“She's not in there!” he snaps, and one of the soldiers at his side pulls his helmet off as well, a tumble of white-blond hair falling from underneath it.
He looks so typically Unseelie fae that staring at his heartbreaking beauty for too long almost hurts, like looking directly into the sun itself. “What exactly do you want me to do about it? We were told she'd be here. It's the only inn within a hundred miles!”
“I can't smell any fae in there. You said you wanted me here because of my senses, and now you're not listening to me when I use them.”
The Seelie fae steps back, but none of them seem too worried about his temper. I would be—he's at least twice the width of half of the others, the type of man who didn’t just become a soldier but was born to be one.
“Soren sent me here because he trusted me to bring her back. We are wasting time, because the inn only stinks of lower fae. There isnohigh fae in there.”
Soren.
A chill runs down my spine at the sound of his name. I think my prayer to the Fates will be ignored, because the Savage Prince is not someone you run away from and survive.
Both of his parents were murdered in their beds, some assassin making their way through the castle on the edge of a cliff, surrounded by waterfalls, which was rumored to be impenetrable, and yet the king and the queen were both killed, leaving the young prince orphaned and the throne of the Southern Lands in the hands of his uncle until the prince came of age.
Rumors of the Savage Prince’s brutality have reached even the isolated depths of the Ravenswyrd Forest.
Witches are considered adults the moment we turn eighteen, with a long life ahead of us, but fae are different thanks to their longer lifespans, and even though the assassinations happened over a hundred years ago, the prince is considered too young and hasn’t taken his throne. I don’t know enough about high fae royal lines to suppose a reason for that, but my breath catches in my throat once more as the fae soldiers finally begin to move off. They travel in the same direction that we need to go, and Pemba's mouth turns downward at the sight of their retreating backs.
There's nothing we can do but wait.
***
The moment that the fae soldiers have left our sight, one of the goblins disappears, melting into the line of trees as he makes his escape. It isn't going to be that simple for us. Pemba shifts his body so that he’s covering me fully, protecting me from the curious eyes of the remaining goblin as they discuss how exactly they're planning on getting past the fae now that we’re all heading in the same direction.
“I have a horse and cart just farther up the way there. I sheltered her under the canopy of the trees for the night when I stopped at the inn. I can take you both up the mountain, if that's where you’re heading.”
Pemba scowls at him distrustfully, and I don't blame him. The goblin hasn’t asked for anything in return, but I'm sure the ride isn’t free.
“Just like that, huh?” Pemba says, and the goblin shrugs his shoulders.
“I’m already heading that way. On the other side of the mountain is the Great Harbor. I’m going to find a boat sailing to the Northern Lands. There's a war happening, you know?”
The trouble in the Northern Lands, now called the Fate Wars, began when the king there refused his fate and opened up a chasm that is now destroying his kingdom. There are dozens of rumors of dark creatures spilling forth and wiping out entire cities in one fell swoop, rumors terrifying enough that they made their way into the forest and our little coven.
Pemba scowls and runs his gaze over the goblin, assessing him and finding him wanting. He’s not much to look at, not a big guy or an obvious soldier type. His story makes no sense. “Why would you be running off to war? That's even more crazy than offering two witches a ride for free.”
The goblin chuckles and turns away from us, forcing us to follow him as he makes his way to a sheltered area where we find the horse and cart. The small brown mare whinnies at the sight of him, huffing happily when he reaches out to stroke her soft nose.
“I was cast out of Goblin City by the Goblin King himself. There's no place in the Southern Lands where I'm safe. The King of the Northern Lands has already decreed that anyone willing to fight in the Fate Wars is welcome in his land, no questions asked. It might be my only chance to build a new life for myself… a second chance.”
A new life.
I can't question him on that, because isn't that exactly what Pemba and I are facing ourselves? Reluctantly, Pemba agrees. I don't let it show on my face, but I take a relieved breath when I climb into the back of the cart. There is absolutely no way that my feet are going to get me up the mountain in one go, and it is a huge help to have a day of sitting on my butt instead.
The goblin takes a different path than the fae did, and when Pemba questions him, he merely shrugs. “We’ll have to go the long way so that we don't run into any more of those soldiers. Just because they looked intent on finding that fae girl doesn't mean they won't stop us if they see us.”
I wait until the steady clip-clop of the horse’s hooves against the path and the rushing river beside us can mask my words before I lean over to Pemba. “Why are the high fae persecuting witches? Did Father tell you anything about that?”
Pemba cringes and rubs a hand across the back of his neck, glancing around as though he's afraid someone will overhear this conversation. I didn't realize it was such a controversial topic.
“There's been talk of the witches feuding with the high fae for longer than we've been alive.Farlonger. Mama and Father weren't ever worried about it, because the Ravenswyrd Coven has always been neutral,” he says hesitantly.
I raise my eyebrows at him and motion with my hand for him to go on, because that clearly isn't the end of the story. None of that information warrants such hesitation.
He glances back at the forest we’re leaving behind and reaches into his pocket. When he pulls out the end of an arrow, my heart stops in my chest. The feathers are the same ones that littered the ground of our coven’s village.
Whoever killed our family shot those arrows.
