I'm just finishing some private business behind a tree when I hear the noise.
A woman's scream, a man's shout, and bloodthirsty laughter and snarls. Hastily lacing up my pants again, I draw my sword and ease through the underbrush, trying to get a better look.
There, in a glade lit by emerald sunlight, a wood elf and a sprite are under attack. The sprite's pink wings flutter in a desperate attempt to escape as the attackers—a band of ragged thugs—bear down with copper knives and heavy clubs, a boggan and an orc holding her down. The wood elf, burdened by a huge pack on his back, curses and lunges at them, but gets a blow to the head for his trouble. He staggers, clutching his skull. The attackers snigger.
I hesitate. We've been attacked twice ourselves on this journey into the wild—once by Unseelie soldiers and once by a disparate band of bandits like this one—and barely escaped each time. A part of me cravenly wants to ease away, find the others, and quietly make our escape. But then the sprite lets out a squeal of pure, unadulterated terror, and my cowardice melts away.
By the time the thugs realize they're under attack, I've already stabbed the first. He falls to the ground, screaming and clutching his iron-poisoned wound, and the others whirl around, glaring at me with piggy eyes.
"Well, what have we here?" A goblin spits on the ground. "A little mortal child, wandered ever so far from her mother. Little bitch is out where she don't belong—"
He breaks off with an umph of air as I charge into his chest. A quick stab of my dagger, and he's staggering back. The others close in.
"Don't just stand there!" I yell at the couple. "Run!" But they stand frozen, clutching each other, as the thugs gather around. I'm fending them off with kicks and blows of my sword, but I know this can't go on—
The wind blasts out of nowhere, striking like a sword out of the sky. It disturbs not a leaf on the trees, doesn't touch a hair on my head or those of the couple, but the thugs are blown back like paper scraps, screaming and howling as the wind smacks them down and smothers them, fighting to stand but unable to so much as catch a breath to cast a spell.
"What—is—this—?" a goblin gasps out.
"Me." Cardan steps out of the forest, straightening his cuffs. "I must say," he says, staring tranquilly into space, "this is all rather uncivilized. Almost makes me miss Court."
"Let—us—go!" an orc manages. The wind pushes him back down, and he writhes, gasping.
"Not until you promise to bugger off and never bother any of us ever again," says Cardan calmly. "Go on. Promise."
Still struggling against the wind, they all gasp out promises, whereupon Cardan releases them with a negligent twist of his hand. One by one, they all stagger to their feet and run off, several still dripping blood, glancing over their shoulders, before disappearing into the trees.
I watch them go before turning to Cardan. "You should've let me kill them."
"Now, now, there was no need for such unpleasantness." He flicks off a leaf that's fallen on his shoulder and turns to the still-staring couple. "Are you all right?"
The sprite finds voice first. "We're fine, lord," she squeaks. She gives a hasty, clumsy curtsy. "And most grateful to you."
"Yes," agrees the elf gruffly, bowing under his enormous pack. "We owe you our lives."
"What's going on?" Heather and Vivienne appear, traipsing through the trees and peering into the glade.
"Jude and I just saved these good folks' lives!" Cardan says cheerfully. "What should we call you?" he asks the couple.
"I'm called Leon," says the elf faintly.
"And I'm Alys," says the sprite. She's hanging back, looking extremely nervous as her eyes flick from each of us to the others. "You're…you're courtiers, aren't you?" Her wings quiver.
Cardan and I exchange glances, and Vivienne sighs. We've run into this attitude again and again on our journey west. On our second day, for example, we innocently stopped at a village, thinking we could trade for some supplies. The instant the common faeries spotted us, they all squealed, Courtiers!, and either took to the wing or disappeared inside their houses, slamming their doors and windows shut against us. Nothing we said or did convinced them to emerge. Eventually we had to leave empty-handed. And it's been like that over and over: any common faeries we encounter either flee or try to attack us. On those rare occasions when we've persuaded the wild fey to trade with us or give us directions, they've been incredibly nervous, hurrying through the transaction to run or fly away, wings whirring with anxiety. This is the friendliest exchange we've had so far, and Alys and Leon both look ready to faint with fright.
Vivienne speaks first. "Yes, we're courtiers," she says gently. "But we don't mean you any harm, really. We were just passing through."
"I saw them attacking you," I say, perhaps a trifle roughly. "So I thought I'd help."
Alys and Leon exchange glances. "They did save our lives," she says reluctantly.
"So they did." Leon sighs and turns back to us. "We are grateful for your help, as we said," he says stiffly. "How can we repay you?"
"Perhaps you have supplies you could trade?" Cardan says, smiling easily. He leans in, lowering his voice. "And avoid saying anything about meeting us, eh?"
They look more alarmed than ever, but nod reluctantly. Leon swings down the huge pack from his back, laying out his wares.
It's obvious they're peddlers: they've fit a huge variety and amount of goods into their pack, from silken thread spun from sunlight to combs to jewelry to Ironside imports. They even have paper cans of salt. "Do you find many customers for those?" I ask, pointing them out as I hand over coin for a wheel of cheese.
Leon gives a strange, bitter laugh. "Oh, salt's becoming more popular all the time these days," he says. "Faeries want it to protect their homes, laying it across their lintels. They even rub it onto the blades of their weapons."
"Really?" says Heather interestedly. "I thought salt was deadly poisonous to faeries."
"It is," he says shortly. "But these cans—" He shakes one, making a dry rattling sound. "—Make it easy to handle the salt without touching it. And with all the Court raids…well, it's good to have some defenses around."
"Court raids?" Cardan says.
Alys, still quivering, lays a beseeching hand on Leon's elbow, but he ignores her. "Haven't you heard?" He gives that bitter laugh again. "The High King's rule is fading. Eldred hasn't made a real decision in years, and he certainly hasn't done anything to protect us common faeries. The lower Courts have gotten bolder and bolder. They raid our villages: commoners under the protection of rival Courts, and independent tribes too. They steal our crops, kill us, extort tribute from us. That's when they don't just carry us off as slaves," he adds, bitterness intensifying.
"Leon," Alys murmurs, eyeing us warily.
Cardan blinks, looking stunned. "Slaves?" he says. "How can that be? This is Faerie. They can't just draft you into their service without repaying you anything."
"Yes, well, it's amazing what nasty little contracts people will put their names to when the alternative is death," Leon says dryly. "It happened to my sister, a couple of years ago. Last I saw, she was in a Seelie Court's kitchens, cooking their food and cleaning up their mess—for a handful of golden grass seeds, paid every year!"
"Leon, stop," Alys pleads.
Cardan looks up, his wide eyes meeting my stunned gaze. Vivienne looks as astonished as we feel, and even Heather is blinking in horror. I can't shake off a sense of stunned disbelief. I thought I knew Faerie, understood the vicious cruelty under its lovely façade—but I never imagined anything like this. It's like when Cardan showed me his scars, and told me the truth of his life: that sense of everything I thought I knew being ripped away, the truth behind it spilling out in a putrid tide.
Heather pulls herself together first. "Maybe things will get better," she says encouragingly. "Maybe the, uh, High King will start ruling again. Or you'll get a new…" She trails off, knowing enough by now to be wary of anything that might smack of treason.
Leon snorts. "Even if something does happen to Eldred," he snarls, "all it'll mean is that one of his good-for-nothing sons takes the throne. I hear Prince Balekin hunts mortals for sport, Dain is a useless fop, and Prince Cardan is an utter wastrel who's been living as some human knight's pet. Any one of 'em would run Faerie to the ground inside a decade."
"Yes, well!" says Heather brightly, glancing at Cardan, who's gone a rather peculiar color. "As I said, perhaps things will improve." She takes out her shiny human camera. "Meanwhile, would either of you mind if I took your pictures? I'll give you one of these nice, human-made bracelets in exchange." She holds up a handful of brightly woven thread bracelets.
Alys throws herself at this excuse to leave the conversation, and she and Heather draw aside to pose for portraits. Vivienne hovers over them, staying protectively close to Heather, and I'm just about to pull Cardan away when he freezes, staring at a piece of jewelry on the blanket. "Where did you get that?" he asks sharply.
"Oh, this?" Leon holds up the gold ring with a decal shaped like a skull. I bite back a gasp as I suddenly recognize it. "Got it off a goblin trader. His village was troubled by a rogue courtier, he said: some nasty little boy who thought it would be fun to try and torture their children." The elf chuckles suddenly, eyes glinting in malice. "Wasn't so cocky when the goblins ambushed him and shot him full of salt-arrows, though! Died screaming, the goblin said. Wish I could have seen that. They tied his corpse up in a tree—I saw the skeleton, all rotten—and sold off all his possessions." He gives Cardan a wide, bright grin. "Are you interested in buying?"
"No." Cardan's mask is firmly back in place, all pleasant, unreadable lines. "No, I'm afraid I can't afford a new ring, not right now. Take my advice, though, Leon, and sell it well away from the High Court."
He turns away abruptly, striding off to the edge of the glade. Grimacing apologetically at Leon, I take our purchases and hurry after the prince.
I find him standing at the edge of a stream, flowing and chuckling around dark rocks, sticks and leaves caught among the boulders. "Well," Cardan says at last, without expression, "at least now we know what happened to Valerian."
I nod silently. Any expression of sorrow or sympathy would be beyond my thespian skills. Of all Cardan's nasty little "friends", Valerian was the worst: a malicious, evil piece of work from start to finish. After he dropped Cardan, he lurked around Court for a few years, disappearing at regular intervals, until he finally vanished for good about three years ago. No one bothered to look for him because, frankly, everyone was glad he was gone. I feel nothing but smug glee at the thought of Valerian ambushed by tree goblins, slaughtered by those he thought to make his victims—but I'm not sure I can say that to Cardan.
"Are you sorry?" I say at last.
"Not really," he says after a moment. "Valerian was utterly vile. I knew that even back when I thought he was my friend." He takes a deep breath, still staring down at the water. "I didn't know things were this bad," he mutters at last. "In Faerie. I didn't know common faeries were suffering like this. I didn't know the lower Courts were running rampant."
"We've been sheltered," I say shortly. "And it's just one report, really, from one bitter old elf. We don't know if that's the whole truth."
"If that's the case," he says lightly, "then the wild fey we've encountered have all been remarkably nervous about us." He takes another deep breath. "And it's only going to get worse once one of my brothers takes the throne. I can't see Balekin alleviating the commoners' woes."
I don't say anything. I don't point out the obvious solution to this problem: that it would be better if neither of his brothers got the crown. If he took it instead. I say nothing, because that is the covenant between us: I never nag him, never try to push him toward the throne he doesn't want, no matter what I think privately. But I can't stop my own thoughts: would it not be better for Cardan to take the crown, rather than one of his malicious brothers? With me at his side?
"Perhaps none of you princes will take the crown," I say instead. "Perhaps Eldred will recover, and go on to father a dozen more heirs."
"Yes. Perhaps." He visibly pulls himself together, straightening his cuffs and stepping away from the water's edge. "Come: we should go rescue Vivi and Heather from the elf revolutionary before he decides to join those tree goblins in making an example of a courtier."
"As if you'd have the guts, faerie boy." It feels good to sneer at him, the familiar exchange of insults comforting in the midst of these horrible revelations. "Faeries have no courage, and you are the most cowardly of all."
"Well, I'm a human knight's pet, remember?" He flashes a grin over his shoulder as we start to head back to the glade. I follow close behind, distracted by a new and troubling thought. If Faerie's mainland is so much more dangerous than we thought, how is Taryn faring? My stomach tightens at the thought of her being killed or enslaved by some predatory Court.
Well—I hurry my steps—if she's been captured, we can rescue her. And I know she isn't dead. The certainty burns still in my heart, a guiding light. All we have to do is follow it, to where my sister waits.