The group of shadows in front of us choose their first two items and leap through. I scour the rim, desperate for any clue as to what comes next. As I drag air into my lungs, working to calm my mind, a scent hits me.

“What is that smell?” I blurt. “A flower?”

Mack ducks beneath a butterfly, barely missing its gruesome touch. “What?”

“I think it’s mountain laurel.” I would know that scent anywhere. After realizing Hellebore’s obsession with poisonous plants, I insisted Eclipsa add those to our training. Thank God she made me learn their telltale smells along with their names.

Mack’s eyes stretch wide. “Yes! It grows deep in the Vanier Mountains of the Winter Court. That’s where we’re going.”

Someone shoves us from behind. As instructed, I put my hand into the pouch and whisper the two items I need, just loud enough that Mack knows what I conjured.

Axe—for helping climb high mountains and chopping wood.

Waterproof wool-lined gloves—because I really appreciate all ten of my fingers.

Our suits are spelled to protect our bodies from the elements, but our hands are bare. And I learned my lesson about what happens to exposed digits in the freezing Winter Court temperatures.

She conjures gloves as well as a long electric prod, the kind used in the menagerie for the more dangerous animals.

That’s when I recall what else resides in the Vanier Mountains. Something way worse than mountain laurel or the biting chill of winter.

Snow leopards. And not the adorable, normal sized mortal ones.

The massive, mythical, eat-entire-villages kind.

46

“God, I hate being right sometimes,” I mutter, watching my breath crystallize in front of my face. The snow crunches beneath our boots as we race along a path. Once again, I’m reminded how much I hate the cold.

Will that change when the mating bond is consummated? Gosh, I hope so because this . . . this is miserable.

“I can’t feel my face,” Mack moans, casting a sidelong glance at my hair, which I’ve unpinned and am now using like a scarf to keep my face warm.

“Pretend we’re inside the smelly sauna from the school gym.”

“Oh, warmth. I would give one of my toes for a few minutes of heat—if I have any left. I can’t tell.”

I slow, frowning. “Should we stop and make a fire?”

“No.” She gives a stubborn shake of her head. “Not yet. We should be close.”

We’ve been running nonstop for at least two hours. Footsteps mar the otherwise perfect crust of snow ahead, which tells me we’re on the right path, at least.

It also says we’re not first.

How many have already passed through the second portal?

According to the map from my sigil pin, the next portal is on the other side of the mountain.

We quicken our pace. By the time we hit the gently sloping range, a soft drizzle of snow falls around us.

When we’re halfway up the mountain, I spot little fires drifting from below.

“Guess they didn’t bother with gloves,” Mack says, teeth chattering against the cold.

The last forty feet of the peak grows steep and treacherous. We take turns using the axe for a handhold, sinking the blade into the dark obsidian of the mountain. After what feels like an eternity, we hit the peak and begin our descent.

Mack’s breath clouds the air as she says, “Look.”

I glance at the horizon, assuming she means at the portal glowing like a beacon in the drizzly gray air. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful sight.”

“No, Summer.”

Something about her voice makes me turn, and I follow her gaze to the wide shoeprints below on our left. Whoever it was chose snowshoes as their item.

The wide prints end in a churned mess of earth, snow, and . . . blood. One snowshoe sits broken and abandoned.

“So much blood.” She rests a hand on the electric prod tied to her waist. “Should I check for tracks?”

I shake my head, and we fall into a quiet jog down the slope. No need to check for tracks. Only one animal could do that, and with that amount of blood . . .

No one could survive.

A hollow guilt fills my chest as we pass by the scene of the struggle.

Don’t think about it, Summer. Compartmentalize and mourn later. But my mind is a jerk and won’t let me get away with feeling nothing.

Who was it? Are their parents waiting for them to call and say they’re safe? Did they have a celebration party planned with a cake and everything?

My cold fingers ache as I curl them into fists. Hellebore is responsible for every death in the gauntlet.

Every. Single. One.

Hot anger surges through me, filling the hollow ache of grief for the nameless student and reminding me why I have to win this race.

So I can watch Hellebore’s face when he learns he lost the bargain and has to forget me, right before they send that mofo to the Seven Fae Hells for collaborating with the Darken.

“Screw you, ass face!” I yell, turning in a circle as my voice echoes off the mountains.

Mack stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Who are you talking to?”

“Oh, he knows who he is.” I thrust my gloved hand in the air, my middle finger on display. Somewhere, Hellebore is watching the gauntlet unfold. I can only hope that he’s so intent on watching me fail that he doesn’t notice Valerian and Asher are gone.

When the portal is maybe fifty yards away, we break into a sprint. I’m so happy to be done with this place that I actually crack a smile. I’ll take anything over freezing my butt off.

We’re nearly there when Mack halts. “Do you hear that?”

I pause to listen as the hairs on the back of my neck lift. “Is that a . . .?”

“Growl,” Mack finishes, slowly turning toward the low, vibrating sound.

As soon as I do the same, the air flees my lungs. The snow leopard crouches a truck’s length away, a distance it can easily cover in one leap. Pale green feline eyes slide from Mack to me, as if trying to decide who’s the easiest prey.

Even frozen with fear, I can see that the creature is breathtakingly gorgeous, a mix of black spots, plush tan fur, and cream markings.

It’s also twice the size of a normal snow leopard in the human world.

“It’s as big as a frickin elephant,” Mack whispers.

“A carnivorous elephant with claws and fangs,” I amend, holding its stare. The second we blink or look away, it’s going to pounce.

Mack slowly pulls the prod from her waist. “Back up slowly toward the portal.”

“Wait. Don’t turn it on yet.” Calming my thoughts, I gently reach out to the cat with my mind. Willing it to hear me. To relax.

Don’t hurt us. My thoughts carry over the snow to the animal. Let us go. You’ve eaten enough. Let every human that passes your territory live.

I can feel the creature’s disdain. Why would it listen to me? A mortal?

Because I’m not just a mortal, I send over the snow. I’m the Summer Court Princess.

Mack and I both jump as the snow leopard lets loose a frustrated roar that turns into a yowl.

“Why isn’t it attacking?” she squeaks.

“I think it’s full. Now we should go.”

The leopard sits on its haunches and watches, only pouting a little as we near the portal.

“I still don’t understand,” Mack is saying. “It should have killed us. They eat like six goats and deer a day.”

I shrug, pointing to the portal’s orange rim. Leaves drift from the entrance and blow around us. “Fall Court territories.”

A small shape rushes from the portal and across the snow, its stench immediate and nauseating. The cat-sized, moss green creature is covered in warts, and it wields a small, spiked club.

“Moss goblin.” Mack wrinkles her nose as we watch the angry little beast run straight toward the leopard, too busy pounding its dumb stick to notice until—

Ew.

The leopard finishes with its unexpected meal, licks its maw, and gives me a look that says, You didn’t say I couldn’t eat goblins.

“Moss goblins only live in two ancient forests inside the Fall Court,” Mack explains, reminding me how big and beautiful her brain is. “One is a beautiful place with winding rivers and dire wolves. The other is a decaying wood infested with every manner of troll and orc.”

My shoulders sag. “Then of course it’s the gross forest with the trolls and orcs. The other would be too easy.”

A part of me is thankful, though. I can kill an orc or a troll without batting an eye. They’re cruel, greedy creatures that use up the land until it’s ruined beyond repair. But hurting an animal, especially a wolf . . . I’m just not made for that sort of thing.

Shaking the thought from my mind, I reach into my magical pouch and conjure a disgusting vial of green troll musk—to hide our scent—and a wrist-mounted crossbow that comes with a sleeve of iron-tipped bolts.

To murder orcs and trolls with, obviously.

Mack chooses a sword and a magical torch that lights on command. Along with being greedy and stupid, orcs and trolls are supposed to be scared of fire.

Choices made, we leap to the other side. The stench hits me first. Sulfur, mud, and rot. Mack drags up the new map, and we quickly plan out the course before surging ahead. The giant oak and elm trees must have been glorious once, and a few still retain their vibrant array of golden and orange leaves.

Most, however, are in various stages of death, their beautiful foliage carpeting the forest floor in wet, decaying piles.

The troll musk was genius, and we manage to sneak nearly all the way to the second portal before our sweat washes the musk away. An orc bellows to my right, the sound coming from a mound of branches and leaves. The orc’s nest.

Falling into our positions, we slash and fight our way to safety. The dying forest fills with the sound of our classmates doing the same. We pass a few of them. Little by little, Mack and I gain ground until I spot the flickering gleam of the next portal through the underbrush.