“You might catch them if you ride hard,” said one of the hedgemen at the gate.
Lament seemed to take these words as a personal challenge, because she caught up with the king’s entourage in less than fifteen minutes, planting herself several paces in front of it and refusing to budge, shaking her mane and whinnying loudly.
“Whoa,” called the driver, halting the horses, forcing the entire entourage, which snaked like a ribbon back towards the city, to stop.
“What is this?” demanded the Frost King, glancing out of his carriage.
Hawthorne met his icy gaze. “I need to speak with Emeline.”
A cloud crossed the king’s face. “You’ve exhausted your horse for nothing, sir.”
“I’m not leaving until I speak with her.”
“The Song Mage isn’t here.”
What?Hawthorne frowned. “Did you not invite her to return with you?”
“I did, and she declined. Now get out of the way, or my coach will be forced to run you over.” He disappeared back inside, demanding his driver ride on.
Declined?
As the carriage rolled forward, Hawthorne moved aside, letting them pass. As they did, Hawthorne saw the kingwasalone in his carriage. He scanned the other horses, but none bore Emeline on their backs.
Is it true? Are you going to the Winter Court?
Unless someone gives me a reason not to.
A reason? What kind of reason?
You tell me, Hawthorne.
He turned Lament back. Theyflew. But when Hawthorne tried to steer the ember mare towards Emeline’s house, Lament refused. He dug in his heels. He yanked on the reins. But Lament paid him no heed.
Where are you taking us?
When Lament finally slowed to a stop, his question was answered.
They stood in the Heartwood, facing the oak tree.
Because of course she was here.
Hawthorne dismounted and headed towards the tree. He was halfway there when the wooden door opened and Emeline emerged, dressed in faded jeans and a T-shirt. Her dark hair was in a ponytail and tucked under her arm was a stack of sheet music.
At the sight of her, Hawthorne nearly fell to his knees in relief.
At the sight ofhim, she froze.
“You didn’t leave,” he said, coming closer. Drawn to her like a magnet. “Why?”
His pulse increased with his pace. Every step he took felt right.Good.His mind might not remember, but his body did.
His bodyknew.
She glanced away, swallowing. “What do you want, Hawthorne?”
He closed the gap between them.
“You,” he said, pushing her up against the door, cradling her face in his hands. “I want the girl who haunts my dreams.”
