Page 18 of Faerie Fate (Fae Academy for Halflings #7)

Chapter Eleven

“ F ine.” My voice hardened. “Let’s find the tavern, if it’s there.”

Every step we took was a gamble. We knew that much. But hopefully the stolen clothes would help us fit in.

“Hey, buddy.” I crouched down and clicked my tongue to get Noren’s attention.

The direwolf turned to me and the hair along his spine bristled. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowed and yellow, and grew another few inches. Anyone who met him along the road would be terrified. As they should be.

The Unseelie fae apparently bred direwolves as weapons and worked black magic to twist their minds, making them loyal, deadly soldiers. Noren might be a friend but that didn’t mean other fae during this time period would see him the same way.

I maintained eye contact until he slunk forward and crouched in front of me.

“I need you to keep to the woods off the main road. We’ll draw even more attention to ourselves if you’re with us. I don’t think people here are used to seeing a direwolf even three hundred years ago.”

Noren’s eyes narrowed further until it looked very much like he was glaring at me, a clear rebuttal to my well thought out argument.

I suppressed a smile and reached out to scratch him behind the ears in his favorite spot. “I know it’s not ideal, but we’ll be much faster with you out of sight. The sooner we can find our witch, the sooner we can get back to our own time.”

I was grateful nothing had happened to Noren with our trip back in time. He seemed to have weathered the adventure better than Bronwen. I should have asked Mike if creatures like the direwolf could withstand the magic that fueled his time travel.

I’d been too sick to do anything. Thinking was completely off my radar.

I maintained eye contact with the direwolf until he broke it, blinking, closing his lips to cut off his panting.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done and are still doing. Keep an eye out for us but make sure you stay out of sight,” I said.

Noren rolled his eyes and took off into the forest without a backwards glance. Fussy direwolf. I rose and dusted my hands on the front of my stolen tunic.

“All right, let’s go.” I strode forward faster than I would have normally walked. Partly to prove to myself that I wasn’t weak.

But mostly so Mike could see it. Mike and Bronwen struggled to keep up before the latter fell into step beside me.

“You don’t have to go so fast,” she griped, still looking a little green around the gills. “Please?”

I automatically slowed for her. “I’m sorry. Time travel really took it out of you, didn’t it?”

“If I could shift to a crow and fly into the past, I’d do that instead,” she insisted. “This inherent magic that comes with being fae… I’ve never figured mine out. But it’s definitely not time manipulation.”

My muscles tightened with nerves the further we walked toward Mirwen, which Mike kept insisting was “just a little bit further” for the next hour at least.

I stole glances at him, taking in the stoic lines of his profile and those familiar, well-loved features.

I thought I’d seen every inch of him before now.

No more lies. That’s what we told ourselves.

We were going to be completely honest with each other after he discovered my part in the secret society, the Claw someone was cooking.

The tavern not only existed but turned out to be a two-room building with a pointed roof and a gleaming copper cap that forced it to stand out from its neighbors.

A smattering of houses crowded against the tavern, taking shelter in the sturdy structure of the new build, but outside of the bar and a church, Mirwen was still in its infancy.

Before I lost the last of my bravery, I marched with the others in tow toward the front door. A sign above the door, carved by magic, boasted the name of the tavern.

Grove .

“This place is supposed to be Thornwood’s Arrow,” Mike said under his breath.

“Not yet, it’s not.” I shot him a warning glance before pushing open the door.

Bronwen stepped in first, and this time of the day the only other person in the room was the barkeep himself. He eyed Mike with particular suspicion despite the wide, cheery smile Bronwen flashed his way.

She stepped aside and I drew closer to her, the three of us nestled on the doorstep. Mike’s green eyes took in the one-room tavern.

“We’d like three rounds, please.” Bronwen reached into her pocket and pulled out several gold coins.

She walked to the bar top and placed the money in a neat pile.

The barkeep eyed the money and spat on the floor. “Fake coins? What are you playing at?” He laughed. “Get out of here.”

Mike and I shared a look. My heart sank. We moved too soon .

We weren’t prepared for any of this, not the clothing or the currency, nothing. It didn’t matter how good I felt. Money was not the same in this time period. We should have guessed. We were in such a hurry to get here that we hadn’t stopped to think about the details, the potential obstacles.

Stupid .

Bronwen sputtered as her usual confidence took a hearty blow and left a few pieces behind. “I, well, we’re not?—”

Mike cleared his throat. “Here. Try this.”

Instead of coins, he tossed a handful of colorful bills, the currency of the castle, and attempted to slide it across the bar toward the man.

The fae’s face turned a delightful cherry red and smoke curled form his ears as he reared back.

“What the hell are you playing at? You’re trying to scam me with whatever fake money this is?

” His voice bellowed louder with each word.

“Get out of my tavern. We’re not here for games.

We’re here for cash. An exchange of goods. ”

He spat on the floor again and this time, where the spittle touched, the wood floor pitted like he’d dripped acid over it.

“This isn’t a game, sir,” I insisted.

Drinks had been a bad idea. The tavern might have been a good place to start if we’d been prepared, but getting barred from the premises cut us off.

I backed away slowly with my hands in front of me to shield me from the way the barkeep’s mouth curled into a snarl. Blood drained from Bronwen’s face and Mike said nothing.

Something shifted in the air between us until it went tight enough to shatter and panic brushed against the inside of my chest. “We’re sorry to bother you, sir.”

Rather than being appeased, the fae male grew in stature, fissures of magma cracking in the skin of his face as his temper boiled.

“I’ve had enough of youngsters like you coming in here and attempting to weasel me out of drink and food.

Have you no shame? Fake coins? Fake bills?

Are you enemies of the crown? Are you here to scam me? ”

A calm, cool voice sounded from the left. “I don’t believe they’re trying to weasel you out of anything , Sylvester. Calm down before you hurt yourself.”

A young woman in a black cloak stepped up and held out her fingers, something clutched in them. Sylvester automatically mimicked the gesture but with his palm turned upright and she dropped several round pieces of wood into his waiting hand.

“There.” The woman’s chuckle hummed in her throat but the hood of her cloak obscured her features. “I’m happy to purchase drinks for these people, who look as though they’ve had quite a long journey. Don’t they look tired to you, Sylvester?”

Her hand disappeared into the blackness of her cape in a sweeping, graceful gesture.

The money did little to calm Sylvester’s appearance.

The cracks of lava still glowed along his features but at least his ears weren’t smoking any longer.

He glanced from her to us, watching us as though he thought we might destroy his place of business on a whim. He’d draw first blood, I had no doubt.

Then he seemed to go eerily still. “Fine.” He bobbed his head. “Fine with me.”

The way the woman stood, her posture and presence…she was clearly a warrior of some kind. Not to mention the glimpse of a sword sheath and chain mail underneath her cloak. Her fingers skimmed along the glinting hilt of her sword before the cloak swished and cut off our view of the weapon.

Once the drinks slid across the bar, she turned to us and pulled back her hood, letting it drop onto her shoulders. My tongue tied itself in knots.

The woman was stunning, high fae, with sharp angled cheekbones. I’d never seen a more beautiful person in my life. Cornsilk gold hair swept away from her temples in a loose braid, leaving wisps of baby fine hair floating around her heart-shaped face.

Cupid’s-bow lips were done up in a fake smile, her green eyes soft as a meadow. And latched on us like lances with deadly pointed tips.

I knew exactly where her hand continued to rest underneath her cloak.

Bronwen swallowed and hesitated only a moment before she reached for her drink. “Thank you. And you are?”

We paused, giving the woman the space to say her name, but the quiet stretched. It seemed to please her, the way we leaned forward, the way we grasped for something to describe her, to call her.

Her face showed none of it. “Please, grab your drinks and join me in a booth. It’s semi-private,” she offered.

Ice twisted in my veins. It wasn’t an invitation but a demand. One I felt with a pulse of magic accompanying it. The pulse was soft enough to go unnoticed by the others. But not me.

I eyed the woman sternly yet she held my stare without blinking. “Do we have a choice?”

Her smile remained fixed as she said, “Yes, always.”

“Doubtful,” Bronwen muttered. She took a sip of her drink and drew in a sharp, wincing breath at the taste.

“You’ll be perfectly safe,” the woman added with a nod. “I saved your ass with Sylvester, didn’t I?” She pointed a finger at the barkeep. “Trust me.”

Not likely. And yet I didn’t get a bad feeling from her. Her sharp cheekbones, the slightly off-center tilt of her nose, the color of her eyes—it weirdly felt like I knew her. And if she had sway over the barman, then odds were good she might know how to find Oxana the Sightless.

“Fine,” Mike barked out.

He was the first to step up, blocking me with his body, stepping between me and the woman and waiting for her to lead the way to the booth.

The four of us settled in the semi-private booth, the wood new and hard without the benefit of cushions. I wished Noren were there.

“A name,” she said, wrapping slender fingers around her drink. She leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “That’s what you want, yes? It would make you feel better?”

Bronwen’s sigh shifted to an irritated hiss. “I guess we’re just unsure why you haven’t given it to us.”

The woman’s gaze snapped to Bronwen’s face. “My name is Poppy.”

Mike crossed his arms over his chest. “Doesn’t fit your whole aesthetic, does it?”

“Look, I’m not one to waste time.” Poppy steepled her fingers. “You’re clearly not from our time. You reek of the future. I’ve never seen you before in my life so I’m guessing you’re newly arrived, probably only a few hours. Am I right?”

Her eyes never left Mike’s face and her expression was weighty and measured.

“So what the hell are you doing here?”