Prologue
I push through the drunken smokers huddled in the doorway of one of the oldest pubs in Glasgow, slamming open the door next to the station entrance on Glasgow’s busiest street.
Every table is covered in empty glasses, everyone’s attention fixed on the TV screen. No one in here will remember seeing me. I take a moment to scan the room, my senses reaching out for any trace of my prey. The barmaid glances up at me, then, realising I’m not going to be buying a drink, returns her attention to her phone.
‘Anyone come through here?’
‘Not anyone you’re looking for, Hunter,’ she says, looking up. There’s something in her tone that makes me realise she’s lying. She lifts a glass to wash it, then realises her mistake as her hand tightens around it. She screams as it cracks, cutting her deep. Never lie to the Kinfolk.
‘Which way did he go?’
She stares, but when she swallows and breaks my gaze, her eyes dart to the door leading to the back rooms. I go through it, moving swiftly along the corridors at the back of the pub. I check the sigil temporarily etched on the palm of my hand, hoping that I was mistaken about
the identity of the Kin I’m hunting, but I’m not. There’s been no trial, only claims made by the King that Matt killed one of his own in cold blood which has been upheld and a hunt called. I’ve been sent to ensure he faces judgement but it’s getting harder for me with every hunt
to dispense that justice in good conscience. The Unseelie Court is growing increasingly fickle, as if the scales of justice are not just a metaphor and something is weighing far too heavily on one side.
As long as I’m the Huntsman, I’m duty-bound to carry out my task. I console myself with the knowledge that at least I can grant him a clean, swift death. Although, if he eludes me until dawn, the hunt will end and the creatures of the Wild Hunt will pursue him instead. They never fail and their kills are neither swift nor painless. Not something I’d wish on my worst enemy, and the man I’m hunting is far from being my enemy.
Matt has only one chance at survival and that’s to reach sanctuary. He’ll be safe there – a prisoner, but safe. I need to find him. I need to know what happened and decide about his guilt for myself. If he’s innocent … well, that will be just one more reason why I must ensure I become the next king. Sooner rather than later.
I pause for a moment, my hand on the door handle as I gather my senses around me. I can smell fear. I shift my perception away from the human world to that of the Underworld, watching as the door in front of me changes from reinforced steel to a scratched-up but solid, wooden latched doorway. Behind me, the noise from the pub fades, replaced by a fiddle and clarsach playing folk music. A woman’s voice starts to sing as I push the door open and step outside – not into the tunnels that run under the huge glass-roofed station that exists in this time and space in the human world, but onto a narrow lane that leads to the bustling Alston Street. It’s the only notable street in Grahamston, a former village now swallowed up by the station in Glasgow’s city centre.
I look right and left, heading north past the market stalls and entertainers out on this bright, wintery Saturday afternoon. Here, the Kinfolk who notice me pause, watching me. I can almost hear the sighs of relief as I pass by and it becomes clear that it’s not them I’m after.
I hear the click of a door up ahead and the sound of feet pounding up the stairs inside the building. I run towards it, the Kinfolk in the street stopping and staring at me all desperate to know who I’m after.
‘Which door?’ I ask a cobbler, an elf who hasn’t paid any attention to my approach, ensuring that his attention is fixed on the soft leather shoe on the last in front of him. He looks up, feigning surprise for only a second before I step towards him, drawing on the power of Cernunnos, the god of the hunt that my family has embodied for centuries. The cobbler holds my gaze, before his eyes slide away.
‘Why do you need us to tell you?’ he asks, but I see his hands tremble. He knows who I am, he’s just choosing not to cooperate. ‘He’s as good as Kin to you.’
‘You know why. He’s killed Kin. The Court demands his presence. Justice must be served.’
‘Aye, but whose justice?’ he mutters.
All around me, there’s a collective intake of breath. I can’t afford to take my eyes off the cobbler, but I know the majority of people in the busy street have stopped to watch my interaction with the elf.
‘He went into the theatre,’ a female elf, probably his wife, says, stepping out from the shoe shop.
‘Breagha,’ the cobbler hisses.
‘If he killed Kin, he should face justice, Tormod. Let the Hunter do his job.’
‘There’s no justice under the Rialis,’ I hear him say before she hushes him.
I’ve already turned and am striding down the street towards the theatre when I hear the door to the shop slam behind me, and I shake my head. I can no longer disagree with what Tormod said, and my resentment towards the Rialis goes up another notch. Still, Chris Riali is dead, and according to the King, Vincenzo, Matt Muir killed him and has been condemned by The Unseelie Court for the murder.
An entire block is taken up by an imposing theatre building, its ornate façade adorned with four marble statues representing various Arts. The once-grand façad is now cracked and grimy, the arched windows are dark and the statues weathered into ghostly shapes. All four have signs of the Blight’s black fungus creeping over their surface, smothering their faces.
At the corner, spreading up from underground is another small patch of Blight. There are scorch marks beside it where someone has tried to burn it off, but it hasn’t worked – fresh spread is visible within the burnt area. It’s the first I’ve seen of it so close to the city centre, and it worries me. Where Blight takes hold, everything around it withers and dies, consumed by its relentless hunger. And the longer Vincenzo Riali remains as King, the faster the Blight spreads.
The stench of fear and panic grows the closer I get to the theatre doors. No one tries to stop me as I push them open and pause as they slam shut behind me. In the empty auditorium, I have only taken a few steps down the aisle when the lights flash on and Matt leaps up onto the stage, racing to the wings and disappearing. I stop for a moment to smile before I sprint down the aisle and vault onto the stage. I land on my feet, the smell of sawdust, paint and musty fabric hitting me as I push past the curtains and into the backstage corridors. I’ve been here before and there’s only one exit although more than once my prey has assumed that this would be a good place to hide.
Around the next corner, I hear a door slam open and I speed up. Matt isn’t far ahead of me when I run through the fire door, out onto the lane, and with a short burst of speed, launch myself at him. He grunts as I tackle him to the ground, the lane around us emptying of the few Kinfolk unfortunate enough to be here.
I pull a knife from my ankle sheath and press it against his throat, pushing up with my arms to look down at him. His head thuds back on the cobblestones then he shakes it, resigned to his fate.
‘You should have headed for the river right away,’ I say, satisfied that I’ve got him.
‘I wanted to see Rose before…’ he turns his head to the side. ‘Although stupidly, I thought the fact that I was innocent would be enough that no hunt would be called.’
I hold my hand up for him to see the sigil with his name underneath etched onto my skin and he pales.
‘Are you?’
‘I didn’t kill Chris. I swear.’
‘He was in the bath when he died.’
Matt snorts. ‘I’m not the only Kinfolk who originates from the water, Cillian. And it wasn’t being in the bath that caused him to bleed out.’
No, the two deep wounds on his forearms were the cause of that – the first far deeper than the other. Matt is right, there are far more hallmarks of suicide here, but Vincenzo is insistent that Matt is responsible and a hunt has been called so there must be something in Vincenzo’s
claim.
‘Besides,’ Matt continues, ‘Chris was my best friend.’
‘Really?’
He shrugs. ‘Used to be, at least.’
‘Until you moved on to my sister?’ I snarl.
He hesitates for a moment. ‘I love Rose. And Chris… He was struggling. Especially those last few days. He wasn’t himself. You’re right, we’d been growing apart for a while.’
Matt isn’t lying, but for the Court to instigate a hunt there must also be truth in Vincenzo’s statement – the Kinfolk cannot lie to one another without consequence. But I’m not an arbitrator, my duty is simply to hunt and Matt’s name is on my palm.
‘I’m not going to face the Court, Cillian. There’s no point. Vincenzo holds too much sway there and he’s already decided I’m guilty. If I’m going to die, then I’d rather it was by your hand.’ He looks up at me, and if I wasn’t convinced he was innocent before, I am now. ‘Do it, Cillian. Here and now. Just tell Rose I love her. Please. To be honest, I expected you to kill me long before now for daring to touch her.’
‘The thought had occurred to me, yes.’
I press the knife to his throat, watching as his blood beads up and starts to trickle down to the cobblestones. I’ve made my decision.
—-
Later, as I wash the blood from my knife, my palm now free of the mark, I can no longer deny that I, too, am losing faith in the Court. I’ve fulfilled my duty, but things have changed recently. Something is very wrong, and I want no part in murdering the innocent. The Unseelie Court might be the court of darkness, of things the human world fears, but we have our own honour, our own sense of justice. We need change.
The Unseelie Court needs a new king. And it will be me.
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Fairest : ©️ Mairi MacMillan 2026