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Don’t run. Don’t run.

She folded her hands into the napkin in her lap in case they glowed with fear. She kept her gaze lowered.

The door to the kitchen burst open, and the innkeeper called to her, “I found it, love.”

The two fae males paused, watching as the innkeeper bustled over to Remy. The woman had a bizarre, merry smile plastered on her face as she urged Remy to stand.

“Here, come,” she said to Remy. “I found that gift for your baby I was telling you about.” They walked past the two fae who exchanged looks between them. “Sam can help you at the bar, boys,” the innkeeper said, dismissing the two males.

Remy smiled to herself. This is what she loved about witches. They could cut down a man twice their size with one withering stare.

The innkeeper kept her hand on Remy’s back as she carried on.

“I’m not as good with the knitting needles as I once was, but I found the sweetest blanket pattern . . .” They passed through the doors to the back kitchen. Most taverns and inns in the Western Court had a similar layout, and this one looked the same as the Rusty Hatchet. The innkeeper placed a bag into Remy’s hands and said, “Go. Mother Moon bless you, sister.”

The green witch cook stood holding open the back door and said, “Take this road straight to Bleecher Street and take a left. At the end of the street is the forest. There’s a deer path that leads into the hills—stay on it. In two hours, you will be in Westdale. Ask for Magda at the local tavern, and she’ll find you passage South.”

Remy went over her words in her head. She could do it.

“Should we tell the Bastard Prince or are you fleeing him too?” the innkeeper asked.

“You knew it was him?” Remy said.

“Of course I knew! I wasn’t born yesterday,” the innkeeper said with a shrewd grin.

“Tell him where I’m going,” Remy answered without hesitation, surprising herself. The innkeeper frowned but merely shrugged and pushed Remy toward the door.

“We’ll stall them for as long as we can,” she added.

“Moon blessings to you both,” Remy thanked them in the only way she knew how.

“Go!” The cook hurried her to the door. “But don’t run, blend in.”

“That was the best cake I’ve ever had, by the way,” Remy said over her shoulder as she vanished around the corner. She could hear the cook’s laugh following her.

Hale would catch up to her any minute now. She needed to put some distance between herself and the witch hunters until he did. If she had stayed in that tavern one more second, her head might not have stayed attached to her body.

* * *

Remy had to remind herself to slow down again as she turned left onto Bleecher Street. She kicked up dirt from the dusty road as her eyes scanned over the town. It was the same rural and cheerless village as every other in the Western backcountry. It was the kind of town for people who didn’t want to be noticed. Those without secrets would pass through to a bigger township rather than stop off in a place such as this.

She scanned for any sign of Heather, Fenrin, or her other fae companions. But the main road with all the shops was behind her, past the inn, and Remy couldn’t risk doubling back and running into the witch hunters. Hale had to be on the way. As she rushed past cobwebbed windows and paint-chipped doors, she told herself once more that she would be okay. She needed to keep walking past the thinning rows of shops and increasingly neglected houses until he found her.

The sun was hanging low in the sky and the shadows were growing longer. It would be getting dark by dinnertime as they headed into autumn.

The forest beckoned up ahead as she heard the scuffle of feet behind her. She glanced back, only to find a haggard old man shuffling back to his home for the evening. She released a heavy breath. Two more houses before she reached the woods.

When Remy turned back, two men stepped out from an alleyway and stared at her. One was tall and gaunt, and the other was a younger copy of him. Both wore tattered brown clothing. It was the father and son from the bar.

Remy flinched. They were witch hunters too, then.

It made sense now. The father had tipped Remy’s chair back on purpose to sense if her power would flare up, while the other two at the bar watched for signs of her magic.

This was not good.

“I have no money and no time,” Remy said with a bored voice, moving aside to walk past them, hoping that all her fears were not true and they would simply let her through.

“It’s such a pity, isn’t it?” the older man asked the younger.