Page 27

Evelyn

The next day, Evelyn inhaled the salt of the sea and the earthiness of the grass. Callum was bright. Townsfolk smiled, their eyes twinkling with recognition as Evelyn passed, her jitters making the brisk air colder than it was.

Though Callum was older than home, stagnant in time, the town possessed a level of magic. It was unlike the magic that Evelyn was used to in Nua, the city of witches, brimming with modernity and innovation, but she found the simplicity charming.

At the corner before the town square, a woman wrapped in a wool shawl handed out parcels of baked goods. The sweet, bready smells reminded Evelyn of the bakery a few blocks from her apartment in Nua. Instead of the pastries she’d have found at home—lavender blueberry macarons or peach brioche—bread-like scones, biscuits, muffins, and loaves lined the shelves of the wooden cart. Hearty and warm, the fixings were perfect for the weather.

“Good day to ya,” the woman beamed. “Anything ya fancy?”

Berry muffins, fruit bursting on their bulging tops with brown sugar, caught Evelyn’s eye. An idea struck her.

“I’ll take two of the muffins, please.”

Evelyn paid, left with a parcel of two large muffins, and went on her way.

Cyrus stood outside the Runaway Radish with a horse.

A single horse.

Evelyn stopped, her mind reeling.

“Good morning,” he said with a glance, brushing a hand down the massive horse’s mane and along its back. “Bleu, this is Saige. Saige, this is Bleu.”

Cyrus stood a half foot taller than Evelyn, and yet Bleu dwarfed him. Its bulging leg muscles trembled as it stood. Feathered black hair hid its hooves, and the rest of its coat appeared gray and shimmered a shade of blue when the light hit it.

Evelyn had never seen a horse like it before, and fear crept up her skin.

“Everything all right?” Cyrus asked.

Evelyn nodded and buried her nerves. She teetered from foot to foot, glancing again at the horse. No cart, no wagon. Goddess, was she expected to ride the beast? Why had she not asked? Of course a huntsman would have a horse.

“I got you a muffin,” she said, handing over the parcel to Cyrus. Her words came out in a rush, cracking with her fear. Evelyn hated riding horses, not because of the animals themselves but because they were so damn goddesses high off the ground.

Evelyn Carson, Daughter of the Goddess, was petrified of heights.

Not vampyrs, not demons.

Heights.

“Thank you,” Cyrus said, taking the muffin from her. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

Evelyn turned to his handsome face. Leather trousers gripped his strong thighs. The sun reflected from his eyes like light through honey. Evelyn shook her head. He made her insides fuzzy, and she couldn’t afford the distraction, even if it took her mind off the horse.

Instead, she looked to the verdant hills that swelled and surged, a shade of green like no other. White stone jutted out every few spaces, ancient ruins of faerie civilization. Patches of yellow swayed in the wind, the last of the summer buttercups holding out.

“Saige?” Cyrus’s brow was raised. “Is something wrong with the horse?”

“I . . .” She couldn’t very well admit heights terrified her, and then the idea of surrendering to this beast as it carried her so high off the ground . . . Goddess help her. Her first day, and Evelyn was exactly what he’d called her a day ago.

Frightened.

“When you said ‘means of transportation’ last night . . .” Evelyn fumbled with her words. Flustered, she tried to find a reasonable excuse. “I didn’t realize it would be just a horse.” Evelyn gestured at Bleu.

Cyrus laughed, and if she weren’t so embarrassed and heated from his reaction, she’d appreciate the sound. But his tone mocked, jabbing at her, and she fought the urge to call off their entire partnership.

“My sincere apologies that Bleu doesn’t meet your standards, princess,” Cyrus said.

Evelyn saw red. “What did you call me?”