Chapter 1
One
Until the monsters came, I lived in a provincial village in the dullest shadow of the kingdom. The small cottages in Stonehaven hunched together as far as possible from the capital, as far as possible from the Fae who ruled us and the dragon shifters who saved us.
Perhaps I was as dull as my village. I’d never gone over the mountains that surround our cluster of farms.
And perhaps that was for the best, as Humbridge, owner of The Tilted Stone and my ever-regretful boss, claimed I could barely find my way out of the kitchen.
I’d been in the midst of serving in the pub when I caught a glimpse out the arched window of children playing in the field. My little sister’s shining golden hair was at the center of a knot of kids, and I started to smile as I set down another round of beers.
She was not supposed to be here—Tay should’ve been watching her—but I didn’t have the heart to spoil her fun.
She was more popular than I’d ever been, as well she should be.
My mother teased me sometimes that I’d been prickly even in the womb, elbowing her spitefully if she dared to eat anything spicy, and my disposition had not improved upon discovering how disappointing I found the world.
Some of the children chased each other with ripped linen wings streaming from their backs, playing Dragon Trials. Others were monsters in handmade headdresses of feathers and horns.
As I watched, one of them fell into the soft grass, pretending to die with dramatic flair, and I grinned to myself.
“Girl,” a testy and all-too-familiar voice called to me. Herret. “Are you ever going to refill our mugs?”
I hustled back to the bar to get more flagons.
The Tilted Stone was filled with the usual late afternoon crowd, the scent of slightly ripe bodies from the day’s work mixing with the smell of fresh-baked bread, long-simmered stew, and the stale beer that had sunk into every stone crevice over three hundred years.
I ignored Herret’s dramatic sigh as I made my way to Galin’s table with his tankard. His shoulders looked broader than the last time I saw him, and he offered me the smile that had warmed me for a season. His eyes were almost the same walnut brown as my sister’s and brother’s, cozy and familiar.
“Do you still prefer the dark ale?” I asked, holding the flagon rather than handing it directly to him, in case he didn’t want it.
“My tastes don’t change, darling.”
I didn’t know why it was so hard for me to just settle down and be satisfied. Maybe if Tay were well, I wouldn’t feel so restless.
Galin and I’d had fun. He had an eager mouth and eager hands, but it was the eagerness that had brought him here today that made me nervous. He wanted more than I could give.
“Enjoy your drink, then,” I told him, setting it down.
He didn’t try to hide his disappointment that I was already turning to go, but his murmured thanks followed me.
I didn’t bother to listen to Herret’s grousing as I poured his fresh mug. Instead, as I glanced out the window again, I could still see Lidi playing.
This time, she was surrounded by the ring of children, and it looked like pure innocent delight. Then the picture changed in an instant: she was fleeing them, her face contorted with fear.
Some of the children were laughing, their small teeth flashing in their cruel little faces. Others grabbed after her, catching her and pulling her back into the circle.
Herret looked up at me with his lap full of beer; his tone rose steadily as he tripped through his question. “Have you ever considered changing your occupation to anything fucking else?”
Humbridge waved his bar towel at me and tried to say something, but I wasn’t a good listener at the best of times. I flung open the door, rolled my ankle on the uneven cobblestone path, and hobbled at a run anyway across the flower-speckled meadow.
The knot of children didn’t notice me, and neither did Lidi, who was at their center.
Flowers woven into her hair sparkled with magic. The other children were ripping the flowers out. They floated in the air, buoyed upward by the breeze, along with long blond wisps of Lidi’s hair.
She was trying to fight them, and little tendrils of green wove from the ground, crawling up their ankles and legs. They stopped and screeched, trying to shake them off.
I waded into them, scattering small bodies like ten-pins in my rush to get to her.
I caught her up in my arms, holding her up above the chaos like the cat I’d once rescued from dogs. The children tried to run away, but the greenery she’d grown clung to their legs, and they jerked and tripped.
“Are you hurt?” I asked Lidi, smoothing her hair—and her flower crown—as if I could undo the last few minutes.
Wide, tear-filled eyes met mine. “I looked like a Fae princess! I had flowers woven in my hair, and they hated it!”
My heart felt heavy as I sighed. “They hate a lot of things. What are you doing here, Lidi? Where’s Tay?”
“He’s at home. Sleeping again.” Her lower lip trembled. “I wanted to walk you home. It’s almost the end of your shift.”
“No one’s doing a very good job taking care of you, are they?
” I told her, kissing her cheek to cover the tears that stung at the back of my eyes.
Tay had a good excuse, but it was harder being so angry and having no one to blame.
It made my anger taste more like grief. “Let me tell my boss, and then we’ll walk home together. ”
The children, shaking off the last of the angry green weeds choking up their legs, escaped. A few stopped and yelled at us from a safe distance. When I squinted at them, trying to clock faces—and families to visit—they fled.
Lidi ignored them, but it wasn’t very effective when high color clung to her cheeks and tears to her lashes. “No one else still has their magic at my age.”
“That’s why they’re awful to you. They’re jealous.”
Gods, she looked like our brother Tay when she gave me that look, as if she adored me, even though I was an idiot. “I’m like a baby. I just have silly magic, anyway.”
“It’s not silly. It’s yours.” I kissed her damp cheek again and set her on her feet. She had to walk herself, or they’d see her as an even easier target.
“I can’t do anything that matters,” she said, taking my hand in hers.
“That’s not true, Lidi.”
My boss had come outside. He stood there glowering at me. “I’m docking your pay for all the beer you spilled.”
“Fine. I’m going home.”
“And I’m taking the tips for all your tables I have to close out.”
“Fine.” Fine, and I’d steal them back. The thought left a sour taste in my mouth, but Tay’s medicine wasn’t getting any cheaper. If it came to my flimsy morality or my family’s well-being, family would always win out.
He huffed at my lack of reaction—or maybe my lack of repentance—and went back inside.
As we were passing the shuttered stalls of the farmers’ market and the neat little herb gardens that bordered the lodging house, an angry figure stalked up the road toward us.
I squinted at them. I needed glasses, but I needed money for glasses, and they were far down my tally of needs. “Is that Julvi?”
“Gordo’s big sister,” she affirmed glumly. Together, we said, “They’re the worst.”
“Gordo’s one of the kids bullying you?” I asked.
Lidi’s small hand squeezed mine, which was answer enough.
Julvi glared at me as she approached, already raising a finger to stab at me along with an accusation; she had to raise her voice to hurl it that far. “Your half-sister’s uncontrolled magic hurt my little brother! He’s all ripped up with scratches. She attacked them with thorns!”
“She didn’t start anything,” I said mildly.
“He’s bleeding bad, Cara!”
“Play stupid games,” I said with a shrug.
“You need to get that magic out of her,” Julvi hissed. “It’s not safe for children to have it. Especially since little brats like—”
“Gordo are in danger, because she can defend herself?” I finished her sentence because I was not letting anyone call Lidi a brat.
Well, except for me sometimes. She hogged the bed we shared.
Julvi’s cheeks blazed. “You just want your little sister to be special. You hate that you aren’t special, so you’re living through her. But you’re not doing her any favors, Cara.”
Anger seared through my veins like fire, burning hottest in my cheeks.
But worst of all, I could feel my mark aching like a scab about to be torn open. Like I couldn’t keep it hidden forever. Like everyone might know one day that I was special.
“You’re not doing Gordo any favors by letting him grow up to be a jackass,” I told Julvi, and she gasped.
Deescalating tension was never my strong suit.
I pulled Lidi with me as we swerved around Julvi and started home.
“You’re walking so fast.” Lidi sounded breathless, and I realized she was half running to keep up with me. “Are you mad at me?”
“Gods, no,” I said, feeling a rush of guilt that she’d seen my rage and interpreted it as anger toward her. I should be more controlled. “I’m sorry, Lidi. I’m not mad.”
I swept her up into my arms. At seven, she was awkward to carry; her bare feet swung against my legs when I settled her onto my hip and sometimes dug into the bruises that perpetually marred my pale legs from farm work.
But I could carry her for a little longer, and when she slipped her arms around my neck and put her tear-streaked head down on my shoulder like I was her home, warmth spread through my chest. I’d carry her as long as I could.
I breathed in the sweet flowers in her hair and her clean, soapy scent. “You know, you still look like a Fae princess.”
“Have you ever seen one?”
“No, not really.” The memory of the Fae who had hollowed out my magic was distant, dreamlike. She had indeed been beautiful, though, leaning over me with disinterest as I screamed. She’d been so tall, her bones sharp, her pink hair bright and woven with jewels. She had looked like a dream.
“But I know you’re prettier than any Fae princess. Or even the queen herself,” I promised her.