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She flicked her long braid tied with a ribbon that matched her frock coat over her shoulder and began leading me through the village.

I don’t know what I expected a Fae country village to be like, but this was nothing like it. It was . . . normal. So painfully benign and normal. All manner of children of magic, as they called them, milled about the dirt pathways between buildings. There was a tailor’s shop, a tea shop, what looked like a small grocery stall with produce I’d never seen before, a butcher that turned my stomach to see, and even what looked like a sweets stall. No money passed hands; there seemed to be no coinage at all aside from jovial conversation.

Jackdaw caught me watching a Fae’s purchase of a bolt of lovely, dusty-purple fabric, trying to figure it out. “Sentiment.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sure you’re used to the coin of the land being stable magic. That’s the new coin. The magic out here is thin, and we use it for practical things, not showy things. The kind of magic we use most is stronger in thoughts, emotions, and memories; it’s in the ephemeral nature of sentiments and not in the sterilized servitude of magic. The chatter you see between them is the passing of the coinage of the old realm.”

Pops had mentioned that. I still didn’t know how it worked, but the satisfaction of a well-struck deal was clear.

We moved on as Jackdaw showed me around. I passed two humans sharing a ceramic mug of tea with a Far Darrig as they discussed planting for the next season. “The humans willingly hang out with Far Darrig?”

Jackdaw frowned and pulled me away from the three as if I might offend them. “You’ve never been out of the palace, have you, Goldie? Certainly left your manners there, that’s for sure.”

My brows knitted together, and I glared at her. “Far Darrig are all slavers.”

“No. Some of them are. Their royal houses are flesh sculptors. The average rabble like that one there? Wouldn’t know a daora from a turnip. They use their gifts for healing wounds. Closing up the broken flesh. Damned skilled at it, too. That there is Foxglove. And she’s the village healer; she knows more about the plants of this area than the dirt itself.” She watched the confusion play out in my face. “Where are you from, Goldie?”

I opened my mouth to lie, any lie would do, and she held up a finger. “Say nothing or tell me true. I can’t stand a lie.”

I gambled. I gambled hard and went all in. “Human. I’m from Human.”

“A Fae from Human?” She watched me carefully, and the threads of her magic reached out and brushed me; it was like walking through cobwebs. A soft exhale was given. “You’re not lying, are you?”

“It would be so much easier if I were.”

“Well, Étain’s tits. That’s a new one for me.” She appraised me with new wonder, like an especially strange specimen under glass at a museum. “Well then, you should know that while the children of magic might be the same, the way the nobility act is anything but noble, and the country folk act entirely differently. Their values are almost completely opposed. You won’t find a single daor here, nor a slaver. Slavers who come around here won’t ever see the village. I make sure of that. The country Fae value freedom and community as sacred duties. You don’t have to believe me either. Just watch for a while.”

“You said you’re not from here?”

Jackdaw grew guarded. “I said I belonged to a different land.”

“I told you where I’m from. Where are you from?”

She grew silent, watching me for a long time. I already knew the answer. I suspected it. There was so much that was familiar about her, but the coat and her braid had sealed my hopeful suspicion. “Breacadh an Lae.”

“So, you’re from the Court of Árus Láigh?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not really. Were you a courtier there?” I was hedging; I wanted to know if she knew my anam cara. If she did, would I be clever enough to pry some nugget of information about him from her without raising suspicions?

“Not really. But I do not wish to talk about that, if you please.” I felt her shutting down, casting me out from the warmth of her good graces.

I nodded politely and let it go. She probably didn’t know him. What were the odds after all?

“Thank you. Walk around, Goldie. Chat up whomever you’d like. Just remember, this isn’t the palace. There are no guards here. Don’t be stupid, and try not to get into trouble. And for the love of Túathal, don’t rouse your friends. That will be a mess I don’t want to have to clean up. And when you go back to your bed, do it alone and say nothing about what you have seen tonight.”

“I won’t.”

I did exactly what she suggested. I walked around the small, strange village. My head was spinning by the time I laid it down on my balled-up dress and stared back into the darkness of my cottage. What I had seen did not match what I knew. I was just as confused, just as lost as I had been the night I stepped up on the Night Market stage to be auctioned off. Nothing made sense. Nothing fit together. Nothing connected, and the puzzle pieces just clattered around in my head as loose silverware in a slammed drawer.

In the morning, when I stepped free of the cabin, my compatriots were already up and washing in the well. Brittle Spear cast expectant eyes my way, and when I joined him, he kept his head down. Jackdaw was nowhere to be found, though.

“Did you see it?”

“Did you know it was here?”