Chapter 7 Rhianelle
I see my husband from the window. He thinks I'm asleep. He moves through the courtyard below like shadow, and then he's gone between one breath and the next. I press my hand to the cold glass and watch the empty space where he was.
Where is he going?
Svenn thinks I don't notice when he disappears for hours at a time. He's hiding something. But he chose to stay with me over his freedom. That knowledge sits in my chest like sunlight.
Months have passed since the Wild Hunt was declared. The silence from the fae is driving me mad.
No raids, no movement along the border. Not a single word from Avalon.
Eirik Bloodhound announced war like a thunderclap and then went quiet.
Somehow the quiet is worse. My generals have no answers.
The commanders bring me nothing but empty maps and speculation.
The spies have gone dark. I have reread every report until the ink feels burned into my eyes.
I have worn a path into the stone floor of the war room.
I have waited and waited. And the waiting is a blade pressed slowly between my ribs.
Which is why I stole Blaire's plan.
She mentioned it once. It was half a plan really, something she'd been turning over while she healed.
Infiltrate a pleasure house on the Myrkheim border and get close to the patrons.
She was going to do it herself once she was well enough.
I couldn't wait that long. And I couldn't send her back into danger. I won't risk it again.
I leave before dawn with no guard and no escort and a hood pulled low over my silver hair. The road to Greenvale takes half a day on a Noctral. I spend most of it talking myself out of turning back.
I go alone. Darstan would have stopped me and Aelfric would have gone pale and quoted three separate protocols. I couldn't find Garrett today so I tell no one and take the mountain road. I don't look back at the lights of Aelfheim until they've already disappeared behind the treeline.
Greenvale is where Aelfheim meets Myrkheim and Avalon. No banners fly here. No single crown claims it. The borders blur and so do the laws.
The village pulses with life. Lanterns hang in tangled rows overhead, casting gold and violet light across crooked rooftops.
Stalls crowd the lanes selling silks from Aelfheim, ironwork from Myrkheim, and wine from Avalon.
The traders here shout over one another in overlapping dialects of the three kingdoms.
I pull my hood lower and step into the current. Greenvale has one rule.
Mind your own business.
Nobody's fighting. But nobody's particularly friendly either.
I keep moving until I find the Painted Moth at the village's heart.
It spills amber light into the street, windows glowing like banked embers.
Even from outside I can hear careless laughter and catch the scent of crushed rose drifting into the night.
I smile.
This is where secrets change hands.
I pull my cloak tighter and approach the back entrance. Blaire's plan was simple. She would pose as someone seeking work, gather information from loose-tongued patrons, then leave before anyone noticed.
But simple plans are usually the first to go wrong.
I don't speak as I enter, trying to appear confident. The scent of crushed violets assaults my senses as I step over the threshold. A masked server glances up and waves me forward absently.
"You're late!" A young male fae with purple eyes glares at me. "The show starts in ten minutes and you're not even dressed!"
"I—" Before I can correct him, someone grabs my elbow.
"No excuses!" A fae with butterfly wings joins him, her iridescent wings fluttering. "New girls always think they can waltz in whenever—"
"She's not even in makeup," adds another fae with similar wings in darker shades. "How did she think she'd pass for the Elven Queen looking like that?"
My blood freezes. "The Elven Queen?"
The butterfly-winged fae laughs. "Don't tell me you forgot tonight's theme? Honestly, where did recruitment find you?"
"Just get her into the blue room," the male fae says. "She really went all out with the hair. That silver dye is near perfect."
"Did you do the hair yourself?" the girl asks, tugging me into a flurry of corridors.
"There's been a mistake—"
She drags me deeper into the building. "You must be the new girl Thorn mentioned."
I'm pulled into a fitting room that smells of sweet perfume. My confusion doubles. The room is full of workers all preparing for something and every single one of them looks like me.
Or rather, they're all trying to look like me.
Silver wigs. Violet eyes. It's surreal and deeply unsettling, watching dozens of false versions of myself.
"I'm Petal," the girl with butterfly wings says, adjusting a silver wig on another worker. "That's River."
The male bows with mock formality.
"And this menace is Fleur." She gestures to the girl who pulled me.
Three pairs of eyes land on me. I realize they've all given their names. They look at me expectantly, waiting for mine.
The silence stretches.
"I'm Fawn," I say, and immediately want to swallow the word back. Of all the names I could have chosen, Svenn's nickname for me came out of my mouth before I could think.
"Welcome to your first Mockery Night," Petal says over her shoulder, already rifling through costumes.
"Mockery Night?" I manage, my voice barely steady.
Fleur laughs. "Oh, you really are new. Once a month, we theme the whole house. Tonight every server impersonates the Silver Queen herself."
Dear gods.
"Your mockery of the queen is actually impressive," River says, studying me critically. "That silver dye looks incredibly real. Where did you get it?"
"I…" I touch my natural silver hair self-consciously. "Trade secret?"
I am a terrible liar.
Fleur snorts. "Typical. Well, at least you're taking it seriously. Tonight's about mocking her, after all."
"That self-righteous elf who thinks she can stand against the Wild Hunt," Petal says with relish. "Tonight, we show what we think of her. Every worker becomes her and every patron gets to... well, they get to do whatever they want to her."
My stomach turns but I force myself to remain calm.
"You're the last one to arrive." River winks and tosses me a gown. Emerald-green, slit high, with golden threading across the bodice. "Everyone's dressed like her."
Her. They mean me.
The dress in my hand is scandalously short and made of fabric so sheer it might as well be mist. I hold it up, trying not to let my expression show how horrified I am.
I could leave. Should leave. But through the thin walls, I hear conversations that root me in place.
"—heard Ironhold fell. Some vampire lord took it in a single night—"
"—supply lines stretched thin. If the elves push now—"
"—Eirik's moving troops to the western pass—"
Information. Real, actionable information flowing as freely as the wine.
This is what I came for. Even if the method of getting it is... unexpected. I grit my teeth and accept the costume.
Petal presses folded silk into my hands. Pale silver, layered with gauze so fine it feels like breath against my skin. Fleur disappears behind a screen and gestures for me to follow. I strip, folding my clothes with care.
Fleur helps fasten the gown on me. The bodice laces tight, narrowing my waist. Someone pins a diadem into my hair. It's cheap metal with glass stones but from a distance it will pass. River adjusts the fall of the fabric at my shoulders, stepping back to assess me critically.
"Chin up," he murmurs.
I lift it without thinking.
The mirror shows someone I almost recognize.
The door curtain parts and I step out.
Conversation in the corridor falters. Petal's mouth falls open and Fleur claps her hands, delighted. "Perfect! You really do look like her."
River circles me once, slowly. "It's unnervingly close," he admits. "If I didn't know better…"
"Times must be hard for elves if you're applying here," Petal says.
I smile tightly. "Something like that. The war must be affecting everyone."
"Affecting?" River laughs bitterly. "Half our regular patrons from Myrkheim are dead or fled. The other half come here to forget they might die tomorrow."
"The Wild Hunt has everyone terrified," Fleur adds. "Though..."
"Though what?" I venture carefully.
She lowers her voice. "It's strange, isn't it? The Hunt was announced weeks ago, but nothing's happened."
"The Fae King isn't known for patience. This quiet feels odd," River agrees.
"Maybe Prince Finnbheara will stop the war," Petal adds lightly.
I hope she's right.
The prayer resounds in my head. If Finnbheara intervenes, if he tempers his father's wrath, then perhaps this war can be avoided.
I force my expression smooth.
"What's wrong?" Petal asks, noticing my hesitation.
"No, just... I'm still getting used to all this." I adjust the sheer fabric, trying to cover more of myself than it wants to allow.
Her expression softens slightly. "First time working in a pleasure house?"
I nod. "Why did you choose this work?"
The three exchange glances, and I realize this might be too personal a question. But then Petal shrugs.
"Debt," she says bluntly. "I'm working off my father's gambling debts."
"Adventure," River adds with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I was boring nobility once. Youngest son of a youngest son. This is more interesting than court politics."
"Love," Fleur says softly, then laughs at my expression. "Not what you think. I'm saving to buy my sister's freedom from a darker contract. The Painted Moth pays well, and the protection here is real."
"Two more years and I'm free," Petal says, her voice dropping.
"To do what?" River asks.
She smiles, sweet and sad. "Find a handsome prince to sweep me away obviously. Or maybe a princess. I'm not picky. I just want a happy ever after."
"So do I," I mutter softly.