“Ivy…why?”
She wraps her cloak around her shoulders. “I’m… sorry…”
I purse my lips as I try to come up with a plan. How the hell am I going to get her out of the village?
I’m surprised the spriggan even let her through the gate. They hate humans even more than Stannog.
Ivy starts shivering, and Stannog winces at her feebleness, joining his cousin for tea at last. Yet Bannog only has sympathy for the poor girl. “Oh, my.”
His gaze falls on me, and a knowing smile spreads across his face. “Here. Hand her this.”
He passes me a silken handkerchief from his waistcoat, and I look at him, confused. Bannog waves his hand at the crying Ivy, and I put two and two together. He wantsmeto be the shoulder she cries on, and I grind my teeth, stuffing his stupid handkerchief into my pocket. I don’t need his help; I can deal with her fragile human emotions all on my own, thank you.
But when I spy her weeping on the floor, something strange comes over me, and then the sensation grips my heart like a vise, squeezing tightly until I can no longer breathe. I have to find a way to make her stop—faeries are drawn to the scent of human despair. I suppose most of the faeries in this village are too drunk by now to notice thedifference between a human and a puka, but I’m still not taking any chances.
“Come on, get up.” I help her to her feet, feeling the burning eyes of each ogre on the other side of the room.
I don’t need an audience.
“The… the king…” she mutters.
A breath loosens from my lips. “Yes, his statue.”
She shakes her head, and a shudder wracks through her body. I stop, regarding her strangely.
Something has rattled her deeply to her bone, and that’s when the hair pricks at the back of my neck.
“A few months ago…in the woods…I saw a raven…” she whispers.
It sounds like gibberish, but my throat still bobs as I swallow. “A raven?”
She nods. “Yes. One with shining eyes of quicksilver. It had been watching me.”
Bannog gasps, yet I don’t take my gaze off Ivy. Her heart’s thumping so fast, it vibrates through her back, and I resist the urge to pull her close.
She’s cold to the touch.
Bannog gets up and shuts the window, and then he pushes Ivy gently towards the fireplace. Ivy shrinks once she takes his mammoth-sized chair, and she’s barely present now.
The sight of her breaks my spirit. She’s so fragile, it hurts to look at her. This kingdom will eat her alive from both sides.
The humans want her dead, and the Fae want her dead, and I guess she really isn’t safe anywhere.
Bannog pours her tea. “Here.”
She looks at him warily. When he smiles, it reaches his kind eyes. I get her hesitation; she was taught to never accept food or beveragefrom the Fae, and after the time she spent in Stannog’s tavern, who could blame her?
“Now, tell us what you saw, dear,” Bannog says kindly, and she looks my way.
“It’s all right,” I assure her. “He’s safe.”
She meets Bannog’s gaze. “The…the night I escaped the cottage…after the king sent his men to arrest my family… I saw a silver-eyed raven in the woods, and it looked at me as if itknew me.”
She shudders, sipping her tea to warm her soul.
Bannog stills. “A raven with silver eyes…” It’s more of a statement than a question.
He gives me a knowing glance, and I lower my hood, unsure of how to proceed. Stannog couldn’t give two shits, sneaking liquor into his tea from a secret flask.
