The tiny village of Comharra sat on a small hill surrounded by fields upon fields of golden wheat. Reyna shielded her eyes against the sun as she trudged along a dirt path that snaked toward the cluster of sagging buildings. Her heart lifted at the sight of it, even if it seemed bathed in a sad mixture of soot and grime. Some of the buildings were built from warped wood, and the edges of timber roofs were blackened from fire.
But not all hope and life was lost here. Tendrils of smoke curled through chimneys, and the scent of baking bread whispered toward her on the incessant wind.
She and Wingallock had set down half a mile back so that she could take measure of the place. She had no idea what she would find here. Whoever was inside those huts was far more likely to be an enemy than a friend.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched beneath a wooden archway that had been erected on the outskirts of the village. Just beside it, planks of wood and piles of stones were scattered across the ground. The new residents of Comharra were building a wall then. Did that mean they were wary of visitors? Would they surround her as soon as they spotted her trekking down the path?
A door creaked open from the nearest building, a ramshackle hut with boarded-up windows splattered with a deep brown that could only be dried blood. Footsteps thundered on the small wooden porch. Reyna slowed to a stop, heart banging, while Wingallock shoved off her shoulder to sweep through the skies.
A fae rounded the door. He was tall and muscular, his boiled leather armor hugging his frame. His white hair was shot through with green strands that fell into his emerald eyes. The curves of his ears were as sharp as daggers, but the grin on his face softened the danger of him.
“Reyna?” Duff barked before clambering down the steps at a run. He tore across the dirt-packed ground and reached her so fast that her head spun. He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her from the ground, and squeezed her tight.
Her breath shot from her lungs as she struggled to laugh. “Hi, Duff. Nice to see you, too.”
He dropped her back on the ground and took a step back, eyes scanning her from head to toe. “I’m glad to see you’re alive and well. All this time I’ve wondered if you managed to get away without getting killed.”
“We did.” She grinned. “And so did you.”
“Aye. We ended up stealing a ship so we could sail here instead of trying to pass the Mistmoor Mountains,” Duff said with a laugh. “I know. Wood fae on a ship. Can you believe it?”
Most wood fae would never step foot on a ship. Only the king’s warriors seemed willing enough to do it. The fae of their court suffered from a unique affliction. The salt of the sea burned their skin. If they went overboard, they had no chance of swimming to shore. And if the boat capsized…
Reyna grinned. “Well, I’m glad it didn’t sink.”
Duff reached out and flicked at the worn collar of the servant’s drab brown tunic. His gaze dropped. He pointed at the hole in the knee of her trousers. “Why are you here, Reyna? I can see it’s not just to pay us a kind visit.”
“Do you have a tavern here? Any ale? Because I think this conversation is going to require a few drinks.”
Duff’s mouth flattened. “I see. I’ll round up the others.”
* * *
Around a wooden keg, Reyna told her tale to a small band of wood fae warriors who had fled the Oxgrove massacre to find a better life inside the Air Court. Duff had rounded up five in total, though dozens more had made it safely to Comharra. These were the warriors of the village, their battle-hardened faces lit by the blazing fire in the hearth. Dust swirled through the compact tavern, and cobwebs clung to the corners. Only a few barrels of ale were stacked behind the bar. No wine. No spirits. It had been a long time since this place had seen a merry revel.
Reyna started her story with the Battle of Fomorian Square, led the listeners through her flight and then tumble from the skies, and then finished with the news that Findius was under siege. Every eye bore into her as she spoke.
“So,” she said after taking a long gulp of ale, “that’s why I’m going to kill your king.”
They were silent for a good long while. Too silent. She began to wonder if she’d misjudged them. Perhaps they were more loyal to their king than she’d thought. Breath in her throat, she scanned their faces. In addition to Duff, there were two other males at the table. One was undoubtably a wood fae with a long, lean face and a curtain of emerald hair. The other had more muted features. Light brown hair, fuzzing around his curved ears, and matching eyes. The three females all wore their hair pulled back into intricate braids, one with deep green strands, one with a lighter, more pastel green, and one with red. And they all wore the boiled leather armor of warriors.
Duff leaned forward and braced his arm on the rickety wooden table that sat between them. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
“Well, I was hoping you’d help me with that,” she said, wincing. “I need to know everything I can about the wood fae army, so that I can infiltrate it. That will get me close enough to the king for me to kill him.”
Duff shook his head, and so did the rest of them. “He’s harder to kill than you think. A simple blade won’t do it.”
“I have magic,” Reyna said. To demonstrate, she held up her hand and shot ice toward the hearth. The fire froze within an instant, flames of frost reaching up toward the ceiling like jagged fingers.
The red-haired female let out a low whistle. “That just might work.”
Reyna glanced at Duff. For some reason, it felt like he would be the one to make the call. He shook his head, chuckling to himself.
“This is madness, you know,” he said.
Reyna winced, thinking of the Ruin that pulsed inside her head. Sometimes, it made her think she was losing her mind. “Maybe it is, but that doesn’t mean it won’t work.”
Grinning, he leaned forward, the chair creaking beneath his weight. “You got a way to hide that silver hair?”
