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I slide into the booth and nearly bang my knees into the tabletop when I jump at an unexpected voice.
“Never seen one of your kind out and about on her own.”
It’s a rough grumble with a hint of a sneer and it’s too, too close. Where—
Oh. I guess this table wasn’t empty after all.
There’s a lump tucked at the edge of the booth. Because of the shadows covering up this particular table, I didn’t even notice it. Even focusing on it, it looks more like a pile of dirty rags or old laundry… until it shifts and I see a tiny man perched against the corner, a pipe in one hand. He waves it at me as I quickly try to scoot back out.
“It’s fine, girly. Keep the seat. I’m not waiting for any company.”
“Oh.” I stop scooting. It feels like it would be rude to just get up and leave and, well, I don’t really want to draw any more attention over to me. “Um. Okay.”
“You hungry?”
I’m starving but something tells me that I’d be better off waiting for Rys. “Not really,” I lie. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.”
“Yeah?” Beneath his hood, his dark eyes light up. “Another one like you?”
“Not another human, no. He’s from here. Seelie.”
“A lord?”
Nope. A prisoner.
Can you imagine if I actually admitted that?
Yeah, right.
“He’s a… a guard.”
“You mean to say that he was a guard.”
He says that with such assurance, I feel like there’s an unsaid gotcha hanging at the end of his comment.
“What?”
“I was wondering if the human would lie to ol’ Grimly. And after he was kind enough to offer to sup with her, too. He’s got the nose, you see.” With the knobby hand clutching his pipe, he taps the side of his long, crooked nose. “You stink of human, but you also stink of Seelie. I know that particular stench. It belongs to Rysdan.”
“I don’t know any Rysdan—”
“Rys, perhaps? It’s been a long time since he’s visited Hildy’s place. I never thought I’d see the day he’d return.”
The wizened old man slips his pipe between his lips and pulls hard on it. After holding it in for a breath, he blows the smoke out through his long nose.
I let out a small gasp when I see that the smoke is orange. And his eyes… either his irises are black or his pupils have dilated so far that they’ve eaten the rest of the colors right up.
Whoa. What’s in that pipe?
“I heard a rumor that he’d followed a mortal into the Iron, then another tale that he chose her over the queen and nearly lost his head for it. And all for the Shadow who chose to bond with one of the Cursed Ones.” He peers even closer at me. “That wouldn’t be you. You’ve got the trace, but it belongs to a Blessed One. Still, you’re as mortal as the Shadow was, I fear. More, since she was a blasted halfling and you… you don’t have a lick of Faerie in your blood at all.”
As if I need the reminder? I feel like I’m walking around with a neon sign flashing over my head that says: HUMAN, I’M A HUMAN. Everyone knows—and no one likes it.
Dusk told me once that he could smell my fear. That stuck with me. I know that the fae are the most powerful creatures in Faerie. They have the looks, the wealth, and the magic to keep them in control. Between their ability to glamour and compel others—plus the whole touch magic thing—I know I’m the low man on the totem pole when it comes to the Seelie and the Unseelie.
I don’t know what this man is. Obviously not a fae, but that doesn’t mean his senses aren’t as keen. He can smell that I’m human, and he can smell Rys’s touch on me.
What else can he tell about me?
