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And when the new family discovered the extent of her glamara? Few fae brandished one like it. While their mother’s humming had entranced those around her, and their father’s every word had inspired unnatural excitement and anticipation, neither parent had ever compelled others to submit to their will.
What if the family used Viori for their own advance, treating her as an object?
He inhaled sharply, different muscles knotting. No, his sister wouldn’t be better off without him. He did everything in his power to keep her safe, and he understood her struggles in ways others could not. By any means necessary, he fed her a fulfilling meal each day, acquired plenty of fresh water, and secured the warmest shelters. Who could say the same?
Often he stole what they needed. As a last resort, he used his glamara. When that happened, he and Viori packed up and moved on the very next day, just in case someone realized the truth. People feared what they couldn’t control and attacked what they feared.
Another group of pixies flew past, twittering with excitement, leaving a trail of glittery dust in their wake. Where were they headed with such haste? Was something going on?
Kaysar helped Viori over a fallen log and drew to a stop. “One second, love.” He studied what remained of the map. The only landmark up ahead seemed to be a small clearing.
Did people congregate there? They must. Where people flocked, provisions brimmed. Food. Clothing. Weapons.
Either the pixies stole everything, or Kaysar did.
His next inhalation proved as piercing as a blade. If he got caught, Viori would be alone in the forest rather than a village, where she might search out a kind soul for help.
To go forward or switch direction?
Wait. The tips of his pointed ears twitched. Voices. He dropped to a crouch, pulling Viori down, as well.
He focused on the noise, his ears twitching faster. Oh, yes. Voices. Two of them. Three? All male. Fae. Authoritative. Angry.
Emotions were high, adding to the level of danger. He and Viori could source provisions elsewhere. Yes. The better choice. He straightened halfway, pulling his sister to her feet, and eased forward.
Only two steps into their retreat, her stomach rumbled. In the quiet, that rumble struck him as obscenely loud.
Shame scalded him, and he slowed. When it came to Viori’s well-being, he had no fears, no lines and no friends. Only foes with temporary possession of his things.
To feed his hungry sister, the risk was worthy of the reward.
I’ll do it. A twig snapped as he ushered Viori closer to the brook. Clear water rushed along crushed gemstones, lapping white foam over the shore. Where to stash the little girl?
A quick scan revealed two options. Clusters of toxic poisonvine or massive tree trunks with thick buttress roots that played host to legions of fireants.
The poisonvine it is.
Kaysar urged Viori across the distance, trembling as the air sweetened. Poisonvine stunned a fae upon contact. Few ever approached it.
He encouraged her to hunker between the stalks and settled the doll on her lap. As long as Viori kept still, she wouldn’t brush against the foliage. “You know I’ll always protect you, yes? Stay here, and remain unmoving,” he whispered, placing their satchel at her feet. The cloth carried their few but precious belongings.
His sister offered no reaction, too lost in her head to notice what transpired around her.
“I’ll find out what’s going on,” he told her anyway. “While I’m gone, I want you to remember how much I love you. All right? I’ll return shortly.” He might be injured and bloody again, but he would return.
She peered beyond him, silent.
Chest clenching, he cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead, then kissed Drendall’s forehead and darted off before he changed his mind. His vision blurred for a moment.
Don’t look back. Focus.
Kaysar waded through the cool brook and came out the other side, his feet and calves soaked. As he snuck through spindly trees cloaked in shadows, he trailed water behind him. Gnarled branches scraped his cheeks, stinging, but he refused to slow.
The scent of flowers faded, overpowered by a stench of rot. He held his breath and trod over a red-and-yellow mushroom growing from a jagged stone.
A male bellowed a terrible insult seconds before a woman’s cry of pain echoed.
Kaysar quickened his pace, freed the bow anchored to his shoulder and nocked an arrow. Closing in... He wove through a maze of jagged branches and brittle leaves, where hundreds of pixies gathered, enthralled. Closer...
Near the last tangle of trees, he caught sight of three males and a lone female. He stilled to take stock. Small girl, big brutes. They must be soldiers. Rich—royal? Two were older. The third was young, perhaps sixteen or seventeen.
At this vantage point, Kaysar observed everyone in profile. The girl remained on her knees, while the males stood. A bright red bun drooped at her nape. She looked older than the teen but younger than the others. Her dress, though plain, appeared well-made, a low neckline displaying the diamond-studded collar around her throat.
