4

Rayce left the cavern behind with one bloodied fist clenched tightly around the dying torch, its flickering light casting weak shadows along the tunnel as he moved toward the main chamber where his Hunters would be waiting for him. He would send one of them to retrieve Kieran later; he couldn't even bring himself to touch the duplicitous Faerie now.

With Gwyn's memories alongside his own, he could see now the similarities between himself and another half-Shadowhunter who had been part of the Hunt. He could see through Gwyn's eyes and understand the love that Kieran had held for Mark Blackthorn. And he could see that the Faerie had been devastated when the Shadowhunter had chosen to return to his family instead of remaining with the Hunt. Instead of remaining with the Hunt...? Rayce jarred to a halt, sifting through the morass of Gwyn's memories from over twenty years ago with a spark of hope in his chest.

When he found what he was searching for, his mouth tightened and he shook his head. Faeries. He crushed the spark ruthlessly and buried it.

The main cavern opened up in front of him and he stalked through the doorway, dark thoughts swirling in his mind. He dropped the torch as he stepped into the light that filtered through the hollow peak above. Rayce kept his anger under control, schooling his face into a mask of hard-eyed command as he squared his shoulders and drew up to his full height. Weakness wasn't an option, not in this pack of jackals. He brushed the back of his hand across his upper lip unconsciously, heedless of the smear of red it left. Blood still ran down his fingers from his torn knuckles, and it left a faint trail behind him as he approached the crowd around the pool.

Hunters turned as he advanced, their wild eyes taking in his blood-stained face, his red-streaked hands, the blade of the Hunt and his own staff strapped across his back, and most of all, the cloak across his shoulders. He hadn't fought with them in the Seelie Court, but now that they could see him like this, like an animal, he detected hints of approval in some of those split-coloured eyes. Not all, but some. Their admiration made part of him feel sick, and yet oddly, a part of him was secretly pleased to be weighed and found equal to the fiercest Fey alive. If they had thought him a soft Shadowhunter, an easy target, he would prove them wrong.

The crowd parted slowly, each Hunter taking his measure as he passed, and Rayce let them. Let them get a good look, he thought as they stepped aside. Ahead, Rayce could hear quiet weeping, but he kept his face still, as his brother had taught him.

Rayce cleared the last of the Hunters circled around the spring-fed pool and found Bael collapsed in a heap at the edge, his shoulders shaking as he added his tears to the water. His shoulders... Black-feathered wings lay next to the fallen prince, bloodied and still, and Rayce felt his lips part as shock made the smallest dent in his facade. The stumps where Bael's wings had been cut away had been cruelly cauterized, and the blackened flesh made his stomach twist.

Rayce cast a deadly look back over one shoulder and asked in a cold voice, "Who did this?"

One of the smaller Hunters bowed deeply and spread his arms, the healed stumps of where he had lost his own wings flexing under his pale skin. Kratus, Gwyn's memories whispered. "Traitors don't get no wings, milord." He looked up from under his dirty black hair and his mouth split open in a grin that revealed teeth that had been filed to points. "Everyone knows that!" Kratus threw back his head and howled with laughter, the others joining in, howling and hooting as the broken prince wept.

How did Gwyn ever control this? Rayce turned his back on them and knelt down next to his brother. He shifted one of the stones at the edge of the pool to reveal a hollow space where an ancient cup rested, waiting for use. He dipped it into the pool and then set it down to draw Gwyn's blade. My blade. Rayce made a shallow cut across his palm and dripped blood into the cup. He probably could have skipped this step and used the blood from his knuckles, but he felt like he at least owed Bael this much. He should do it properly.

Bael had heard the rasp of the blade as Rayce re-sheathed it and he lifted his head. Tear tracks trailed down his blue face, and his black eyes were filled with pain. He saw the cup and shook his head, chin quivering.

"Don't do this," he pleaded. "I don't want to be like you, brother." I don't want to be like you, brother. The memory of Matias echoed in Rayce's mind and he closed his eyes. He could only do as Gwyn had once done and shake his head sadly.

"It's too late for that." His hand shot out and twisted into his brother's straight black hair, pulling his head back to tilt the blood-streaked water into his mouth.

Bael choked, but Rayce clamped his left hand down over the Faerie's mouth and braced himself against his brother's body, holding him in an iron grasp while he waited. Bael struggled to break free, but Rayce was stronger than him, his biceps flexed, his muscles hard and unyielding. Their eyes locked, Bael's filled with desperation and fear, Rayce's with sad resignation.

As Rayce watched, an iris of amber bloomed to life in Bael's right eye, but both eyes widened in horror as Bael's vision doubled to see his first glimpse of the eternal night sky that lay Beyond. His lips moved soundlessly as he heard the whisper of the next world call seductively to him, and he shook in Rayce's arms.

The Lord of the Hunt released his newest Hunter and rose to stand over him. The faces in the crowd around him were filled with wicked glee as they claimed another for their ranks. Rayce turned to face them and called over their jeers, "Mount up. We ride for the Eternal Forest."

Sledges still bearing the Seelie and Unseelie dead from the battle to retake the throne were hitched to the spectral mounts that materialized around the cavern with his order. He summoned his own dark mount with a thought and climbed up into the saddle, reaching down to his belt to pull his stele free. He traced a quick iratze on the back of each of his hands and watched as the wounds healed, including the one from Gwyn's sword. My sword. His eyes flicked up challengingly to stare down Kratus where he was watching from the back of his mottled-brown mount. The Fey shook his head in disgust and turned away.

Rayce drew up alongside another of the Hunters who did not bear a sledge. His white-blond hair was cut short for simplicity and he looked up when his commander stopped beside him.

"Caelus," Rayce addressed the other quietly, drawing on Gwyn's memories to learn these strange faces. "One of your brothers lies in a cavern back the way I came. Catch up to us once you've tended to him." The slim Faerie's eyebrows drew together in confusion, but Rayce did not explain further. Caelus dipped his head in acknowledgement and broke away from the rest of the Hunt as they prepared to dive into the realm of deep Faerie.

The others looked at him expectantly and he wheeled his mount around to charge down through a tunnel that bored deeper into the mountain. His horse's fiery hooves clattered on the stone, blazing the way forward into the darkness. Rayce could see nothing of the passage, but he didn't need to.

They rode through the inky darkness, flashes of the tunnel floor visible in the flames below him, but Rayce kept his eyes up as he rocked in time with the steed's movement. His heart pounded in his chest with the exhilaration of leading the pack and a small smile had crept across his face before he howled at himself, You're not supposed to enjoy this!

He pushed the thought away, once again hearing Kieran's poisonous voice. You may as well take pleasure in your exile. Not Kieran's idea of pleasure, to be certain. But perhaps this. He had lived his life shut away from the Courts, but now the skies were his. Every corner of the world was his to explore. He remembered being distracted by birds soaring through the air as he had read on Seraphine's balcony, envying them their freedom. Gwyn's memories showed him that there were a thousand sights to see; even his predecessor had found peace under the night sky in the secret places of the world.

Light shone ahead and he braced himself for the abrupt change from darkness that was coming.

The Hunt barrelled out of the tunnel at a full gallop, shooting out into a red-tinged sky like ill-fated stars. There was no sun or moon here, only a light that came from everywhere at once. Rolling plains of red and purple grass stretched out endlessly below them, stalks waving gently in a wind that couldn't exist. A brackish river wound through the grasses, and the Hunt rode lower, hooves skimming over the dark, slick surface to stir strange fish from their rest. The air smelled sickly-sweet, like fruit that had only just begun to rot.

The clouds above them glowed red, orange, and yellow in the bizarre sky, billowing over the dreary landscape below. Rayce caught a glimpse of the grasses parting for a dark shape that stalked through them, watching the Hunt pass warily, but nothing would dare to challenge them.

A headache began to throb in Rayce's temples and he felt the unsettling sensation of the unreality of deep Faerie stretching his mind. The Courts were still close enough to the Mortal world that he had barely felt the seams between the two while growing up, his dual-heritage strong enough to overcome the discomfort, but this was much worse. He was now far from home, where no Shadowhunter was welcome, and even the Faeries of the Courts dared not tread here for long for fear of going mad. The Hunt gave his Faerie half some protection from this, but its magic had never been intended to safeguard one of the Nephilim.

Gwyn's memories showed Rayce a half-Shadowhunter boy who's mind had slowly been eroded by trips to this place over the years. He also saw that it had been Kieran who had kept Mark from slipping away entirely. But Rayce had slammed that door closed. He would need to find some other way to hold on to himself.

Miles flew by below them as the Hunt bore the dead toward the edges of deep Faerie where the Eternal Forest waited. Rayce could see the ancient trees in his mind, trunks twisted and branches heavy with green and gold and rust-coloured leaves. He could picture the blue-white rivers of ley line magic that knifed through the tangle, banks nearly overflowing with the earth's power.

He was lost in Gwyn's memories of the Forest when a whip lashed out of nowhere to coil around his neck tightly. His eyes flew open wide as he was yanked backwards out of his saddle viciously and into the red sky, falling.

His instincts took over in half a heartbeat, and he shifted up to land heavily in front his attacker before he reached the end of the length of whip, where he might have broken his neck from the jolt. He found himself staring into Kratus' hate-filled eyes, the Hunter's mouth pulled up into a hideous grin with his pointed teeth bared.

Struggling to breathe, Rayce saw Kratus drop the handle of the whip to snatch a long knife from his belt. Rayce's hands flashed out to turn his attacker's thrust at the last moment, saving himself from a deadly gut wound, but the edge sliced along his waist and severed his belt. It tumbled away into the open air below them but Rayce couldn't spare a thought for it.

An arrow whistled past his ear from one of the Hunters behind them and his mind reeled as he grappled with Kratus. He was stronger than the Faerie, but he had black spots creeping across his vision as he fought to breathe. The whip cord had pulled cruelly at his throat when he had been pulled backwards, and he couldn't take the time to untangle it while Kratus tried to gut him.

He tried to force Kratus backwards, to maybe see how the Hunter dealt with being shoved out of his saddle, but Rayce's head was pounding and he could feel the other man pushing forward again, the blade between them glimmering dangerously.

Rayce felt like he could hear Gwyn screaming something at him, and he latched on to it. With the last bit of air still trapped in his lungs, he locked eyes with Kratus and rasped out a single word, "Stop."

Kratus snarled, but the pressure against Rayce vanished. He dropped his grip on the other man and quickly uncoiled the whip, taking in a few deep, appreciative breaths. He rolled off the side of the brown steed and dropped back onto his own as he summoned it once more. He angled downward toward a barren stretch of trees, wanting to be on solid ground in case anyone else decided to test their luck.

Gnarled limbs clawed at the red sky, and the bark of the trunk was twisted in places to almost look as though faces were screaming in the wood. Exposed roots wormed into the earth, trying to burrow back under the carpet of withered leaves and dying red-purple grass. None of this matched Gwyn's memories, but it was unmistakeably the Eternal Forest. It looked so... drained.

The other Hunters landed around him, staring in disbelief at the stricken Forest, Kratus' attack temporarily forgotten. Rayce saw Bael slide down from a pale grey horse and stare at the Forest openly. Only thin ribbons of ley line magic trickled through the broad riverbeds where once it had strained at the banks. What happened?

Rayce gave Kratus a long, hard look before signalling the Hunters to get on with it. They obeyed him silently and moved deeper into the Forest bearing their macabre loads while Rayce sank down onto a rocky outcropping near one of the twisted trees. His head was still pounding, and his throat hurt. He reached down to find his stele and then remembered with a jolt that his belt had fallen somewhere over the endless grassy plains. Another piece of him, lost.

He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his palms into his eyes and trying to shut out the throbbing ache. This place wasn't good for him.

"I tried to tell you that the Fey hate you, you know," a teasing voice said in his ear.

Rayce jerked his head up in surprise and was shocked to see his father laying stretched out carelessly in the strange grass, propped up on one elbow. His scarlet gear made him seem a part of this red-washed world.

Sebastian's mouth quirked up at his son's reaction before he continued, "If you think they'll accept a Shadowhunter as Lord of the Hunt, you're wrong."

Rayce shook his head and closed his eyes. "You're not real."

"Keep telling yourself that." Sebastian sat up, studying his son. "You're so caught up trying to figure out if I'm real that you're not listening to me."

"I already have one dead man whispering in my head – I really don't have room for another." Rayce opened his eyes and was dismayed to still see his father sitting there. He couldn't blame Lake Lyn this time. Was he going mad? Was he talking to himself?

"Well, at least I give you someone to talk to," Sebastian offered.

"I don't want to talk to you," Rayce answered sullenly.

Sebastian ignored him. "And since we're talking, I must say that I like the new you. Very impressive. Except when you're sulking. I hate sulking."

Sebastian waited for a response but didn't receive one, so he rose smoothly and joined Rayce on the rock, slipping one arm around his shoulders. "Put your faith in your Morgenstern blood, son," he whispered. "You need to make them fear you. You need to make an example."

At the mention of faith, Rayce felt a stirring in his chest. He had to remember... something. But Gwyn's memories outweighed his own in this strange place, and he felt overwhelmed as he tried to snatch himself back from the brink. He took strength from his father sitting next to him. His father. Not Gwyn's. He backpedalled, trying to remember what had just been said.

"I wasn't raised a Morgenstern," he protested.

Sebastian laughed out loud, his handsome face breaking out into the same breathtaking smile he had passed down to his son. "Weren't you?" he asked, laughter sparkling in his black eyes. "Ezekiel Hightower was a Circle member right along with dear old dad, or did you not know? Bael's a cunning, manipulative traitor who's impressively good at lying considering his limitations. And your sister..." Sebastian looked down and bit his lip to hold back another laugh. "Why don't you ask her about Arthur Blackthorn the next time you see her? Let's see what kind of truth she can spin for you then, since you think she's so pure of heart."

"Stop! Just stop!" Rayce shouted hoarsely as he stood up and whirled back to face... an empty rock.

"My Lord?" Caelus ventured hesitantly.

Rayce turned on him, chest heaving, throat burning from the whip, and the Faerie took a step back from the look on his face.

"What?" Rayce snapped.

"The Hunt is finished here," the Faerie said, looking back over his shoulder where the last of the Hunters were gathering back where they had initially landed, sledges empty, around Kieran's unconscious form sprawled in the grass.

Rayce could already see the change in the Forest. Streams of ley magic bubbled through the riverbeds now, and new shoots were already blooming from the twisted branches. The dead were feeding the savage land, renewing the earth magic that had been so mysteriously and suddenly drained away since the last time the Hunt had come. In time, with more work, it might once again resemble the landscape of Gwyn's memories.

"The Hunt is finished when I say it is, Caelus." Rayce left the rock behind, his father's words echoing in his mind. The Hunters shifted uncomfortably at his approach. What had they seen? Or was it guilt on their faces? Fear?

He kept silent as he slowly walked down the line and fixed each Hunter with a piercing stare, daring them to make a move against him. How long until the next attack? And the next? He already knew he didn't have what Gwyn had used to control them. One way or another, most of the Hunters had respected their Lord for his honour and service to his people. Rayce didn't have that luxury.

When he came upon Kratus in the line he felt heat rise in his chest, a flush spreading up his welted neck. It had started here. Make an example, his father whispered. Or was it just his own voice?

Without warning, Rayce's right hand closed around Kratus' throat, his left arm fending off the Faerie's blows as he lifted the small man clear off the ground. The Hunter's face turned a nasty shade of purple and his filthy nails scrabbled across the hand with the Morgenstern ring as Rayce carried him a few yards back toward the nearest tree.

Up close, Rayce could see that the bark really did look like there were faces contorted in pain just below the surface. A long split in the trunk pulsed weakly with blue-white light, and Rayce slammed the Faerie against the tree. He pushed, hard.

Kratus' eyes bulged in horror. The bark was shivering, cracking as it opened further, creaking and stretching around the Hunter's legs. Brittle wood crept over heaving shoulders, strong enough to hold the dead... and the living.

Rayce dropped his grip, lest he be caught as well, and Kratus finally managed to draw a shaking, choking breath as the tree moved more swiftly to trap its prey. A few branches bent down ponderously to push the panicked Hunter deeper into the split, and that's when he finally started screaming. Horror rose to its highest pitch as agony joined in to create a macabre duet, and Kratus howled in pain now, where before he had laughed.

Black and green eyes watched coldly as the Hunter was pulled further into the tree with a sickening imitation of swallowing, only one hand left free to rip at the branches still prodding him inward. His shrieks ripped across the savage Fey gathered behind Rayce, and the Shadowhunter heard more than one of them lean over to gag as they bore witness. An inhuman keening was the last sound they heard as the bark sealed over Kratus' face and muted his screams permanently.

The split in the trunk was healed now, and Rayce turned only his eyes upward to where new blooms were racing along the branches. The Forest was pleased.

He turned around to face the Wild Hunt, his face impassive as he took in their nauseated looks of disgust... and fear. Make them fear you.

His voice was sore when he spoke, unfamiliar to his ears, but the strange new tone suited his mood right now.

"Does anybody else have a problem with me?"

A flash of dark energy popped in the swirling darkness of the Void, resolving into a owl in flight that struggled against the winds to reach a lone, dark figure that stood on the edge of a high, craggy cliff. A fork of white-veined black lightning crackled across the sky and thunder rolled, though no rain fell. Rain never fell here.

As the owl reached the pale-skinned demon who bore a coronet of barbed wires and gold-green eyes, its feathers ruffled and transformed smoothly into a lithe woman that alighted on the blasted rock. Black hair streamed back from a face that was both beautiful and terrible. She had forgone the black snakes that typically poured from her eyes for this meeting. One slim finger twisted and the air stilled around the two demons, allowing them to speak and be heard.

"You look pleased with yourself," Asmodeus said smoothly, the disinterest in his slit-pupilled eyes contradicting his questioning tone.

Lilith's eyes burned with triumphant intensity. "Alicante burns on the Mortal Plain," she hissed. "Their realm is ripe for the taking!"

She allowed herself to savour the memories of the Shadowhunters in their realm of Edom, and the broken ruin of a city that she had kept as a trophy there.

The asmodei had razed that world with glee, burning out the sky and drying up sparkling oceans until they became nothing more than vast salt flats dotted with the bones of long-dead creatures. Even the Shadowhunters' precious skeptron hadn't been enough to save them in the end. She nearly laughed to remember their final weeks; barricaded in a city, surrounded by legions. Their demon towers had finally gone dark, and then there had been nothing to hold back the hoard. The end was always the sweetest part. But it had been so long since she had crushed a crop of Nephilim.

"You're obsessed with them, Lilith," Asmodeus said dryly. "I thought you might have learned your lesson after your son's failure."

She tossed her head back, annoyed at the reminder of Jonathan's mistake of toying with his prey. She refused to take the bait. "They've never been this vulnerable before. The foolish Fey of their world have played with what they didn't fully understand, and now the wards will be weakened for a time. We must strike now!"

"'We?'" Asmodeus asked.

"We can finish what Sammael and I started," she purred. "Just think of the pleasure of draining a world. It's been too long. A pretty gift for losing Edom."

Asmodeus gave her a considering look, one hand reaching up to rub across his chin as he regarded her. "Weakened or not, their wards still stand. Legions will die trying to cross, and thousands more will not live long enough to make any difference in that realm."

Lilith laughed and swept her arm out over the cliff.

Below them, the demon city of Pandemonium sprawled away into the darkness, hellfire burning in pockets to illuminate the snarling pits of writhing limbs and snapping maws. Within their bubble of quiet on the clifftop, it was impossible to hear the shrieks and screeches coming from below, but she knew the cries of her children well.

"The wards will only cull the weak." Her glistening red lips spread into a slow smile as she watched Sammael nod in agreement. "And what do I care of the cost?"

Lilith turned her black eyes down at the greatest city of the Abyss and couldn't contain her dark laughter as she surveyed the seething masses. Vengeance for what they had done to her. Vengeance for what they had done to Jonathan.

She looked sideways at Asmodeus and saw that he was already calculating what would be needed, the general of Hell's armies already strategizing for the coming battle.

"Raise them, Asmodeus," she said breathlessly, excitement humming through her body. "Unleash Hell."

**Author's note: I remember getting a request during PotC to add asterisks when I was shifting POVs because the extra spacing didn't show on this platform. I'll try to remember to tag them in for posts here! Ty for the feedback! :D