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The east bank was built by men and therefore much less grand. The lesser merchants had homes of brick that were patched and maintained from centuries of wear. The poor built shelters out of whatever scrap materials they could lay their hands on.

That is the part of the city I went to first.

The poor tended to have few secrets.Secretwas just another word for power and the poor certainly did not have any of that. The lucky ones who found more power than they were born with left the slums quicker than sewer rats on a stormy day. My gait was lighter there; I wasn’t worried about crossing paths with anyone in the royal pockets. Even the Shades had few eyes in Silstra’s lowest circles. It wasn’t worth paying coin if the poor had no one to spy on.

“Keera!” Victoria shouted when I walked through the door of what used to be an inn but was now missing most of its roof. “I wasn’t expecting you,” she whispered as she pulled me in for an embrace. Her graying hair tickled my cheek. I smiled down at her. She had always been a short woman, but age had made her even shorter.

My eyes fell to the baby held at Victoria’s hip. She always seemed to have a little one nearby. This one probably didn’t have any parents.

Her blue eyes dropped to the simple tie at my neck. I had changed into a green traveling cloak before exiting the ship. The people here did not know me as the Blade, just Keera. My black cloak and silver fastener would draw too many unwanted eyes. Only Victoria knew the truth.

“I can’t stay,” I said, passing a pouch of gold coin into her hands. “I wish I could, but I have to find myself a horse strong enough to make it to Cereliath before dusk.”

Her eyes lingered on the red lines surrounding my silver irises and the dampness of my forehead. Two days without a drink was taking its toll.

“Have some tea at least. Julian needs a feeding anyway,” she said, tickling the fat baby’s tummy until he giggled. He had a round face and soft arms with rolls that matched his legs. His ears were already beginning to pinch at the top. He was a Halfling.

“Is there still a doctor around to help him?” I sat down and drank from the mug Victoria laid in front of me.

“Aye, though he can’t come ’round much. Still, he should be able to cut his ears in time.” She kissed Julian on the head and popped a bottle into his mouth. Most Halflings were indistinguishable from humans apart from their ears. And if they were cut early enough, once they began to pinch, a gifted doctor or healer could stitch them in a way that made sure they grew round, looked more human. If it happened as an infant, most would never be able to tell.

“Have you had any trouble?” I asked after a large swig of my tea.

“No, not since you took care of things.” Victoria’s smile was tight and thin. I knew she wasn’t comfortable with what had happened the last time I was in Silstra, but it had to be done, no matter how gruesome.

“Good.” I put down my empty mug and stood. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. This mission could have me gone for another year, but I’ll continue sending aid every month.”

“You could spend your money on yourself, you know,” Victoria teased, though I knew she would accept my coin. Too many mouths depended on her.

“It’s not just my money.” The king didn’t notice if I funneled some of his reclaimed treasure to the poor—at least, not in the twenty some years I had been doing it. “Besides, you know as well as I do that an executioner has no one to spend her coin on.”

“You’re not an executioner, Keera,” she said. Her eyes were wide and the hard line of her lips transformed into a soft pout. I turned away.

“No, you’re right. An executioner has the comfort of knowing her victims had a trial,” I said. The truth of my words pulled my shoulders toward the ground.

“We all have to do bad things, Keera. Things we don’t want to do but have to in order to survive. Your hands are forced more than most, but not everyone decides to be kind. That should count for more than the bad.” Victoria patted my shoulder. Gray curls framed her soft face, brushing against the wrinkles etched into her tanned skin. She was a kind woman, motherly. For a moment, I wondered if my own had been the same.

“I think you overestimate the amount of kindness I do.” There was no amount of good that could wash away the sea of blood I had filled.

IHATED TRAVELING THROUGHthe Deadwood. Most travelers took the longer road along the riverbank, fearing the creatures that lurked in the sickly forest hungering for a taste of Mortal flesh. The stories never mentioned anything about the monsters having an affinity for the taste of Halflings. Not that it mattered. In thirty years of being the king’s Blade, I had crossed through the Deadwood many times, often by myself. I was always the closest thing to a monster skulking in the wood.

The decaying trees with their bent trunks and leafless branches no longer frightened me. Now I found refuge beside them, knowing that I would meet no strangers along the path and could nurse my wineskin freely. Dark sap spewed from tree roots. Scalding hot to the touch, it left the bark burnt and blackened like a fire had swept through the forest, so hot and so fast that no greenery could ever be reborn among the decay.

Once, the Deadwood had lived under a different name. A name now forgotten by Halflings and Mortals. Trees of all kinds of magic had spanned across the north, home to creatures that had disappeared along with the Light Fae. The wood’s magic was already fading by the time the Mortals landed. In the first centuries of King Aemon’s reign, he cut most of the wood surrounding Cereliath, tilling the land into the farmlands that now fed Elverath’s people and filled the king’s pockets.

Minstrels traveled across the kingdom telling the story of the Deadwood. The trees meeting the king’s ax used the little magic they had left to warn their brethren to the south. How, the minstrels never said. Mortals only ever saw magic in two ways: profitable or evil. They had no interest in understanding further. The Deadwood had been created from the latter. Knowing that the king would cut them too, the remaining trees retreated in on themselves. Twisting their trunks into unusable knots. Their magical leaves dropping in droves and scorching the ground. Sap oozing from their bark, leaving vicious burns on anyone who dared swing an ax.

The only safe way through the wood was along the narrow paths. One step off and a horse would be lamed, its passenger scorched. The king had killed hundreds of Halflings by forcing them to harvest the blackened trees to create the road. Their bodies lined the paths the king wanted cut through the wood. One path weaved through the trees and ended outside of the capital. The other was the road I traveled on now.

If the ghosts of those Halflings still lingered among the trees, I never saw them. Perhaps, the ghosts who already haunted me kept them at bay.

By the time the trees thinned and gave way to the flat stretches of farmland, my body ached and my thighs burned from riding. I was also out of wine and still had a full day’s ride into the city.

My horse trotted along the fields of wheat and corn. Occasionally, the sweet scent of berries would catch the breeze and I would come across a field ofwinvra. The tiny fruit grew in clusters, some black and some red. Some to heal and some to kill. Thewinvragrew along tall posts the Mortals had constructed, wrapping around them like ivy, ever reaching for the light of the suns. The fruit was the last magical plant that grew in the kingdom, the king’s only way left to commodify the magic that had once run rampant in these lands.

Some of the orchards I passed were sparse and their berries shriveled. Their magic had begun to fade too. I watched as men measured the growth of the gray berries, picking samples to test back at their laboratory. Looking for answers for the king. It was a question the king had been pondering for centuries—why the magic of Elverath was fading. But no one could answer it for him. The best theory was that it was a kind of natural waning tied to the magic of the Fae. Many believed that when the last of the Dark Fae passed, all the magic would leech from Elverath entirely.

I didn’t care about the magic. I only cared about the people who starved while the king balanced hiswinvralosses by selling more food to other realms. Elverath grew more than enough food to feed its people but sent away most of the harvest on long ships across the sea. The king and his lords kept their riches while the poor went hungry.