Chapter 2
Callum
Pytri smells like the inside of a boot. One that’s been walked through a swamp.
Even from the other side of the table, his stench is only barely tolerable.
Despite the odor, the ogre never seems to want for company when he graces this particular tavern.
A favorite haunt of thieves and vagabonds and mercenaries, his ugly green face and boisterous, belligerent attitude are a beacon for those who’d ply him with ale and pump him for information.
Whether it’s a lead on a smuggling job, a newly posted bounty, or mercenary work for hire, the bastard always seems to have something worthwhile to say for those who can stomach his company for an hour.
And I’m not too proud to count myself among that number.
I caught him this evening just as he was walking through the door, and intercepted him to the consternation of at least half a dozen other patrons, no doubt looking to score their own next big payday.
Strange, the energy in the tavern tonight. Restless, unsettled, like there’s something brewing just below the surface.
Even Pytri seems to feel it.
Despite his bluster, he’s been cagey with news tonight, and in particularly annoying form as he bragged about a big load of corril flowers he smuggled into the shadow realm, and the beautiful nymph he supposedly took to bed the last time he was in Faerie.
It’s exhausting, truly, to listen to him drone on and on. I was nearly ready to pack it in and head back to the Veil and to my own realm, when the conversation veered sharply left, into territory I can scarcely believe, even from Pytri’s well-informed mouth.
“What do you know about fae queens and their fortunes?” I ask, draining what’s left of my ale and raising my hand to signal the barkeep for another.
“I know what’s been circulating through all the thirteen realms this past fortnight. Where have you been that you haven’t heard?”
“Working. A new concept to you, I know.”
Pytri grunts, takes a long swallow of his own ale, then lets out a loud belch.
Odious.
Still, the ogre’s rarely wrong about his leads on a big score. After decades smuggling all manner of contraband around the realms, he hasn’t picked up any social graces, but he hears the chatter on the wind earlier than most.
“At least when I work, it’s for myself,” Pytri says. “A new concept to you, I know.”
It’s a low blow, but not an inaccurate one. I stifle the growl threatening in the back of my throat and cede the point. There’s no reason to argue with the truth.
“Tell me about this fortune, then.”
Pytri leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. “Why? So you can run it down and take all the reward back to your employer?”
“Believe it or not, not everything I do is to line Myron’s pockets.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Another stifled growl, and a bright flare of irritation at being called out for things I can’t control. For things I haven’t been able to control for the last ten years, and likely won’t for many, many more.
“The fae queen,” I say, not entirely able to keep the gravel from my tone. “Tell me.”
Pytri laughs, and when the barkeep sets my fresh ale down, he picks it up before I can, polishing off nearly half and belching again.
My hands ball into fists where they rest on my thighs, but I force myself to hold my tongue and wait for him to speak.
“They say she’s about to launch the biggest hunt the realms have ever seen.”
“Hunt? Like for an animal?”
“Who’s to say?” He rests his hands on his enormous stomach, drumming his fingers as he considers. “Could be. Could also be for some lost treasure. Or for nothing at all, some nonsense riddle those fae like so much. Nothing more than a way to taunt and torment the desperate masses.”
He’s not wrong.
I wouldn’t trust a word from a fae monarch’s mouth without ample proof of its truth. They’re known for their games, their tricks, their half-speak and sideways sense of morality.
But a fae queen offering a bounty like this, if it were real…
“How much?”
Pytri laughs again. “That they haven’t said. Apparently she’s opening her court in three days’ time to all who’d like to join the hunt, and will dangle her boon before them then.”
“Are you going?”
His gray eyes sparkle. “How could I not?”
Wheels turn in my mind, terrible temptations and possibilities.
Myron has said nothing about this. If I know my employer—and Goddess knows I do after all this time—he would have had me on it the moment he heard the faintest rumor.
If he doesn’t know, if he can’t send me to Faerie on his behalf, if I can sneak away for a few days and…
The back of my neck prickles with the keen, distinctive sense of being watched.
Not entirely unexpected, given we’re in the middle of a few dozen drunken patrons. A quick sweep of the room reveals nothing of concern.
Exhaustion, probably. Just exhaustion throwing my instincts off-kilter.
This is a safe realm, a safe village, and there’s next to no chance I’m about to be set upon by assassins in the middle of one of its most popular drinking establishments.
But the prickle of unease won’t leave, even as I turn my attention back to Pytri.
“And you think you’ve got a shot at winning this bounty?”
He belches again. “Are you implying I don’t?”
“When’s the last time you went after a score like this yourself, rather than sending an underling?”
For all his faults, the ogre has a sense of humor, and no illusions about his own physical prowess. “Who’s to say I won’t send one of them after this, as well? Keep the lion’s share for myself and toss some up-and-comer a coin.”
“I doubt she’d accept it, as canny as these fae queens are.”
“Bah!” Pytri says, waving away the concern. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“We?”
“Why not? If you’d like, the two of us can—”
“I’d gnaw off my own wing before I’d work for you, Pytri.”
He grins, shameless. “You can’t fault me for offering.”
“No, I can’t.”
The barkeep brings two more ales and drops them down on the table. We each grab one and take deep swigs.
Madness, this entire idea.
Anyone who enters Faerie is more likely to leave with a curse or as a corpse than with an honestly won prize. Even if she is offering, I doubt the bounty is anything I’d want to be within ten miles of.
And yet.
My skin prickles again, a stronger warning this time.
All my senses sharpen. My eyes dart from side to side, but find no one watching. My ears prick up, but hear nothing other than the regular chatter. I inhale deeply, but smell nothing other than Pytri’s stench.
Still, anyone around could be listening.
If what Pytri says is true, there’s no reason anyone need not know about the fae queen and her hunt. It’s news that’s making its way through the realms, not some big secret we need to guard.
It shouldn’t matter at all that we might be overheard.
There’s no reason for me to be on edge like this.
I take another sip of my drink.
“What?” Pytri asks, having obviously noticed my distraction. “Already bored with me? Looking for someone prettier to talk to instead of—”
I hold up a hand, and Pytri falls silent.
Instinct crashes over me. A deep disquiet. Something roiling and insistent that makes my wings twitch and my muscles bunch in anticipation.
When I turn my head a fraction more, glancing back over my shoulder and around my wing, I catch sight of a cloaked figure leaning far too close to be a mere accident or coincidence.
Whoever they are, they’re listening in on our conversation.
And they know that I know the moment I see them.
In a blink, the eavesdropper is on their feet and darting toward the tavern’s front door. They throw it open without care, without caution, running right into a pair of fauns who startle and yell their displeasure after the fleeing figure.
A new instinct surges through me.
One that commands me to chase.
I don’t question it, don’t take any time at all to think about what it means before I’m on my feet, too, bounding after them into the brisk spring evening.
It’s fully dark now, and whoever this little criminal is, they’re light on their feet and fast, already disappeared into the surrounding night. Looking left, then right, and seeing nothing, I inhale deeply, calling on my other hunter’s senses.
I catch a scent.
Sharp and bright and entirely out of place in this realm, it draws me after the stranger like a beacon. Like a hook through my nose tugging me forward. Unable to resist, I break into a run after them.
Into the deep, dark forest that surrounds the tavern, the wild lands this realm is famous for. There’s a well-trod dirt path through the woods, worn smooth by thousands of travelers’ feet. That sharp scent draws me on, leading back to the one place I should have expected they would flee.
The eavesdropper is headed to the Veil.
From there, they could disappear into any of the thirteen realms, and perhaps I should let them. Perhaps they meant no harm and were only interested in hearing the tale Pytri was weaving.
But when I catch sight of the back of a dark cloak disappearing around a bend in the path ahead, instinct surges again. Roiling up from the very deepest part of me, it spurs me on, narrows my focus to the single, essential need to seek, to find, to catch.
They’re quick, this stranger, but not quick enough to outpace me. It’s only a few short seconds before I reach them and lay a hand on their shoulder, bringing them to a stumbling stop and turning them to face me.
Turning her to face me.
The hood of her cloak slips back, exposing a delicately sculpted, exquisite face. High cheekbones, full lips, a gaze that’s big and round and—
My soul lurches in my chest.
Those eyes.
Green as springtime and wide with surprise, looking into them is like falling into the ether of the Veil itself. Endless and eternal.
I tug her hood down to her shoulders and a tumble of golden hair falls free, soft curls my hands ache to sink into, grip hard, tip her head back so I can—
“What the fuck is your problem?”