But as I watch Pemba’s chest steadily rise and fall, I know it's not that simple. My brother wouldneverhand me over to this man, not without the Fates telling him to.
Before I have the chance to answer Donn, a loud banging on our door wakes Pemba up, his entire body shooting from the bed with a yelp as he stumbles toward me out of habit, two beacons in the darkness of our lives that eternally find home in each other.
I jump out of my own bed already dressed and ready for the day, just needing to pull my boots on, because I’m aware of how much of an early riser my brother usually is. It’s a sign of how tired he really is that I’ve woken before him two days in a row.
That Donn woke me up before him.
He braces his shoulder against the door and calls out, “Yes? Who is it?”
“It's the innkeeper, and you two need to get out of here right now if you intend to see another dawn.”
He glances at me in shock, but I’m already tugging my second boot on, my jacket in my arms as I prepare to throw myself out the door without another word. Pemba’s eyes bounce over to where the pack is still safely tucked under the bed, the scepter out of sight. My heart is racing, and my hands shake as I finish getting myself together.
“We paid for a night! The sun isn't even up yet,” Pemba says as he opens the door, but the look the innkeeper gives us both isn't one to argue with.
“I’m doing this for your own protection. Fae soldiers arrived just a moment ago. The Savage Prince’s soldiers. They're looking for a lost fae princess, and if they find two witches here instead… you need to leave before I end up filled with iron-tipped blades for harboring the enemy.”
Not a lot of that makes sense to me—especially why this woman thinks we’reanyone’senemy. Pemba doesn’t seem as shocked though, cursing under his breath as he runs a hand through his hair and tugs on it a little. He glances at me, and I swallow roughly at the mess we’ve found ourselves in.
A lost fae princess.
Royal fae family feuds are far beyond my grasp. That could be one of over a hundred different women, thanks to the immortal lifespan of the fae and the incredibly complicated family trees that exist within the royal lines, but without any extra details, I’d guess that one of the princesses has run off from her husband or maybe her father.
I give her a grateful nod and a small smile. “Thank you. We’ll get out of your hair right now.”
She pulls a face and nods at me, holding out a small bag that smells like fresh bread. “The high fae don't like witches around here. You need to be back on the road and out of plain sight fast. If they find out I let you both stay here, they won't stop long enough to hear your last name or your family creed before they kill the two of you and me as well. I have a couple of goblins who were cast out by the Goblin King himself waiting downstairs to help direct you out of their path. Gonow. You won't be welcome back here until this business with the witches and fae is over… however long that takes.”
The need to finish this journey and make it back to the forest wells up inside me, a thrill of panic running through my blood. I'm not sure what the high fae have against witches, but what matters is that we’re getting out of the inn with a chance of survival.
I hope it's a good one.
Pemba shoves his shoes on and grabs the pack before slinging a protective arm around my shoulders and directing me down the stairs. I pull the hood of my jacket over my face as we find the goblins. They're clearly waiting for us, and one of them gives Pemba a firm nod before he turns and stalks out of a small side door off the staircase. He waves a hand to signal for us to stay put until they can check that the area is clear for us. When we finally move forward, we do so as quietly as we can, our feet soft on the moss of the forest floor.
I risk a glance back and see the crowd of high fae soldiers waiting at the front of the inn door. They all look the same, impossibly tall and with beautiful blond hair shining down their backs, polished armor, and midnight-blue cloaks pinned to their shoulders as they wear the color of the Savage Prince. The rightful heir to the throne of the Southern Lands.
Each of them has a sword buckled at their side.
I gulp at the sight of them. They look like something out of a dream, like staring at them for too long could be the same as staring at the sun, bright and shining and burning you to the core.
I must hesitate for too long, because Pemba’s arm tightens around my shoulders and he tugs me along, pressing his mouth to my ear to whisper, “We need to get as far away from them as we can, as quickly as we can, if they’re hunting witches.”
The goblin in the lead takes us around to where the trees grow thicker for coverage only to stop once, more cursing under his breath. I crane my head around Pemba to see what has him upset, and my breath catches in my chest.
More high fae soldiers.
There have to be at least fifty men here at the inn, all of them armed to the teeth, so whichever of the fae princesses is hiding out, she's important.
I send out a small prayer to the Fates that she’s okay, that they’re not here to harm her or to take her back somewhere to be hurt.
The goblins make hand signals at each other, but I don't understand what they're saying. The innkeeper said they were on the run themselves, and a trickle of unease filters into my gut. I wonder what they've done to get on the radar of the high fae. Everybody knows you do your best to stay away from them. Their cold, cruel,wickedgames are not the sort of thing that the lower fae should be involved in, not if we can help it.
We stand there, glued to the spot as we watch the soldiers talking amongst themselves. It seems to be an argument of some sort, frustration that the innkeeper hasn't simply handed over this woman, and I start to worry for the older woman. She might not have been the friendliest, but she let us stay the night, and when Pemba had returned from the kitchens, he'd done so with two large bowls of stew and a tankard of cold beer. The hot bath alone was enough for me to appreciate the woman, but the food was delicious and the icing on the cake.
One of the fae at the edge of the group curses loudly enough that we hear it clearly. He's not speaking in the common tongue, but when I was a child, my father taught me all the languages spoken in the Southern Lands. When I proved adept at such learnings, he went as far as teaching me the language of the high fae of the Northern Lands as well. We had just started a fifth language.
The fae soldier rips off his helmet, and I catch sight of the darker color of his skin. When he turns, I see the pointed tips of his ears, the tight black curls shaved close to his scalp, and the golden hue of his eyes. His face has the same heart-wrenchingly stunning perfection of the high fae. Everything about his appearance is a marker of the Seelie fae of the Northern Lands, so whoever this fae princess is, she’s wanted by more than just the Savage Prince.
The second thing that strikes me is the sword at his side. The diamond in the hilt is huge, larger than both of my fists together. Clearly he isn't just a soldier but someone of royal blood himself.
