“Three cuffs with premium materials holding the stones,” I say firmly. Handing him the slip of paper, I give him the sigils and words that will adorn them. “Amulets for protection, bound by my blood and containing these words and marks.” I hold out my arm, and without hesitation, he slices across my palm with a blade that sings with enchantment. My blood wells up, dark and potent.
“Swear it,” I demand, locking eyes with him. I have to ensure he’s locked into a contract he cannot wiggle out of. Ancient feeder blood is powerful and he could fetch a pretty penny should he seek to cheat me. “My blood for these amulets alone. You will not use it for any other purpose than what I have just stated.”
“By the lost stars of my Court, I swear it,” he intones solemnly, and I know he will keep his word. “An hour,” he tells me, already coaxing the blood into the gemstones. I nod and step back into the daylight, leaving behind the musty smell of magic for the crisp air of the town.
If he doesn’t keep his word, I will not only hunt him down, but I will send every ally I have amongst the vampire after those he holds dear.
With that decided, I head for the middle of Arrowwood, hoping to find sources of information. Alcohol loosens tongues, as I well know, so I scout the watering holes first. The bar I choose is bustling, the atmosphere charged with anticipation for the Prince’s concert. I lean against the polished counter, silver coins appearing and disappearing between my fingers—a parlor trick, but one that never fails to draw attention.
“Prince’s visit has everyone excited, eh?” I murmur to the bartender, who’s eyeing the coins with a mix of curiosity and greed.
“Whole town’s abuzz,” he admits, sliding a drink toward me. “Not every day royalty graces us with his presence.”
“Any whispers of discontent?” I probe, sipping the drink and feeling nothing from its contents. This shit is so watered down that I wouldn’t use it to clean the toilets inCocktails. Regardless, I’ll pretend for now to get what I want.
“Here and there,” he says, leaning closer. “Thieves’ guild’s got their fingers in deeper pies than most realize. And then there’s the tale of the Harvest Court’s treasure?—”
“Go on,” I prompt, sensing this is the lead I need. Local legends are almost always based on older mythos, and the prizes they conceal predate any current governing bodies. Faerie, especially, is an untapped resource most do not dare to pillage.
The Wild Hunt would find them before they could ever loot the lost treasures of this vast realm.
“Old legend,” he whispers, glancing around nervously. “Those who seek it disappear. They say it’s nature’s justice, taking those greedy enough to steal from gods.”
“Interesting,” I muse, filing away the information. Tiernan will be perfect for ferreting out more details; subtlety is required for this delicate task, not the brute force Khol might offer or the deference Revelin would inspire.
The bartender stays close as I order more god awful drinks, content to ply me with stories and gossip as long as I keep sliding him florins. I’m pleased as fuck. I sent Louie for a stockpile of the Fae currency before we left; it will be extremely useful in getting things done here. When I sense he’s running out of things to share, I finish the last flagon quickly and pass the man another coin. His gnarled goblin face smiles with gap-toothed happiness at the extra tip.
“Thanks for the chat,” I smile, pushing away from the bar and melting back into the throng of bodies, unseen and already planning our next move.
On to my next stop….
The chimeof the shop door announces my return, a sound almost lost beneath the thrum of magic that fills the air. The scent of crushed herbs and enchantment clings to every surface as I step inside, my eyes adjusting to the dim glow of witch lights hovering lazily overhead.
“Your timing is impeccable, Dezi,” the Fae jeweler says from behind the counter, his voice as smooth as the polished stones that line his shelves. With hands as old as time but steady as stone, he presents a velvet pouch, the contents within singing with protective charms.
I wouldn’t chance him deciding I’d skipped out so he could sell these; he’d do it in a heartbeat.
Taking the pouch, I slip the cuffs out, inspecting them carefully. The pieces are exquisite, each one pulsing with my essence and intention. A surge of satisfaction courses through me; my coven will be safer with these. “Your craftsmanship is certainly worthy of royal appointment. They were fools to lose you.”
Looking around for a moment, I consider how I will interrogate an ancient Fae this sharp.
“Careful questions bring careful answers,” the Fae remarks cryptically as he meticulously tidies his workspace. I catch the subtle shift in his gaze, the way it lingers on the shadowed corners where whispers of the thieves guild seem to dance just out of sight.
“Tell me more about this Harvest Court legend,” I probe, sliding extra coins across the counter, a silent pact between us that speaks louder than words.
“I only know that those who venture for the treasure rarely wish to speak of it again,” he replies, fingers brushing the coins into a hidden drawer. “And those who do...” His eyes darken, leaving the sentence to hang unfinished in the charged air.
“Understood.” There’s a mutual recognition, an unspoken alliance forming between us. This Fae, with his exiled past and honed skills, could prove invaluable. Instead of severing ties, I exchange contact runes, ensuring a future collaboration should the need arise.
It irks me that our phones and internet will not work the same way here as they do on the other side. I have not used communication like this for centuries.
Leaving the shop with the pouch secured within my overcoat, I make for city hall, a grand structure of polished stone and gleaming spires that pierce the sky. My senses extend, sifting through the cacophony of day-to-day governance for threads of intrigue. Cloaked in shadows, I glide along marbled halls, the echo of my steps swallowed by the vampire gift of silence. Each snippet of conversation is a potential key, unlocking the labyrinth of courtly maneuvers designed to entrap a prince.
“An advantageous match...” I overhear a council member hiss to another, a veiled reference to arranged unions and alliances. My fangs grind together at the thought of Revelin being used as a pawn in their political games.
Such efforts would drive a wedge between our mate and the already sought after rock star—I won’t allow it.
I linger near a heavy door, behind which the Prince discusses the terms of his visit. Their expectations are high, and my ears capture the subtle barbs hidden within honeyed words. They do not know that Revelin holds a heart loyal to another, and I will guard that secret with every ounce of my preternatural strength. We all agreed that revealing it before the time was right was not in our best interest, nor safe for the witchling.
