Red Hood's Revenge

brothers had dared to match her final leap.
    The edges of the steps had crumbled with age. She glanced down into what had once been the great hall. Her father’s hunting trophies used to decorate those walls. How many times had she and her brothers and sister snuck down to sit in their parents’ thrones? She could hear her sister’s voice, a perfect imitation of their mother, addressing the imaginary crowds.
    There was no door at the top of the stairway. Nor were there guards, at least none Talia could see. Zestan stood on the wall, staring at the people below.
    “I can’t let them leave after seeing me,” Zestan said. “But I will keep my word. In exchange for your surrender, I will spare their lives.”
    “That’s your mercy?” Talia stepped forward, but two hunters cut her off. “What will you do, transform them into animals with no memories of who they were?”
    “They will be safe, with neither fear nor worry. How many of your kind can say the same?”
    Talia turned to look out at the sandstorms Zestan had raised. Despite their fury, the air here was still and silent, as if she had passed into another world when she entered the palace. “I suppose I should thank you.”
    “Indeed?” Zestan spread her wings.
    “If not for you, I never would have found Naghesh.” Had Talia’s smile been any more wolfish, she would have grown fangs.
    Zestan brushed a hand through the air. “Naghesh served her purpose. The poison is prepared. I can control you myself if I must, once we destroy that cape.”
    “I’m through being controlled,” Talia said.
    Zestan laughed, a sound so empty of joy she might as well have been weeping. “You plan to steal my victory by killing yourself?” She pointed to the hunters. “Fairy magic is stronger than death. Your suicide would delay matters, but a changeling raised on your blood would serve just as well. I’ve grown weary of waiting, though.”
    The hunters reacted as one, seizing Talia’s arms and wrenching her hands out of her cape. She grunted in pain as her arms were bent back.
    Zestan studied the crystal knife in Talia’s right hand. “We created these blades. Did you think I wouldn’t feel its presence?”
    Talia reversed her hold on the knife and stabbed the tip into the hunter’s wrist. There was no blood. She stabbed deeper, but the fingers gripping her arm merely clamped tighter. The hunter twisted. Even with the wolf’s strength, she couldn’t escape that hold. Her bones would snap before much longer. She tried one last time, shoving the knife as deep as she could.
    The hunter’s other hand closed over hers. He yanked the knife from her grip and shoved her to the ground.
    “You have so much in common with the Lady of the Red Hood,” Zestan said. “Such hatred. It killed her in the end.”
    Talia flexed her hand. The fingers were numb, and bloody blisters showed where the hunter had squeezed her wrist. She hugged the wrist close to her body, beneath the cape. “Hate was all the Hunt left her. It kept her alive. It gave her purpose.”
    Zestan took the knife from the hunter. Her smile disappeared. “What is this?” She raised the knife, and Snow’s illusion fell away, revealing simple steel. The mirror at the crossguard was still exposed.
    Talia’s right hand shot out from the cape, throwing Muhazil’s knife. At this distance, not even Zestan was fast enough to stop the blade from sinking into her chest. Zestan staggered, one hand coming up to touch the hilt.
    The hunters grabbed her from either side, but she stepped back, ramming her elbows into their stomachs. The blows didn’t do much, but the hunters bent over enough for her to reach up and catch the throat of the hunter to her right. She spun, slamming him into his companion.
    They recovered quickly, but even as the rest of the Hunt moved toward her, the moonlight started to fade from their bodies. Talia ducked one attack, blocked a spear thrust with her forearm, and then they were gone.
    Talia stood, rubbing her arm. Zestan’s other spells were dying along with her. One by one, the towers of sand collapsed, sending clouds of dust out until they obscured everything below. Talia coughed as the sand billowed over the palace wall.
    “Thank you, Snow,” she whispered. Bending down, she yanked the knife from Zestan’s chest. White cracks spiderwebbed the blade. As she straightened, pebbles of crystal fell away until only a single broken shard remained, jutting from the hilt. Muhazil