The blond had left the inn a while ago. She hadn’t asked him where he had gone, she hadn’t told him to come back. Feyre knew he would take his appointment as her guide very seriously. No one wished to risk a Shadow’s anger. The Order’s dark reputation certainly had its benefits.

Standing before her, it was clear he must have gone home first. He wore a different set of clothes, far better suited to the forest, a bow and quiver strapped to his back, his hair brushed back, and an easy smile on his lips. Behind him stood a horse, saddled and waiting.

“Etienne,” he said, gesturing to himself, “and Arion,” he added with a gesture at his horse. “At your service.”

She thought of her horse in the inn’s stables. Of how much begging and pleading it had taken before Zelda, a Shadow stationed elsewhere in Voyenne, had agreed to let her borrow it. If this Mistbeast truly was as deadly as they claimed, Feyre was not about to take the horse with her. Zelda would never forgive her.

“I shall need a horse.”

“What about the one you came on?” he frowned.

“Not an option.”

“Are you su-”

“Not. An. Option.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I suppose Arion could carry us both.”

They walked out of Lin on foot. It allowed Feyre to take in more of the town in the morning light. A number of different paths led from the town into Blackwood Forest; some were well maintained, with neat cobbles leading from the houses to the open field where the path continued to the edge of the trees and under the canopy. The fields were full of spring flowers; daisies and dandelions, red clover and others Feyre couldn’t identify. Their scents, though subtle, filled the air around them. Her escort explained they varied their hunting grounds regularly, which explained the numerous paths.

“And the field?”

“Mostly for our own pretend security. But the children collect the dandelions for jam. They snack on the red clover too.”

At the edge of the Blackwood, they mounted Arion. The tall pine trees rose high above them. Arion followed the path with only little guidance from Etienne, knowing the way as well as any other inhabitant of Lin. Feyre kept her eyes and ears open, though she did not expect to catch any sight of the Mistbeast this close to the edge while the sun was out. The wind blew through the trees, rustling in the brush. Occasionally a twig snapped somewhere in the distance. There was nothing to warrant any extra attention.

Before long, the branches overhead became so thick they blocked out all sunlight. If she looked back, she could see nothing but pine trees; they seemed to have moved to block all sight of the world outside of the forest. The temperatures dropped as the sun disappeared, though a Shadow rarely went anywhere without their cloak.

“Pass me the lantern,” Etienne said, halting Arion briefly.

Feyre did as asked.

The small light bloomed to life in its glass prison, allowing them to see a little further. Never could she have found her way through Blackwood Forest without a guide who knew the woods like the back of his hands. While there were few paths branching off the main thoroughfare, the resemblance between the trees and the clear lack of markers made it impossible to guess how long they had traveled. Were they heading south or east? Yet all around them, the forest was alive with sounds.

They crossed a sturdy wooden bridge over the Grande Elle River as Etienne led them deeper and deeper into the Blackwood. Neither spoke much beyond the necessary, which was little. She didn’t ask how much longer they would need, nor where exactly he was taking her.

The noises of the forest disappeared so gradually, Feyre didn’t notice at first when everything had gone silent. Arion had walked on though she could sense the animal’s nervousness. She reached around Etienne to put a hand on the reins, hushing him softly before he could speak. Then she slipped down onto the ground.

The dirt path beneath her boots didn’t kick up any dust as she walked. Here and there, tree roots had pushed their way to the surface.

The lively forest seemed to have died; there were no more birds, no more rustles, no more wind. Only silence. Ahead, the path disappeared out of sight as it went downhill.

With one hand, Feyre pulled her dagger from her belt, gripping a throwing knife in her other.

Etienne followed, an arrow nocked and ready. Arion waited patiently where they left him, no interest in going any further. A sure sign of something, Feyre assessed. Her eyes continuously scanned the surrounding forest. Soon she caught something else, not a sound or sight but a smell. In stark contrast to the earthy smell of pine, dirt, and rotting vegetation was the coppery smell of blood. Her feet froze inches before the path dipped down. She found herself surveying a massacre. Etienne stood next to her in horrified silence.

“The latest hunting party, I assume?”

He nodded.

Before them, on the path, hanging from branches, and sticking out of the underbrush were a number of bodies. Impossible to tell how many. Each had been torn to pieces, so that most of what she saw were severed limbs. The man nearest to them, his face forever frozen in a terrified scream as he stared up at them, was missing his legs. Feyre surveyed the scene with odd detachment; it was hard to tell which legs had belonged to him.

“That’s Baptiste,” Etienne whispered. She nodded though the information was useless to her.

Slowly, she made her way downhill. The ground was dark with blood, most of which had dried by now, especially the long drag marks. One man had been left mostly intact, though he had been thrown against a tree where a branch had speared him. A hand lay abandoned in the middle of the path, a leg could just be seen sticking out of the vegetation. She saw a head of blond curls a little further, though got the distinct impression it was no longer attached to anything below the neck.

Whatever had attacked this group had been vicious, efficient and deadly. It hadn’t killed for food either. Feyre suspected if all body parts were gathered, they would amount to a complete hunting party, yet no other predator had come around to claim the spoils either, which concerned her more.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she swept her eyes over the dense assembly of trees.

“Etienne, go back to Arion.” She didn’t turn her eyes away from their surroundings. “Something is watching us.”

“What? We can’t just leave them here.”

“As a matter of fact, we can.”

With small, careful steps, Feyre maneuvered backward. Her eyes moved around, searching for the slightest sign of anything hidden in the trees. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Her ears couldn’t pick up anything. She turned to tell her companion once more to move.

It would have been fatal to anyone else; only her training, reflexes deeply ingrained in her muscles, saved her life as she automatically threw herself to the side. A second later and long fangs would have torn through her flesh.

Feyre spun to face her foe, holding her dagger at the ready. Her weapon was roughly the size of those teeth. Except she had only one dagger.

Before her stood a beast she had never seen with her own eyes before. This had to be the Mistbeast of the village’s tales. A wolf as tall as she was, with fur as black as night, eyes like fire, and powerfully built. Its lips were curled back to bare sharp and lethal teeth. Its hackles were raised and its ears lay flat as it snarled at her.

“Etienne, get to the horse. Now!”

She didn’t think he would need to be told again.

The wolf snapped its teeth and feinted a forward move. The Shadow lost her first throwing knife to that feint. Between one heartbeat and the next, the wolf leaped at her, not giving her the opportunity to escape as she had the first time. It knocked her over and she dropped her dagger; she needed her hands free to keep the strong jaws away from her throat.

Feyre struggled with all her might to keep them at bay. She worked to pull her legs up to her chest, then, with a burst of strength she prayed would be enough, she kicked out at the wolf. Too focused on ripping out her throat, the kick landed firmly on the beast’s sensitive belly, throwing it through the air.

Feyre didn’t waste a second. Grabbing her dagger as she rolled and rose to her feet, she sprinted up the path. Etienne sat in the saddle, yanking on the reins to keep Arion in place, as he waited for her. His eyes went wide as she appeared, the massive beast on her tail.

His quick arrow rushed past her ear, disappearing behind her. She grabbed his outstretched hand and allowed him to swing her up behind him. The stallion did not need to be told to flee.

A hurried look over her shoulder made her think for a second the wolf had disappeared. Instead, it had only sought refuge among the trees as it continued its chase. It was fast; it would catch up before long.

Feyre took her time to aim before throwing her second knife. Then a third. And a fourth. She neither heard nor saw the impact; the only confirmation she got to confirm a successful throw was a slight yelp. Ripping Etienne’s bow from his hand, she nocked an arrow and kept it aimed at the forest, waiting for a sight of the beast. Movement in the darkness.

Nothing.

Arion bolted out of the trees, too panicked to stop at the sight of sunlight. Etienne struggled to control him. They raced through the streets, villagers jumping out of their way, until a thicker crowd in the square forced them to a stop.

Feyre, her heart racing, dropped to the ground and went to the well. Pulling up a bucket, she drank her fill before holding it out to Etienne, who offered it to his horse.

A silence stretched between them.

The blond broke the silence first. “I can’t believe we survived an attack from the Mistbeast.”

Feyre turned on him, anger boiling in her veins. It had taken one look at the big wolf for her to know what predator she had come face to face with. It had been all she needed to piece together this complicated puzzle.

“You pissed off a Fenris wolf!” she yelled. “There shouldn’t have been a confrontation at all!”

A string of curses followed.

He took a step back. The few people in the square who had not been watching yet turned to them.

Feyre took a deep breath, knowing he did not deserve her anger. As a matter of fact, none in Lin deserved it. The first hunting party had set out long before any of these people had been born. Still, it was these people who had ventured into those woods and attempted to kill something unprovoked. It could simply be bad luck they encountered a creature with good memory and adept to holding grudges.

“What’s a Fenris wolf?”

She breathed in deeply through her nose and slowly out through her mouth. Feyre had made the conscious decision to specialize herself as Tenebrous, a Shadow trained in the deceitful gathering of information. She had chosen to wrap herself in shadows, minimizing her contact with violence. The occasional slit throat was no issue. A direct confrontation with a beast, may it be man or wolf, was quite different.

“A large species of wolves, native to the dense forests of Dinu. This one must have wandered west in search of new territory, maybe for prey.”

“That beast has been here for decades, surely it can’t be the same wolf.”

She wished she could answer him. Her expertise was not with wolves nor any other kind of animal. In fact, she feared she might be in over her head. Why had the Lightless thought to send her?

“Can you kill it?”

She took another deep breath. “I have to send a note,” she muttered to herself. Yes, she had to write to someone who knew more. To someone who could research these animals and their behaviors. To someone who could provide her with answers. Until then, she would not venture back into Blackwood Forest.

***