Page 12 of A Thief Among Fae

“And who’s to say its luck won’t work on someone else?” I ask. “Either way, it’s beautiful.”

“The color of the eyes represents the season the child was expected in,” the man continues, ignoring me. “Orange for autumn, blue for summer, black for winter, and green for spring. So while it’s one-of-a-kind, it’s certainly not rare.” He gestures at the statue, jeweled rings adorning his long fingers. The hag’s gaze darts from ring to ring until it settles on the bone-shard-adorned band.

“That doesn’t mean they’re easy to acquire,” I cut in. “Avedor doesn’t let just anyone enter the Hollowlands. And why venture there when you can purchase it from me?”

The man exhales a breathy laugh. “Desolate, war-ravaged cities are akin to graveyards. It’s sacrilege in Avedor to disturb the dead. And selling a spiritual charm like it’s a trinket demonstrates a profound lack of a moral compass. Not that morality runs strong in a place like this.”

The hag doesn’t speak, but the way she slowly sets down the statuette sends a burst of panic through me. “This doesn’t concern you,” I snap at the stranger.

“Doesn’t it?” He lowers his hood. His brown, messy curls frame an angular face—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and dark lashes that bring out the gold in his hazel eyes. A short scar runs down the left side of his cleft chin, free of the dark stubble covering the rest of his jaw. But what catches my attention are his pointed ears. Fae ears.

“Your grace,” the hag rasps. She hops off her stool and curtsies, then peers up at him with an eerie gray-toothed grin. “What brings the prince of the High Court so far from his hollow? And without your crown?”

Those words ripple like a spell across the market. Heads turn. Some stare openly, while others hurriedly retreat into shadowed stalls. I hear the words dangerous and monster hissed amongst the crowd. However curious the onlookers may be, they give the fae prince a wide berth. My urge to do the same wars with my stubbornness.

Rumors of the fae royal family have traveled even to Nettlerock. They say Queen Tetriona is as merciful as death’s cold grip, as gentle as a raging hailstorm. Deitra, the Crown Princess of the High Court, is said to be as cutthroat as her mother. She not only formed a forbidden fae legion but also commands it. Then there’s Queen Tetriona’s son.

I don’t remember his name, but I remember the frisson suffusing the village elders’ voices as they spoke of him. Prince of Death. The Slayer in the Shadows. If Deitra is the Hollowlands’ shield, then her brother is the sword. While their people all but worship the princess for her bravery and tenacity, her brother is whispered to be a pariah. A curse.

The tales terrified Evie, but I was captivated. To be an Elite, to be royalty. . . and yet so feared that your own people reject you. I wondered what it would be like to have that much power. I wondered if he felt more free than I did, or less.

“Rise,” the prince says to the hag. She rises from her curtsey and climbs back onto her chair, but the crowd lingers. We’re all stunned to see a member of the fae High Court in Avedor, but especially him.

A woman hisses, “Our queen wants him executed on sight.”

“Alert the guards, and he’ll slaughter us all,” the orc beside her answers with fearful awe.

The fae prince regards the crowd with a derisive curl of his lips as if their frightened murmuring amuses him. “Be on your way. Or do you enjoy looking death in the eyes?”

Everyone scatters, and he settles his gaze on me.

A shiver curls down my spine. He could’ve stepped right out of a story about the fair high fae, with sharp symmetry like chiseled marble, and otherworldly coldness that darkens his eyes. It’s said that his kind can induce trance-like adoration in mortals with their looks alone, and gazing at him, I believe it.

So why did I not realize he’s high fae before he revealed his ears?

“And you were saying this doesn’t concern me,” the prince says, trailing a possessive finger down the statuette.

I shake off my shock. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” Who he is doesn’t change that. “There weren’t any fae graves to disturb, just some human skeletons.”

His eyes narrow at me. “Fae disintegrate within hours after death. You wouldn’t have found bodies.”

I want to throttle him, regardless of his rumored power. Evie is dying, and I need that bezoar.

“Did I forget to mention how stolen fae charms are cursed?” He smirks, and I know where he’s going with this. “Having one in your possession risks Danu plotting your most untimely death. I, for one, never gamble against a deity.”

“Neither do I,” the hag croaks. “You may keep your wares, child.”

“I have more jewels.” I place a ruby on the table, so tiny that a huff of air would roll it off. It’s still worth more marks than two dozen pounds of venison. The sapphire I set next to it gleams with the deep blues of the ocean, but she doesn’t even look at it.

“Jewels are mere baubles compared to the nectar of magic, the whispers of history.” Her nails impatiently rap against the table, signaling for us to leave.

The fae strides off as I shove everything into my rucksack. I spare one last glance at the hag, and I stomp after him. Something compelled him to mess with me, and I’m livid at it. His morbid curiosity? Fate? Bad luck? Whatever it was, it will pay.

I grab the fae prince’s shoulder and whip him around. His eyes widen. My fist draws back for a punch before the thought enters my mind.

He effortlessly blocks my strike with his palm. Damn. I wanted to bruise his jaw or break his nose. Anything to mar his stupidly sculpted face.

I flinch as his fingers wrap around mine. His grip is frighteningly strong. We stare at each other, and I realize I’ve just tried to assault the fae who terrifies the entire market. For a heartbeat, I’m afraid.