“You brought Cat?” Killian frowned at the giant canine-like puka. “Isn't she a bit conspicuous?”
“Cat,” I gave her a pointed look.
Her shaggy shape shimmered, shrinking into the more acceptable form of an Irish Wolfhound. Killian whistled in appreciation, then winced at the chill bite to the wind. He pulled his leather hoodie tighter around him, zipping the front, and bringing up the hood.
“You forgot your baklava,” I teased him.
“Balaclava,” he corrected me with a grin, “and it's in my pocket. But I don't want to scare the locals.”
“The locals believe in fairies,” Conri started walking away from us. “You actually have to pay a medium to inspect a piece of property and determine that it's fairy-free, before you can build in Iceland. And they don't just believe in the sidhe or elves either. They know about trolls, goblins, and even pukas. I don't think your little skeleton-painted handkerchief is going to frighten them.”
“It's called a baklava,” I told Conri with mock seriousness.
Killian rolled his eyes.
“Princess Seren?” A pale man waited on the curving road before us, beside a boxy, white van.
“Yes,” I headed towards him.
“I am Lord Hrafn,” he bowed, then lifted his sharp, dark gaze to mine. “The Lord of the Wild Hunt of Iceland sent me to assist you.”
“Thank you,” I motioned everyone forward. “Did he brief you?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Hrafn opened the side panel of the van, motioning our group inside.
It was a good thing I hadn't brought the entire Star's Guard with me. I doubt we all would have fit. As I headed toward the passenger seat, Killian cut me off and opened the door for me. I chuckled as I slipped in, but it turned out to be more than just chivalry.
Killian leaned in and whispered, “Hrafn is Old Norse for 'raven'.”
“What?” I growled. I'd had some issues with ravens in the past. “God damn ravens are stalking me.”
Killian followed Cat into the back of the van, laughing.
“What was that, Your Highness?” Hrafn asked as he slid into the driver's seat.
“Nothing,” I smiled sweetly.
“I can take you straight to the elven enclave if you wish,” Hrafn started the van, “but I would recommend that you wait for an invitation.”
“An invitation?” I asked.
“They know you're here,” Hrafn said. “They know everything that happens in Iceland. If they want to speak with you, they'll contact you.”
“They want tokillher,” Conri growled. “This isn't going to be a polite conversation.”
“Yes, I heard of the attack,” Hrafn said, surprising me. “There's something you need to understand, Your Highness. I've worked closely with the elves for centuries, and there is one thing I can say for certain about them.”
“Yes?” I asked.
“Nothing is as it seems.”
Chapter Thirteen
After spending all day roaming the cold, but quaint, village of Vik i Myrdal, waiting for an invitation that never came, I was more than happy to retire to the lodgings Killian had booked for us. It was at a place called Hotel Katla, and it wasn't the most impressive hotel I've ever stayed in. But it was clean and sturdy. I was sure it had its positive aspects if we could just-
“This is bleak,” Conri noted as we pulled onto the asphalt drive.
“The whole damn island is bleak,” Killian grimaced. “It's fucking Iceland.”
