This could be from a nosebleed or an accident with one of the saws. I have bled more than this by snagging myself on thorns during a hunt. Thorns can catch you unawares at the most inopportune moments. Like this one time I?—
Focus, dammit. Dirt. Blood. “Why do you think it was an attack and not an accident?” There were more than a few of those when we were assembling the temporary bridge.
“The three lead architects have gone missing. They were not at work yesterday or this morning. When the foreman went to check their homes, they were not there either. They have vanished.”
One Seelie going missing could be explained easily enough. Three? This is a problem, indeed. Unfortunately, there are too many boot prints around to properly track. “Could the wolves be back?” They have stalked the Seelie before.
“We have found no prints.”
The ground here is soft; a wolf’s paws would have made at least a small indentation. Not to mention, there would be considerably more blood if they had attacked one of the Seelie.
“Did you check the trail?” Last time the wolves invaded Rosehill, they scaled a treacherous path from the bottom of the canyon.
“Yes, but we found nothing.”
If this was not the work of wolves, then it must be the work of fae. That they attacked the architects responsible for this project might not be a coincidence. I stand, my mind racing. “Do you have any idea who would want to stop the bridge from being built?”
Ever stands as well, brushing the dirt from his knees. “Not all Seelie are pleased to have an Unseelie on their throne.”
After years of hating and fearing us, this is not a surprise.
“There have been reports of small pockets of rebels in some of the northern towns along the Laurel border,” he says. “Although, they have yet to resort to anything but protests.”
Protests only last so long before those protesting grow tired of inaction. Like the many meetings Ever attends. Much talking and nothing resolved. One of these protesters might have decided to do something besides talk.
I do not envy my friend his role as leader of the Seelie fae. That is a heavy burden for one male. A council has beenappointed to help him, but as far as I can tell, they seem more interested in hearing their own voices than resolving or fixing anything in the kingdom. “I can come to the bridge at dawn. Keep an eye on the laborers.” If there is another attack, I will be able to protect them.
Ever squeezes my shoulder. “Thank you, Maddox.”
It is the least I can do for my closest friend.
If we are wrong and the wolves are back, the Seelie will not be safe. Nia will not be safe.
If it is not the wolves, then I will do my part to find out who has been taking the Seelie fae.
13
Maddox
“In modern times, tea is observed from half eleven to twelve, while lunch is enjoyed from one until two.”
— Seelie Culture: Then and Now
Dawn arrives far too soon. My body used to be accustomed to rising early after very little rest; however, since moving to the Seelie lands, sleeping late has become my habit.
Turns out, life is far more relaxed when you’re not constantly worrying about where your next meal will come from or looking over your shoulder for fear of a predator stalking you for its breakfast.
As promised, I arrive at the worksite as the golden sun rises over Rosehill’s pitched rooftops.
Unlike yesterday, there are many Seelie fae toiling over wood and stone, using the tools that laid dormant only a few hours earlier.
The foreman’s heavy brow draws tight when he sees me approach. “Don’t touch anything,” he grumbles before my boots even meet the ground.
There is no need for his unfriendly tone. I am here to help, after all. “What about the dirt? Am I to remain on my steed all day?”
He casts his eyes toward the clouds in the sky, huffing loudly. “You can obviously touch the dirt.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. “What about the air? Am I allowed to touch that?”
