Page 16

“If you’re meanin’ to rob me, all I have is wood for the Warden of the West. But if ye mean me no harm, I won’t hurt ye either,” the faerie added, his tone a little softer.

I took a deep breath. He sounded genuine, and seeing as I was desperate, I decided to take a chance. First, though, I folded my wings down, compacting them so the rods weren’t noticeable. Then I stuck the stake in the snow. Though it gave me comfort to hold, it would also be a dead giveaway as to where I’d come from. Once I’d hidden my past as best I could, I stepped out from behind the tree and onto the road.

The fae’s eyebrows, as bushy as his beard, rose. His gaze strayed to my hip where my dagger hung. He said nothing of my weapon but opted for the obvious. “Are ye wet?”

“I was, still am a little.” My teeth chattered so hard I thought I might break a tooth. “Do you have a spare cloak?”

He studied me and then patted the bench beside him. “Ye won’t be usin’ that dagger on me, will ye?”

“I have no intention of doing so.”

“Then, come ‘ere. Ye can borrow me cloak, and I’ll take you into town. Can get yer own cloak there.”

For the first time in hours, I smiled. It hurt. “Thank you.”

Shakily, I climbed onto the cart and scooted next to the faerie. Up close, he seemed even larger than before. Was it normal for faeries to be so big? Was I actually a runt among my kind? I didn’t think so, but looking at him, I felt like one. He also looked to be about ten turns older than me, around thirty, which meant he could be any age. Faeries aged, but around thirty, the turns wore on us more slowly than I’d observed with humans. A fae might celebrate thirty-two name days or ninety and look about the same.

“What’s your name, lass?”

“Neve. Yours?”

“Frode. Ye from around here? Certainly not the Western Range of Winter’s Realm. Don’t sound like it.”

“I’m passing through. Heading east.”

He eyed me sidelong but said nothing else as he passed over his thick, enormous cloak. I wrapped it around me, sighing as the dense fur teased my cheeks.

“Thank you for this.” I clasped the cloak tightly, trying to keep in as much heat as possible. “And for the ride.”

“The stars would smite me if I left a freezing lass on the road. In fact,” he reached into a bag just behind him and pulled out a metal flask, “take this. ‘Tis broth and it’s still hot.”

With trembling fingers, I took the flask. It was indeed still warm, so I pulled off the cap and sipped. Warmth filled my mouth and ran down my throat as I swallowed. Stars, it was so good. Just what I needed.

“Go slow with it,” Frode warned. “Might shock yer system.”

I nodded. “I will.”

He cracked the reins, and his horses started walking.

Soon enough, the muffled clopping of hooves on packed snow were the only sounds filling my ears. So much had happened; I didn’t mind having a minute of peace to focus on warming up, which the cloak was enabling. Those in Winter’s Realm really did know how to make insulated clothing.

We continued to ride in silence for a while, though I didn’t miss Frode casting me glances. Finally, it apparently became too much, so he broke the silence. “Where were ye comin’ from? The Autumn Court? Through the passes in the Ice Tooth Range?”

“Yes,” I lied.

Telling anyone where I had really come from was not a smart idea. Thankfully, because the vampires fed anyone with magic a potion to stunt their magic, I was not bound by faerie magical restrictions. Meaning, unlike others of my race, I could lie—until the potion wore off, anyhow. As I’d taken it just yesterday, after my last bloodletting session, I had nearly a full moon cycle to go.

“Yer tough to go through the Ice Tooth Mountains. The orc raids have been blasted ‘orrible of late. I heard larger numbers than ever are moving west, into the Red Mist Range—maybe cause of the weather. Haven’t seen any though, not when I go for lumber, but I don’t usually go too deep into the hills.”

I frowned. I still wanted to go south and had always known that orcs often lived in mountains, but this news was troubling. More orcs would only make my journey more difficult.

“So, you sell wood?” I gestured back to his wares, trying to shift the conversation. As I did so, I noted that my body was already moving better, and my shivering had become less violent. Thanks to fae accelerated healing and Frode’s kindness, I’d likely just managed to avoid hypothermia. The Fates were smiling down on me.

“I sell to the Warden of the West himself.” His chest puffed with pride. “Few other merchants too, but the castle in Guldtown takes most of my wares.”

“I don’t know much about the warden or his family,” I admitted.

“Just the warden. His father, mother, and brother are dead.” His tone dipped when he brought them up. “Right around the time the blight struck our lands hard. ‘Bout twenty something turns ago.”