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The sun soon broke over the nearest building, and the day grew hot before we’d even left Leor. As we walked the horses through the thickest part of the crowd, I smelled the fried dough of my favorite pastries and heard the first shouted words of the nearest storyteller.
“Come hear the story of the night lion,” he called, his voice trained to carry over the din of jolly festivalgoers.
I turned longing eyes to the man on stage, wanting to stay and listen. The storytellers always started with familiar beloved tales and worked their way up to the darker, scarier ones after nightfall—when most of the children had gone to bed.
“You enjoy the stories?” asked Hector.
I nodded, urging Rafael’s horse forward.
The blond man stiffened slightly, as if offended by my answer. He hesitated before replying. “I’m certain they’ve misled you about the fae.”
“I’m certain they have, too,” I admitted, shooting a cursory glance at where Hector’s pointed ears were carefully hidden behind his long hair, “considering I didn’t even know you existed until last night.”
He huffed in amusement, and we continued on in silence. We walked against the flow of the crowd. Many of those I passed would witness the midsummer race. And if Rafael’s horse did win—as promised—Papá could pay out all the angry people who would come knocking on his door. After that, there should be enough money left over to purchase my parents’ house and land outright, leaving Papá free of Ortiz once and for all. And if Rafael’s horse was capable of winning this race, perhaps the stallion could also win the Carrera de los Reales as I’d hoped Sol would.
This comforting hope carried me until Leor had vanished in the distance. Once the city disappeared from view, dread settled over my shoulders. The horse swayed underneath me, and the sun beat down harshly on my dark hair and the black fabric of my shawl, which I draped over my shoulders to cover my ballgown as best I could.
Soon the leather began to rub tender spots on my legs. I kept fidgeting, unsuccessfully trying to place the seams in different places to stave off blisters.
“Where are we going?” I finally asked, tired of the silence. As far as I knew, there were no nearby towns in this direction.
“Rivenmark.”
My heart somersaulted. “The fae lands?”
Hector nodded but continued looking away.
“Where are they?”
He chuckled slightly at this. “Everywhere. And nowhere.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
His blue eyes flicked toward me briefly. “Mortals see so very little. There are entrances all around. That hill over there. The river back that way. The cliffs to the east.”
“Then why don’t we use that hill over there?” I asked as we walked away from it.
His knuckles tightened under his riding gloves, making the leather squeak. “Mortals can only enter through certain gates.” After a moment, he announced, “We’re here.”
“At the gate?”
Stretches of flat earth surrounded us on all sides, and the gray line of the sea stood far off to the left. If I looked hard enough, I could just barely make out Puerta’s white stone walls.
“No. At camp.”
As we rounded a copse of trees, a large tent came into view. It was the grand, octagonal kind that looked like something from one of the illuminated texts in Zara’s library. It even had a small gold flag on top, though the flag was too limp to identify its sigil.
Hector hopped to the ground. “We’ll leave at nightfall, so rest while you can. The journey home will take all night.”
“Why do you travel at night?”
“Why do you ask so many questions?”
I rolled my eyes. “Please tell me there is more than one tent.”
Hector laughed as he led his bay mare, who he’d called Chispa, into the clearing.
Gracefully, I slid to the ground, but my feet cemented in place, as if they’d grown roots, and I clung to Rafael’s horse.
