Page 8

8

Everett

“Leaving home without one’s blade is a death wish.”

Surviving the Unseelie Lands, Author Unknown

T he day started out the same as any other, with the young, able-bodied males in our clan preparing to make the mile-long trek from the camp to the well, and yet an uneasy feeling in the pit of my gut followed me the entire way. I remained on high alert, scanning the fog for signs of danger that never materialized.

Then the soft scent of honeysuckle drifts through the air. The aroma isn’t entirely outside the realm of normality considering everything in this damn place reeks like flowers, but there’s something about the scent that calls to me.

A moment later, the sound of shuffling footsteps reaches my ears. The others must hear it too, because their movements aren’t nearly as fluid as they should be. “We are not alone,” I murmur.

“Alley to the right,” Gryff says under his breath, hoisting another jug onto the raised path surrounding the well while Ivan cranks the wooden lever until the bucket inside lifts. River fills the first jug to the brim and then he and Saint carry it back to the first cart.

Maddox stops beside me to bend down and tie the fraying laces on his boots. “What do we think they are doing?”

Can you see any fangs?

No. You?

Not from here.

My lips twitch. “They have come to gawk at us.” If the women doing a piss-poor job of keeping to the shadows by that café want to see sharp teeth, I would be more than happy to smile at them. That would send them running back to the safety of their cottages of flowers and stone.

Maddox chuckles. “Then we should probably give them a show.” He rights himself and stretches his arms toward the sky, twisting to give the Seelie a clear view of his stomach.

Gryffin calls him a gowl, but I notice Gryff flexing his arms as he stalks back to his cart to retrieve another jug. We have been hauling these things since we turned fifteen, so our movements are practiced, almost reflexive at this stage.

The potters of our clan made the jugs from the clays along the banks of the Ishka river—about five days north of our camp. Without them, we would be reduced to rationing like they used to back before the bridge was built.

The Seelie in the alley continue their conversation, unaware that we can hear every word.

They’re…

Monsters. I know. I did warn you.

My teeth clamp so hard my jaw aches. I set my jug down with far too much force. Luckily, the thing does not crack.

“Monsters.” A name I have been called since the first day I crossed the bridge. When we were smaller, Gryff, Maddox, and I thought it would be a brilliant idea to sneak into Rosehill.

At twelve, we were already larger than the largest Seelie but too tall and gangly to look like much of a threat to the softer fae. The woman who saw us hid behind her male companion, whispering for him to tell the monsters to return to our side of The Divide.

I had looked around for wolves, but there were none.

That was when I realized the Seelie were not frightened of the true beasts.

They were terrified of us.

To them, we were the monsters.

“ They’re beautiful ,” the second woman whispers.

The hair on my arms lifts at the wonder in the stranger’s soft, sweet voice. I should ignore the comment. Should finish filling these jugs and ride back across the bridge without looking back.

I should, but I do not.

Instead, I turn, finding a sweep of lilac hair and a pair of wide eyes the color of spring foliage.

You are mad, Kerris Dawn, the other Seelie says from where she leans around the wall, indignation rife in her tone.

Kerris Dawn.

The female’s surname is that of light and the birth of a new day. The sun rising, stretching across their world, rarely touching ours.

I force myself to look away, to focus on the matter at hand. We need to load the carts with the filled jugs and make the laborious trip back through the cobbled streets, across the bridge, and to the camp where the jugs will remain until next week.

Why are there no women? The one with the sweet voice, Kerris, asks.

Her friend’s response makes me chuckle. Because they’re born not of flesh and bone, but of darkness and shadows.

“I will give them a bone,” one of the younger men joining us for the first time sniggers to another.

Rage swells in my chest, a fiery inferno that paints everything in my vision the color of blood. “What did you say?”

He glances at his friend for help, but his friend steps back, leaving him alone.

“I-I was only talking about the Seelie fae.”

“I know who you were talking about. If I ever hear you make another crude joke like that, you will be on bridge duty for the next month.”

The pair have the good sense to bow their heads and walk away. They might be nearly as tall as me, but they only just earned their daggers and wear only ten bones around their necks between them.

Maddox stalks up behind me, nudging my shoulder with his as I continue to glower at the younger fae. Maybe I will stick them on bridge duty anyway.

“That was harsh.” he whispers.

I cannot help but roll my eyes. “You are only saying that because you were thinking the same thing.”

His grin sets me on edge. “True. But I had the good sense not to say it out loud within earshot of you.”

There are many things I will tolerate, but when it comes to the treatment of females there can be no leniency.

Come on. You’ve had your gander. Let’s get out of here before they eat us for dinner.

I glance over my shoulder to find the lilac-haired fae still watching, her plump lips fallen open as if in a gasp.

Maddox’s breath hisses through his teeth. “Fuck me, that one is pretty.”

Pretty does not begin to describe her. She has a face that would haunt a man. Made for poetry and sonnets. One that would break even the strongest fae warrior.

Although she slips away, her face has been burned into my memory.

If I were to close my eyes, I would see hers.

From this day forward, every time I come to this spot, I will be looking toward that alley, hoping for a glimpse of her.

Because a glimpse is all we can have. There is a reason our worlds are divided. Seelie fae have no natural defenses; they are soft in every sense of the word, and their chances of survival on our side of the bridge are non-existent.

As for one of us ending up here?

The Seelie have made it clear how they feel about the monsters across the canyon.

Still, I find my feet carrying me toward that alley, telling myself that I only want to ensure their safety. After all, if either of them meets a terrible fate between here and where they are living, we will be to blame.

“You are in charge,” I tell Maddox.

Gryff casts a wary glance over his shoulder. “Ever?”

I will take shit for this later, but I am too far gone to respond, jogging into the alley where the most enticing scent lingers. I have never been one for sweets, but the perfume clinging to the air makes my tongue tingle and nostrils flare. I track the scent to a row of modest cottages southwest of the city, across from a stretch of farmland overflowing with grazing cattle.

For some reason, knowing the female does not live in one of the monstrosities up the hill makes me impossibly happy.

Keeping to the shadows, I catch a flash of lilac from a circular window on the second floor.

Kerris Dawn stands in the center, like a portrait in a frame, the sun playing on hair so long, it appears endless.

Unseelie females keep their hair short so that it cannot catch if they need to flee for their lives. Not that this female has such worries, living in a place where sheep and cattle laze in swaying grass, not so much as a thought spared for wolves or other predators.

She turns her head and says something I cannot hear before walking out of view.

Somehow, I manage to leave that gate, but whatever spell she has cast over me lingers all the way back to the well where Maddox and Griffin are loading the last of the jugs. Although they do not speak, the curious looks in their eyes say it all.

They are searching for an explanation.

If only I had one.