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If I lived for a thousand more and never saw another battle, I would still smell that scent in my nightmares.

Our blood might set us apart. Our ears and abilities and essences were fundamentally different.

And yet, the smell of burning human bodies smelled the same as fae.

I reached for Veyka, but she was already running. Straight into the burning fire, of course.

“Spread out. Find the nearest water source.” I turned to Maisri. “Get up a tree and stay there until one of us comes for you.”

The daisy fae looked like she wanted to argue, but I had to trust the command in my voice to motivate her. She might be the youngest terrestrial I’d ever commanded, but she wasn’t the most difficult.

I stayed just long enough to watch her start shimmying up a nearby tree. The tree line was far enough from the burning town, she would be safe. Or safer.

Lyrena and Osheen were already sprinting in opposite directions around the perimeter of the village. Cyara had taken to the air, her delicate but powerful wings carrying her slight body on the wind overhead.

But my eyes were for Veyka.

I shifted, using my beast’s speed to catch up with her.

Then I was on two feet again, at her side as she reached the first building—nothing more than a wall of flame. I grabbed her arm just in time to keep her from lurching forward.

“There are people in there,” she said, her voice scalding as she wrenched her arm free.

I did not point out that they were humans—that she hated humans. For all that she protested, that burning heart inside of her was very much alive. Even when she wished otherwise.

“Veyka, listen.” I reached for her again, but she dodged.

“I don’t have time to argue with you! People are dying!” She shucked her cape, a liability among the swirling flames.

I reached for her again. She was fast, but I was faster. She drew her dagger in a flash, bringing it down on my arm with a vicious swipe.

Blood spurted from the gaping gash in my wool tunic, but I didn’t release her. I dragged her closer, knocking the knife from her hand with a brutally placed fist.

“Listen, Veyka,” I demanded again.

Her eyes were wild. If she could think for a moment, she would have realized. I would never have held her back from a battle.

But this battle was already over.

I knew the moment Veyka realized.

Her body went slack in my arms.

“There are no screams,” she breathed, her words a horrible, tortured echo on the wind.

No screams.

No cries for help.

Because even as the flames consumed the village, everyone inside of it was already dead.

* * *

The others confirmed what I knew by instinct. No one remained alive in the village.

Our keen fae ears could hear past the crackling flame for cries and whimpers, but there were none.

It took more than an hour to get the flames out. Osheen and I channeled our considerable powers to grow thick leaves and vines that could carry water from the nearby river like miniature canals. Maisri crafted oversized, bucket-shaped flower blooms for ferrying water by hand. Cyara dumped them from overhead while Veyka wore a path in the grass between the village and river.