CHAPTER ONE
Aelia nearly tripped as she ran down the narrow wooden stairs that spiralled around the monumental oak tree she called home. Her hand, clutching onto the crude bannister, was the only thing protecting her from the forty-foot drop from her treehouse to the forest floor.
She puffed her cheeks out in a relieved sigh and slowed her pace, well aware of how close she’d come to bouncing arse over elbow all the way down the steps. So what if she was late? The festival wasn’t going anywhere.
She made it safely to the forest floor and straightened her dress. The midnight blue material was interrupted by silver patterns that swirled down her torso, the fabric hugging her closely before flowing over her hips, waving gently around her thighs. It had been a present on her twenty-fifth birthday, and although that seemed such a long time ago now, she still adored it. There were few opportunities to escape the drudgery of life in the forest, and Aelia had relished the chance to pin half her dark curls in a pretty knot, leaving the rest to cascade well past her shoulders. She’d used charcoal to bring her vivid green eyes to life, and a flush of excitement accentuated the high arc of her cheekbones.
As she walked beneath row after row of elevated treehouses, the path became steadily busier as she joined others on their way to the festivities. Light poured onto the darkening paths through prettily carved windows, illuminating the abundance of sleepy-looking wildflowers that spread throughout the village and the rush of excited villagers. The familiar smell of pine wafted up to meet her as her feet brushed over the thick layer of needles and acorns covering the ground.
Her heart beat a little faster as she came to the edge of the Peregrinian’s camp, the travelling band of traders having set up with practised efficiency to transform the space beneath the huge tree trunks into a thriving market.
She craned her neck over the sea of heads to get a better view of the tented stalls that spattered the forest floor beneath the village, full of things to examine and barter for. She had to sidestep out of harm’s way more than once as people bustled past her, arms overflowing with whatever they hoped to sell to the Peregrinians, throwing rushed apologies back at her over their shoulders. The atmosphere was intoxicating as the villagers arrived in droves, and Aelia was soon caught up in it, a smile fixed on her face as she sidled through the crowds.
She saw girls she worked with making the most of the rare opportunity to escape their homespun clothes, and young men she had grown up with sharing stories a little too loudly over cups which were refilled a little too often. A brood of children no one had the heart to scold carved a channel through the crowd as they ran past Aelia, leaving a spattering of indulgent smiles in their wake.
Aelia’s own smile faltered slightly as she ran her eyes over the traders. Their energy usually matched or exceeded that of the villagers, but to her, they seemed reserved compared to the joviality that surrounded them. Their eyes had a sharpnessthat Aelia hadn’t seen on their previous visits, despite how welcoming the whole village had been.
Aelia sidled to the nearest vendor, her breath leaving her in a gentle gasp as she saw the books that were displayed there. She dragged her fingers lightly over the worn leather bindings, breathing in the yellow pages and the scent of a thousand stories waiting to be told.
Aelia doubted the vendor would have much luck in Callodosis; very few in her village could afford such luxuries. She certainly couldn’t.
She pried open the closest book, the leather creaking under her fingers as it spread to reveal a map, the country of Demuto so delicately drawn she had to lean closer to try and take in the detail.
Aelia traced her finger over the dense forest that hugged the southern border, stopping when she found the dot that represented Callodosis, the logging village she called home.
“Are you planning a trip?” the man behind the stall interrupted.
Aelia looked up at the gaunt vendor, his skin the pallor of the parchment he surrounded himself with, the black ring of magic around his irises marking him as an artemian.
“No, I was just curious.” She shut the book carefully, her fingers lingering on it a moment longer than necessary.
He slid a heavy tome from one of the piles and offered it to her. “If you’re after maps, this book is much more detailed.”
“Thank you.” Aelia smiled, already backing away. “I was just looking.”
The man shrugged and replaced the book, giving her the opportunity to slip away into the crowd.
She hopped from stall to stall, keeping an eye out for Mirra and Fenrir, but her attention was quickly caught by a small, delicate knife with a carved strand of ivy etched along the bladeto form the fuller. It seemed to her too pretty a design for its grisly purpose, and far too fancy for a hunting knife, which was all she had need of. So, she replaced the knife and ran her fingertips lightly over the array of other weapons that lay around it.
The woman, whose build and crooked nose suggested she had no qualms using the weapons she sold, stood behind the stall watching her with a hard, guarded expression. Aelia flinched from her gaze with surprise; usually, the travellers were so friendly.
“Thank you,” Aelia mumbled as she made to move away from the stall, turning just as Mirra ran up to her with Fenrir in tow. She was tiny next to his broad frame, her mouse-brown hair clipped carefully up in a pretty twist, leaving a few loose tendrils curling over her pink cheeks. Fenrir was her exact opposite; everything from the way he walked to the proud jut of his chin belied the apex predator in him. The distinct curves of his muscled shoulders were evident beneath his shirt. In fact, the only thing about him that wasn’t rock hard were his eyes, the warm pools of liquid amber glinting with boyish amusement as he allowed Mirra to drag him to Aelia’s side.
They had all been friends since they were children, and though Mirra was one of the few humans in the village, the difference wasn’t noticed by any of them. It wasn’t like Aelia could judge anyway.
“What are you looking at?” Mirra peered past her to the weaponry that had been so carefully laid on display. Her fingers reached for the very same dagger Aelia had been drawn to.
“Gods, that’s pretty?—”
“Don’t you touch that.” The armourer leapt forward and slammed a fist onto the table so hard the weapons shifted slightly on the dark display cloth. Mirra’s fingers froze mid-air as she stared wide-eyed at the furious woman, her mouth hangingopen slightly. “Even the likes of you should be able to read. We don’t serve humans.” She jabbed her finger towards a poster that had been pinned to the far end of the stall.
“Humans are pests, not pets.”
Mirra’s face paled as quickly as Aelia’s darkened.
“What did you just say?” Aelia asked, her voice deathly quiet. She didn’t want to believe her eyes, but the sign was right there, the words in unmistakable black and white. How had she not seen it earlier?
“You should know better than to keep such company.” The armourer crossed her muscled arms, not so much as an iota of contrition on her face.
