“Who are they?” Gray murmured as they gathered their packs in preparation to climb out of the boat and onto the weathered but solid dock alongside the river. An old shack perched near the river’s edge, the fading paint showing a set of crossed oars and the name of a place—this place, unless Aoife missed her guess.
Men stood on the dock, armed with swords and spears and truncheons, but two carried shotguns while a third perched on the roof of the shack, a bow in his hands. Aoife took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, keeping her voice soft enough to hopefully not be overheard.
“I think they’re the Wild Hunt.”
“The Wild Hunt,” Gray echoed, a faint note of incredulity to his voice. “As in the Wild Hunt. Harbingers of doom. Fae and dead men who can’t find their rest doomed to ride for all eternity.”
She winced. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Really.”
“Yes,” she said, twisting to face him. “It is. I’ll explain later if I have to, but right now—”
Gray sighed. “I know. Your brother.”
Aoife nodded firmly before turning and haling herself unassisted up onto the dock. Gray handed their packs up to her before pulling himself onto the docks.
Their welcoming committee watched them in silence, their weapons casually ready, is if the stance was as natural as breathing.
Aoife’s jaw tightened. If they are the Wild Hunt, then being ready to use those weapons is second nature to every single one of them.
If they really were the Wild Hunt, though, why were they here of all places?
Unless…
“Déithe agus arrachtaigh,” she breathed. She seized the arm of the nearest of them. His brethren tensed, but the man just looked at Aoife, brow arching over one dark eye in eloquent, silent question.
“Seamus the Black,” she said, throat tight, as if her question was trying to strangle her. “Is he alive?”
The man stared at her for a long moment before he gently removed her hand from his arm.
“That question will be answered at the Wanderer’s discretion.”
Her heart gave a strange double-beat, her nerves jangling.
What did we just walk into? Why are they here? How does—why would—
Gray’s hand found hers and squeezed.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “I promise.”
“That’s my line,” she said softly. Then she smiled. “Thanks, Gray.”
He kissed her cheek. “Anytime.”
One of the men cleared his throat and nodded to a narrow trackway up the side of a steep slope.
“This way.”
Steeling herself, Aoife shouldered her pack, took a deep breath, and started to climb.
