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The horse bore down on them, the hounds on its heels and the Huntsman’s bugle splitting the night in an unearthly wail.
It can’t be—
For a moment he convinced himself that he was wrong, that the uncertain moonlight was playing tricks on him, but as the rider drew closer, his doubt vanished. It was his father. There was no mistake.
My father is alive. My father is Fey. These two thoughts filled his head, careening around in a wild flurry. Both of them carried so many implications that he couldn’t begin to catalogue them all. He whirled to face Nectan, a terrible suspicion hardening into certainty as the king looked at him, and Thomas saw it confirmed in his eyes.
Nectan knew. Knew that it was his father riding for his life with the hellhounds snapping at his horse’s hooves, had know
