Alyson Noel - Horizon

Though the words are spoken like a question, one look is all it takes to tell me she’s already decided I’ve failed them. That I chose love over duty. That I can’t be trusted to save them.

I turn away. All too aware that time’s running out. That I need to handle this before someone else decides to complete what Jennika started. I follow the trail of blood and destruction Dace left in his path.

DAIRE

For something so large, the beast moves lightning fast. And with the Lowerworld plummeting into a state of complete devastation, it gets harder and harder to discern his tracks.

Trees are toppled. Shrubbery flattened. While once-beautiful flower beds have been crushed by numerous upended boulders and rocks. And with Eagle long gone, combined with Raven’s continued absence, I’m left to rely on the ring, hoping it will lead me to the Richters where I’m sure to find the beast.

I hold it before me, making a careful study of its glimmering facets, the subtle shifts of hue that seem to change with my escalating anxiety. Trying to get a feel for just who’s controlling this thing, though, the truth is, there’s no way to know for sure until I put it to use.

Going on the assumption that it’s working for me since it once permitted access to the Rabbit Hole while remaining undetected by Leandro and Cade, I engage in the opposite version of the hot-and-cold game. Every time the stone grows hot, presumably leading me to safety, I change course until it cools and I’m (presumably) moving toward the enemy. Figuring that, either way, we’ll end up face to face. I just hope it’s on my terms, my way.

Though after roaming for what feels like miles with still no sign of them, or anyone else for that matter, I’m about to give up and try something else, when the stone grows notably cooler and I stumble upon a haphazard trail of mutilated demon carcasses bearing damage so severe only a beast could’ve caused it.

With my athame missing, and my buckskin pouch now with Jennika, I’m down to the blowgun still stashed in my boot.

Same blowgun Dace left in my care, making me promise to use it on him.

A thought that’s as inconceivable now as it was then.

Despite what he’s done, I refuse to abandon him.

If he really wanted to kill me, he would’ve done so already.

He could’ve easily crushed my windpipe, spiked a talon straight through my heart. And, as soon as that was done, he could’ve ripped both Leftfoot and Jennika apart.

So what stopped him?

Certainly not Jennika’s dart.

No, Dace is still in there. Exerting whatever control he has left.

Question remains—how much longer can he keep the beast contained?

All along, Dace understood the nature of the beast far better than I did.

Held no illusions to the sort of power it would wield.

Then again, he’s lived with it for much longer than I first realized. Making its debut on New Year’s Eve, when Dace connected with the snakes and convinced them to attack Suriel. Which, in effect, turned out to be his first kill. The one that served to whet the appetite of what’s grown into an insatiable bloodlust.

With each dark deed, the darkness inside Dace increases. Like fertilizer, feeding and strengthening a beast that’s meant to destroy us.

And now, with Gabe dead, Dace’s initiation into the dark arts is secured. Next time we meet, he’ll be fully transformed.

With a terrain of charred earth underfoot, a blazing red canopy of clouds drooping overhead, and the agonized screams of sprit animals and guides called to battle, I follow the trail of carnage. Reminded of the story Paloma once told me about the day my father was buried—how the funeral unfolded under a crimson-scorched sky.

Funny to think I may end under similar circumstances.

With the stone nearing the point of freezing, I better my grip on the blowgun and push my legs harder, until I’m sprinting up a grueling trail littered with random switchbacks and bends that grows increasingly narrow and steep with each passing turn. Ultimately leveling off to a place where the atmosphere thins, the clouds that once drooped overhead now sag below, and the dirt gives way to a slab of rugged red rock.

I make for the edge of the cliff and peer into the void. The toes of my boots teetering precariously over the ledge, when I realize a moment too late that everything about this scene—the dress, the ring, the surrounding landscape, even Cade standing behind me—perfectly mimics the dream.

Did he lure me here?

Did he plant the dream in my head?

Or did the ring merely lead me to my destiny and demand it be met?

“Don’t jump!” Cade calls, half serious, half in jest. “Odds are, I won’t save you this time.”

“So, you had the dream too.” I turn to face him. “I’ve always wondered about that.” My gaze roams the length of him, taking in his perfectly groomed façade—the pristine tux, the freshly shined shoes, the triumphant grin on his face. Three worlds have fallen into a state of absolute devastation, and, as usual, he looks as impeccable as ever.

But at least I know what happened to Raven.

“Dream? What dream?” His eyes flash. His tongue works the inside of his cheek. As I switch my focus to poor Raven—locked inside a gilded cage, a gleaming tourmaline stone hanging from a black silk cord at his neck, while Coyote lurks beside him, licking his chops as though he can’t wait to devour him. “Though, now that we’re on the subject, I guess I should thank you for making my biggest dream come true. After all, I’m finally here in the Upperworld, and I couldn’t have done it without you. Told you we make a good team, and yet, you never seemed to believe me.”

The Upperworld?

That’s where this is?

Though my time there was brief, the surrounding landscape is nothing like I left it. It’s completely unrecognizable. This is even worse than I thought.

“Yes, the Upperworld, Seeker.” He grins, seemingly thrilled by my failure to conceal my shock. “Wasn’t like this when I first made the climb. And though it took some doing, I must admit, I’m quite satisfied with the results. I like this look a lot better. It was a little too heavy on the sparkle and greenery before. This new landscape is much better suited to Coyote’s needs.”

Rugged barren mesas, treacherous cliffs, only trace amounts of shrubbery, and absolutely no viable place for the spirit animals and guides to take cover—I can see why Coyote approves. They’ve never liked a fair fight.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, the Richters have tried to breach this place for centuries, millennia actually, but never once had a hope in hell of succeeding until I came along. I can’t wait for Leandro to acknowledge all I’ve accomplished.” His face glows with the prospect. “I’ve surpassed every Richter who came before me. And the funny thing was, it was so easy! You and your band of idiots really took to your roles, played it straight by the script. You’ve all done such an amazing job, it’s a shame there’s no one left among you to appreciate it.” He slaps a hand to his mouth and makes an exaggerated mock-guilty face, as my gut churns in trepidation of what he’ll say next.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about Chay and Leftfoot, right?” He pauses, waiting for me to respond, but when I continue to glare, he goes on. “Don’t look so sad, they were practically elderly. It’s not like they had loads of time left. I did them a favor by sparing them the humiliation of dementia and adult diapers that inevitably comes with old age.”

“Why are you trying to sell it?” I study him carefully, noting how he’s taking credit for acts committed by Leandro and Dace, never mind his need to explain. The old Cade delighted in mocking and taunting—he practically lived for the chance. Never once did he try to justify his acts, or soften the blow.