance, not even Zestan was fast enough to stop the blade from sinking into her chest. Zestan staggered, one hand coming up to touch the hilt.

The hunters grabbed her from either side, but she stepped back, ramming her elbows into their stomachs. The blows didn’t do much, but the hunters bent over enough for her to reach up and catch the throat of the hunter to her right. She spun, slamming him into his companion.

They recovered quickly, but even as the rest of the Hunt moved toward her, the moonlight started to fade from their bodies. Talia ducked one attack, blocked a spear thrust with her forearm, and then they were gone.

Talia stood, rubbing her arm. Zestan’s other spells were dying along with her. One by one, the towers of sand collapsed, sending clouds of dust out until they obscured everything below. Talia coughed as the sand billowed over the palace wall.

“Thank you, Snow,” she whispered. Bending down, she yanked the knife from Zestan’s chest. White cracks spiderwebbed the blade. As she straightened, pebbles of crystal fell away until only a single broken shard remained, jutting from the hilt. Muhazil would not be happy. She picked up Snow’s knife as well, tucking it through her belt.

“I would have made Arathea great.” Zestan shivered. “Just as we made you great. If not for us—” Her body tightened, wings stiffening beneath her.

“My parents trusted the fairies who spoke such words. Who offered to save me, to make me better than human.” Talia bent down, grabbing Zestan’s tunic in both hands. The peri was lighter than Talia expected. “Khardija. Faziya. Beatrice. Snow and Danielle.
They
made me who I am today. You just make me angry.”

With those words, she threw Zestan’s body from the wall, then went to search for her friends.

“S
NOW?” TALIA MADE HER WAY THROUGH empty hallways and abandoned rooms. The stables were a putrid mess of mud and decaying grass. A single whiff told her this must be where Naghesh had slept. She could smell traces of fairy magic, and she spied a handful of tiny animated wisps of wind and water cowering on the far side of the stables. None were strong enough to be a threat. “Danielle?”

The palace swallowed her shouts. She hurried through the garden, where Zestan’s flowers had already begun to wilt in the sun.

“Talia!” Danielle’s voice came from the northern wing.

Talia found them at the base of the broken windcatcher. Snow was leaning against Danielle for support, but they were both alive. Talia hurried to take Snow’s other arm.

“I’m all right,” Snow protested. “I can walk.”

“I know,” said Danielle. “You walked right into the wall, remember?”

Snow flushed. “I didn’t think you saw that.”

“What happened?” asked Talia. “Are you—”

“What happened is you yelling at me through my mirror,” Snow complained, “demanding an illusion with no time to prepare.” She squinted at the sky. “The moon is gone. I assume that means Zestan is dead?”

“Your magic worked,” said Talia. “Thank you.”

“Of course it worked.” Snow stumbled over a half-buried stone. The collapse of Zestan’s whirlwinds had dumped several dunes worth of sand. “Did you have to get sand all over everything when you killed her? I’ve never felt this gritty in my life.”

Outside, the survivors had split into two groups. Many of the Kha’iida were gathered around Zestan’s body, singing a deep, somber melody that reminded Talia of a mourning chant. She recognized neither the tune nor the language. Farther away, people worked to treat the injured. Talia searched until she spied Faziya.

“I think I’d like to go home now,” Snow said.

Talia smiled and helped Danielle lower Snow to the ground, settling her in the shade against the wall. When she straightened, Muhazil was coming toward her. He carried Danielle’s sword.

“A magnificent weapon,” he said, offering it to Danielle.

Talia translated, and Danielle bowed as she took back her sword. “How do you say thank you?”

“Kuhran,” said Talia. Danielle repeated the word.

Talia turned to watch as the Kha’iida took turns kneeling before Zestan’s body. One by one, they each used their knives to cut off a lock of hair, which they set in the sand beside the peri.

“She meant to enslave you all,” Talia said.

“I know.” Muhazil touched the short hank of hair at his neck. “The peri founded the Kha’iida tribes. They protected us from the deev. We grieve for what she was, not what she became.”

“You barbarians have some strange customs.” Talia handed him the remains of the crystal knife. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

He dismissed her apology with a flick of his hand. “Each blade was meant to be used but once. Only by releasing all of their power can they overcome the strength of a deev.” His voice softened. “Or a peri.”

“What of the other peri?” Talia asked.

“We will send riders to the mountains,” said Muhazil. “There are ancient roads leading to the green peaks, hidden to all but a handful of our people. Our seers will awaken the peri and tell them of Zestan’s betrayal.”

She could feel the wolf urging her to fight, to follow the Kha’iida back to the mountains and kill every last peri, to make certain they never again threatened Arathea. As far as she knew, the peri had never spread beyond the borders of this land. Destroying them here would end their threat forever. “If they’re asleep, maybe you’re better off leaving them that way. Zestan might not be the only one who’s tired of waiting for redemption. Better still, if they’re asleep, that means they’re vulnerable . . .”

“Just as you and your family were?” Muhazil asked.

For a moment, Talia imagined she could see the hedge surrounding her, could hear the shouts of the sisters as they ran toward her. She exhaled slowly, pushing the memory from her mind. “You’re right,” she said softly. “Zestan’s crimes are her own. I apologize.”

“Should the deev ever return, we will need the peri again.” He glanced at Zestan. “I admit, I’d prefer if they stayed in their mountains until that day comes.”

Talia would have said more, but Faziya was hurrying toward her. Muhazil smiled and left without another word.

“You’re mad,” Talia said as she wrapped her arms around Faziya, lifting her into the air. “Your bandages are still spotted with blood, and you ride into the middle of battle?”

“Me? You attacked the Wild Hunt! You fought a peri!”

“I won, didn’t I?” Talia kissed her.

Faziya returned the kiss with enthusiasm before pulling away. “Your hand. What happened?”

“I’ll live.” Talia took her arm. “Could you please look at Snow? She—”

Faziya was already moving. She crouched and held her palm in front of Snow’s mouth, checking her breathing. Snow shoved the hand aside. Faziya made a scolding noise and felt Snow’s cheeks, then her forehead.

“I’m just tired,” Snow protested.

“You’re cold. Your breathing is quick and shallow, and your pupils are too large.” Faziya gently ran her fingers through Snow’s hair. “This hard lump. This is where you injured your head?”