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“Do you need help finding anything?” a voice called from across the shop. I turned to see the tailor carrying a young child on her hip. Her ears were long and pointed but the child’s ears were slightly rounded. A Halfling born and raised in the Faeland.

“Do you do custom orders?” I asked, crossing the room in three strides.

Her dark eyes squinted, trying to glimpse my face under the hood. “Yes,” she said slowly. “When do you need it by.”

“Tomorrow,” I answered. She caught the pouch of gold I threw at her with a flash of her arm and nodded.

ISHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISEDwhen a carriage appeared outside the inn to collect me. Two black horses pulled the ornate carriage, steered by a coachman. My eyes lingered on his long, rounded ears and red hair. He gave a tight smile and opened the door. After only one night in Aralinth, it was evident that more Halflings lived in the city than Fae or Elves. Far more than I ever imagined would dare to cross the mountains. Or have the chance to try.

It set me on edge.

I wanted as many Halflings safe from the king as possible. If they found solace in the Faeland, I wouldn’t expose them. Even if it was against the treaty. My stomach churned. The only reason the Dark Fae wouldn’t care about the Blade seeing how flagrantly they broke the treaty was if they didn’t plan on me returning at all.

They had me trapped.

I slipped into the coach and watched as Aralinth passed by the windows. I was still amazed by the flower canopy and trees that grew all over the city. The blooms seemed to embrace the buildings, plants growing up walls and over rooftops, building cascades of flowering vines and branches.

It was as if the city itself was alive.

The palace was just as beautiful.Sil’abar—the White Tree—the invitation had called it. The white trunk stood as wide as the king’s palace, thick bark serving as the palace walls. Its branches stretched over half the city. Golden leaves fluttered above as large as houses. It was an Elder birch, just like the ones that grew in the Burning Mountains. Their giant twin.

The carriage came to a halt at the end of the stone drive. The Halfling jumped off and opened the door without looking at me. I stepped down, staring at the entrance in awe. Two guards stood on either side. There were no doors for them to open. Instead, the living wood split, leaving a wide crack at the base of the tree. The guards did not try to stop me as I walked past, though their eyes tracked each step.

There were no windows in the palace; warm orbs of light lit my path.Faelight. Magical balls of sunlight that hovered in the air, casting rays against the grain of the walls and floor. I reached out to touch one, but it floated away, as if caught on a breeze. The faelights led to the end of the hallway where two more guards were standing. This time they flanked a set of grand doors carved with three Elder birch leaves, their stems woven together.

The guards opened the doors, each pulling one forward with two hands. The gust of air blew against my skirts carrying a whirl of voices from the room. “Lord Feron is expecting you,” one of the guards said, his arm pointing toward the railing of the landing.

I nodded and straightened my back. I savored a deep breath and couldn’t help but wonder if it was my last. Perhaps I would walk down those steps and the Fae guards would descend upon me. The daggers I had holstered to my thighs would do little against them.

If I died, at least it would be quick.

I stepped out onto the landing; the large doors groaned behind me as they closed. I took another step and stood at the top of a staircase. Everyone in the room below turned at the same time, their eyes watching me as I descended. My hands clenched around the layers and layers of sheer fabric that made my skirt. Each one was dyed a different color—blues, grays, and violets—but piled together my dress was as dark as nightshade. The tiny faebeads stitched into each layer glowed liked stars in the night sky.

The tailor had made my garment just as I’d envisioned it. Its long sleeves accentuated the length of my arms. The high neck split down the middle of the bodice in a thin line of skin that trailed to my navel. It didn’t show much, but it emphasized the toned contours of my stomach that had returned after weeks without a drink.

My favorite piece was the crown veil. It curved around my forehead in twisted vines covered in gold thorns. Ribbons of black cascaded from the thorns, covering my hair in a long braid. Dew roses I’d picked from a nearby garden were placed between the strands of silk-covered hair, completely hiding my natural color. A large stripe of black ink cut across my face, covering my cheeks and brows.

I’d be remembered. But anyone here would have trouble recognizing me when the night was over.

I took the final step, landing on the ballroom floor. Some still watched me, but many of the Fae had turned away. Their violet eyes finding interest somewhere else. I craned my neck as I searched the room. No windows to escape from, only one set of doors that were too big to slip away unnoticed. I would have to leave the same way I came. If I left at all.

A tall Fae approached me. He was dressed in a light blue robe. The silk sash tied at his waist held a silver scabbard. The faelight shone along his deep skin like moonlight across the night sky. A deceivingly youthful glow. His hair, set in long twists down his back, did not contain a single gray hair. His most striking feature was the one that marked all Dark Fae—his violet eyes. They were shaded by his own ink mask, but where mine was black, his was a vibrant shade of gold.

He gave me a slight nod. I returned it with a small bow.

“Lord Feron, I presume?” I said with a small smile. My hand instinctively grabbed for a weapon, but they were covered in sheets of tulle.

He nodded with a wide smile. “I am honored to be dining with Aemon’s Blade. Welcome, Keera Kingsown.”

“I’m honored to be here as well, Lord Feron,” I answered back. “But you may call me Keera.” My ears would chafe if I had to hear my title at the turn of every conversation. Or that godsdamned last name.

“Only if you call me Feron,” he said with a soft chuckle. My brows raised before I could stop them. I could never imagine the lords of Elverath so easily discarding their titles. “Would you like some wine?” Feron pointed to a servant carrying a tray of fine glass goblets.

I stilled. The rich scent wafted over to us; my throat itched. “Perhaps with dinner,” I said.

“Very well.” Feron took a goblet for himself. “Let me introduce you to our guests.”

The next hour passed in a blur of faces. Some Fae, some Elves, most Halflings. All wore tight smiles as they asked about the kingdom and the king. I evaded most questions easily. No one seemed truly concerned about what was happening in Elverath. As if the people on the other side of the Burning Mountains did not even exist.