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Prologue
Things seemed so simple then. I thought I had weathered all the hardship a girl could weather. My mother had passed away when I was younger, and a few years later I lost my father as well. Fae were long-lived compared to other races, but both of my parents had been older. It still hurt, but I was mature enough now to tell myself it was inevitable. And now my life was as perfect as it could be, given everything. Despite my losses, I knew I was blessed. I had my stepmother, Lady Rose. She was an amazing woman, and she treated me as if I were her own blood. I had a lovely home in a close-knit territory. I had good friends. Surely, everything would be pleasantness and pixie dust from here on out.
It certainly seemed so that day, as I lay stretched out on an old blanket on the lumpy forest floor, my eyes half closed against the dappled light that danced through the canopy of leaves above. My childhood friend, Gambol, sat beside me, waxing on about the injustices of the Elfhaven social class system while he finished off the leftovers from our picnic. Gambol was a talented baker, and he was currently working on opening up a small bakery in town. He would be wildly successful. I was so stuffed full of bread, cookies, and tarts that I was sure I'd never move again. I would just sink down through the blanket and into the grass and leaves and become one with the forest.
"It's just stupid how everyone puts so much weight on whether a person is highborn or lowborn," Gambol said, waving a hand. "It shouldn't matter. We're all fae. Who cares about subtypes and the kind of magic you can do?"
I yawned. He was right, of course. But it was hard to focus when I was so sleepy and full. And it wasn't as if it was as dire as he made it out to be. Gambol might not have all the cold perfection and high magic of a highborn, but he was still full-blooded fae, with his pointy ears and his ordinary but solid magic. I on the other hand had a mix of highborn, lowborn, and human in my blood. If anyone should be feeling outcast and downtrodden, it was me. But neither of us had ever really suffered for being what we were. It was just that Gambol’s family had always been just a wee bit feisty about things like this. They had been passed over once upon a time when the royal family appointed a new steward for the territory, ages ago. Well before my stepmother was steward. Some people just lived to hold silly grudges. It gave them something to talk about, I supposed.
“Gambol,” I began, ready to tell him to stuff it, like usual. I knew he was just talking to hear himself talk. My family was friendly with the royal family, and my stepmother was a highborn, but he didn’t hold it against me. He just liked to ramble.
My reply was interrupted by the flutter of wings and a loud caw as a big crow landed on the blanket beside me. The bird pecked at my hair and I sat up with a curse. “Gambol!” I exclaimed again, this time in horror. He stared at me with wide hazel eyes and a lean cheeks full of pie, startled by my sudden panic. “You let me nearly sleep the afternoon away! I should have left half an hour ago!”
His brows shot up and he spoke around his mouthful of food. “Shit. I’m sorry, Kat! I forgot.” He waved a hand as he swallowed his food. “You know how I get. Why would you trust me to be the responsible one?” He rolled his eyes at himself and stood, giving me a hand up while my crow friend picked at the crumbs we’d left behind. “Go on. I know how much you wanted to attend this meeting. I’ll pack things up.”
I reached up and gave his bony shoulder a squeeze. Gambol had always been a skinny kid, but now that we were creeping toward adulthood, he had become tall and lanky. He wasn’t exactly handsome, I suppose, but kind of…loose-limbed and good-natured. Someday soon, he’d probably start turning heads. Not that I was a great person to judge his prospects. It was impossible to think of the man as anything other than my brother. “Thanks Jes,” I said distractedly, my mind already miles away. “I need to get back, or Lady Rose will tan my hide.”
She would do no such thing. If anything, she’d just give me that look. The one that said I was better than this. And then she’d show me the new book she bought me or take me out riding and tell me all about the joys of being a steward. I don’t think she had ever reprimanded me in my life.
“Balefire,” I called as I stepped off the blanket, dusting breadcrumbs off my breeches. “Come on, we’ve got to hurry!”
The crow was only one of Bale’s many forms. My pooka companion might be wild and unpredictable at times, but he understood me. And he usually listened. He knew he wouldn’t get treats later if he nettled me. The crow leapt into the air, transforming into a tall black horse with a flowing mane and glowing red eyes as he went. He tossed his head and showed me his sharp teeth, but relented and took a knee to make it easier for me to scramble onto his back.
Pooka were a type of wild fae creature. Intelligent, but mischievous. They sometimes even took the form of goblins just to toy with people. Or they would lure the unsuspecting onto the back of their magnificent black horse form, only to take them on a terrifying wild ride through the night and dump them in the middle of nowhere.
Luckily, Balefire considered me a friend.
Giving Gambol one last wave, I bent low and clung to Balefire's back, without a saddle or bridle, and I let the sleek black stallion do as he would, taking us back toward home. The Wild Wood was cheerful this time of day, despite its name. Dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy, rippling over us in a dazzling display that became nearly blinding as we broke through the edge of the wood and thundered down the path that led back home. The old, gnarled trees seemed to reach toward us as if begging us not to leave, but I knew I'd be in serious trouble if I lingered.
For one, the sun was sinking, and Wilds were far less friendly at night. And also…I was already late.
My stepmother, Lady Rose, served as the steward of Larkwood, where she cared for the territory and its residents under the authority of the king and queen of Elfhaven. Ever since my father's death a few years back, she had insisted that I be involved in the day-to-day running of things. I think she was lonely since my father's passing. He had helped her behind the scenes with all the little things that didn't require her judgment, saving her time and energy by helping with paperwork and minor issues that came up around the little town of Mistvale, where we lived. But with my father's passing, Rose had to shoulder things alone once again.
I was more than happy to help wherever she'd let me. She may not be my birth mother, but I loved Rose, and I knew she loved me. She had never made me feel unwanted or like I was less important because my blood wasn't her own. Rose hadn't ever looked down on me or my father for our mixed heritage. She just loved us both. And when he was no longer in the picture, she continued caring for me as if it wasn't even a question, including me in her life and her work, as if it were only natural.
Today, she insisted I attend a meeting with a certain highborn baron who seemed to have forgotten that he wasn't in charge. The human kingdoms across the sea had taken to using our titles as their own, and I understood that they had come to mean something quite different there. Apparently, humans gained their titles by birth or wealth. But in Elfhaven, the title of baron was a privilege to be earned. We relied on a hierarchy of rank to help with delegation of responsibilities that kept the territory running smoothly, since the steward couldn't be everywhere at once. It was necessary to give over responsibility to some individual counties or large estates to those highborn capable of assisting.
Despite what Gambol said, the hierarchies that were in place in our country served a greater purpose. Highborn were more likely to be chosen as stewards and barons and such because their strong magic and other inherent skills were helpful to the people they governed. It wasn’t so much about who had “better” magic. It was about what kind of magic—and other skills—were best suited to the job.
But there were bound to be people who would abuse the system. This particular baron had been driving the workers in his little corner of Larkwood to work grueling hours with laughable wages, and then required them to purchase all their necessary day-to-day staples and supplies from businesses owned by the baron himself. Essentially, he made them work for free by ensuring that what little pay they received was then returned to him. And that was the kind of thing that the steward of Larkwood would not tolerate.
I was pretty sure Rose wanted me there so I could see a good example of how she delt out punishment and removed people from their appointed posts. Sometimes I wondered if perhaps her including me in these things was about more than her needing help and company. Sometimes I thought maybe she was grooming me…but that was ridiculous. I wasn’t a highborn. My magic consisted of unimpressive brownie stuff. Nothing suited to ruling people.
The pounding hoofbeats of my mount changed from the dull thump of the leaf-covered path to the more solid sound of packed gravel as we reached the main road leading to our home, Northbower estate. I sat up and urged the stallion to slow down a bit as we approached the cobbled drive leading to the manor. The pooka had been a gift to me from Rose on my fifteenth birthday, and though he was a fine mount and a loyal companion, the shapeshifting creature was not a normal horse. Balefire would be more than happy to continue at a breakneck pace right across the property, through the house, and out the back courtyard, terrifying every servant and breaking every priceless object along the way, just for the pure joy he got from causing mischief.
I guided the headstrong terror to the stables and hastily got him taken care of, tossing him an extra fish as thanks for not taking me off on a wild ride. Then I hurriedly washed up in the small area off to the side that was equipped for washing beasts and stable hands alike. I knew I wouldn't have time to sneak up to my room and change before the meeting. Rose probably had the baron in her office by now, giving him a lecture on how to be a decent person. I'd be lucky to get there in time to witness his demotion.
I rushed toward the house, a million thoughts swirling through my mind. My hurried footsteps slowed, however, when I noticed a pair of saddled gryphons waiting in front of the manor. They weren't tied up or otherwise tethered. They were just that well trained. Their lion’s bodies were massive, and their yellow eyes sharp in their eagle heads, alert and taking in everything around them. But their wings were folded, and they stood calmly awaiting orders. The deep red and black regalia adorning their saddle blankets and tack was familiar. These were gryphons from the royal guard…
A strange sensation lodged in the pit of my belly as I climbed the stairs. I had called the beautiful manor house my home ever since my widower father told me he had decided to formally bond with Lady Rose and make her my stepmother. But something seemed wrong with the place now.
The brownie in me knew when hearth and home were unsettled. I had already been through enough upheaval and loss in my life, but now something inside me screamed it wasn't over. That things these past few years had been far too perfect.
The entry door stood ajar, and soft masculine voices filtered out, though I couldn't make out the words. I pushed the door open and found two royal guardsmen speaking to the butler, Saffron, in hushed tones. I knew that tone of voice. That way of speaking. It meant that something terrible had happened and the person talking was trying to be gentle in their delivery.
My hands shook, and I curled them into fists at my sides and squared my shoulders before I spoke. "What's happened?" I demanded, refusing to use the hushed tone myself. If I pretended there was no reason for that tone of voice they were using, then it might drive away whatever curse had just befallen the household.
The house looked the same as always, warm and glowing with love and wood polish. The afternoon sun suffused everything in gold, glinting off bits of gilding on the painted vines and flowers that twined across the wallpaper. It was far too sunny and magical in here for that tone of voice the guards were using. Or for the twisting fear in my gut.
