Lilianna loved asking questions.
Truth be told, I loved answering them.
“So, not all Ettans have fury, but most are descendants of Night Folk? How does that work?”
I carefully urged Svӓrd over a narrow lip of rock. “Fury strength, or talent, is the same as the shade of blue in your eyes, or the color of your hair. It is made up of ancestral lines, and there are those rare occasions where the Norns do not see fit to give a child fury. They could have two Night Folk as parents, but they do not have faeish features, and fury. Through those young ones, came the Ettan folk.”
“And can Ettans rule, or only Night Folk?”
“So far the Ettan crown has been held by fury,” I said. “But it is only because, like in Timoran, heirs of the Ferus bloodline take the throne. The Ferus rule extends back a thousand turns. But let’s say the prince of Etta were to have heirs without fury, then yes, they would be Ettan folk and would still take the throne, should the land choose them.”
“The land?”
I nodded. “Fury lives in the soil of Etta. It makes known who it chooses to rule.”
“How?”
The corner of my mouth curled. “I assure you, if the land chooses you, it would be impossible to deny.”
“So, you don’t . . . mistreat those without fury?”
She asked in such a way, I had to wonder what the damn Timorans told their people about Night Folk fae.
“There is no punishment simply because someone does not have magic, Lilianna. That is the same as punishing a man for having a cock.”
“Gods.” She adjusted on the horse blanket. “You are terribly ill-mannered.”
“I never pretended to be otherwise.” Unbidden, my nose dipped, brushing along her ear. “I think you’re starting to like it.”
The point of her elbow rammed into my ribs, drawing out a breathless laugh from my lips. “Admit it, Little Huntress. Your curiosity about fury has something to do with your curiosity about me.”
I meant it as a jest, but Lilianna’s gaze went distant, watching the frosted trees. All she said was a soft, “Hmm.”
“What? What does that mean? Hmm?”
“Nothing. All gods you’re a suspicious fae. I have heard differently about fury, which is all hmm means, and I am not certain if I believe you yet.”
My jaw dropped, and I feigned offense. “Lilianna, why would I have need to lie about fury? I am impressive all on my own, I do not need to stretch truths to make myself more appealing in your eyes.”
She tried to fight a laugh, but failed. “Such an irritating bastard.”
“Again, my father would take offense.”
Her grip tightened around my waist, and I couldn’t reconcile why it turned a wave of heat through my veins.
Enjoyable. Desirous. Wrong. I was not here to tease the women of Timoran. I’d come with specific instructions to see if there remained even a semblance of hope for an alliance with the frost folk.
Somewhere in the eerie, chilled mists a branch snapped. Lilianna tensed.
I drew back on Svärd’s reins, grateful the damn stubborn beast listened for once. I tried not to take note how the bastard found some grass splitting through the snow and took time to indulge.
His compliance was due to my command, nothing more. As it ought to be.
“We’re not alone.” Lilianna’s voice was soft, but carried an edge of nerves.
In one fluid motion, she swung her leg over the back of the horse, taking hold of the bow strapped on his haunches.
I did the same, but took hold of an opal crusted dagger tucked beneath the rolled sleeping mats.
Lilianna notched an arrow. She was a sight, a small force in the way she moved soundlessly, in the way she managed to blend with the frosts with her pale hair and skin.
I was born of warriors and felt like a bumbling fool, catching my toes on icy briars and slipping on hardened mounds of earth. When I, at last, dropped to her side behind the corpse of a hedge, Lilianna pierced me with a look of annoyance.
“What?” I gritted out through my teeth. “I need damn spikes on my boots to walk in his bleeding place.”
Shadows broke through the morning light. Figures drifting as carefully as my little huntress. To the opposite side half a dozen sparrows took flight, clearly frightened by movement.
Damn the gods.
I shifted my position. We were being surrounded on either side—one side louder than the other.
The fletching of Lilianna’s arrow brushed over her cheek when the figures moved faster, when the sound of steel against leather made it clear blades were being drawn.
In the next breath, trees parted, branches cracked, and the small clearing was filled with hooded folk with bows and axes on one side, and on the other long fur-lined cloaks over broad shoulders and cold, reddened pointed ears.
Dammit.
Timorans were facing off with fae, and they were fae I knew.
Dagar had a blade raised against a man with an iron mallet. Kjell, held out a palm, grinning as another Timoran archer stumbled to the ground, shouting something about web weavers. My friend was skilled with illusion fury, and he never missed an opportunity to use it.
With my friends was the pompous sod, Ambassador Vargus.
“We came here on good faith,” Vargus shouted at the Timorans. “Return him, and save yourselves to live in this waste a little longer.”
I let out a sigh. He had no business threatening the fragile peace.
“Gods, that’s my father,” Lilianna hissed, dropping her bow. Her face blanched. “Dammit, and the prince.”
Two Timorans shoved through the crowd, one burly and strong with a heavy bearded ax in hand. The other was young, with golden hair braided down the center of his head.
Prince Eli.
We’d met more than once.
Now, it looked as though blood was about to spill.
“I want my girl,” roared the burly man. “Her footsteps were found with blood and a seal of the Night Folk court. Give her to me and—”
“We do not make it a habit to take Timoran women,” Vargus snapped.
I couldn’t stand by any more.
“Arvad, wait. They’ll—”
I didn’t hear what else Lilianna said before I shoved through the hedge, bits of frost and snow misting over my face as I went.
“Ah, but you’re wrong this time, Vargus.” I flashed Dagar and Kjell a quick grin. Both looked at me with a bit of annoyed stun. “I did find a Timoran and I kept her with me all night.”
The ambassador blinked, then instantly dropped his chin, a fist pressed to his heart. “My Prince. How pleased to see you alive.”
Those who rode in Vargus’s caravan mimicked his salute. Dagar narrowed his dark eyes, ready to break my nose, no doubt. Since becoming a new father, my oldest friend had trouble finding the levity of life now. It was always fret, fret, fret, get home to my wife and son, fret, fret, fret.
Kjell’s mouth was tight, but I took it more that he was trying not to laugh.
“Prince?”
The sharp, breathless voice drew my attention.
Lilianna stepped from the hedge, beautiful hair tousled and wild—a little like her. Her full lips were parted and she looked at me with a touch of awe and something like contempt.
“Lili.” The burly Timoran, a man built to break bones, had her crushed in his embrace in the next breath.
Her father, if I had to guess.
His body was too big and swallowed her whole, but around his thick arm, she nudged her head, glaring at me.
I smiled to hide the unease. I wasn’t certain if my little huntress was about to slit my throat or pierce my heart with an arrow.
Either attempt would draw her closer, and—strangely—I didn’t despise the idea.