Chapter Ten

It had been five days since Verve left Fenn in Letorheas. At least, that was her estimation. Her hours were filled with trekking through forests with the unshakeable feeling she was being watched. There had been no hawthorn sightings. No humans crossed their path, and the apples they had gathered were long since gone.

Olive faded with each passing mile. Her initial complaints of hunger and fatigue all but stopped. She was quiet. So was Verve, lost for words as to how she might encourage her.

So much for being the Fire Queen. Raw power won’t make edible food or potable water. “Why don’t we stop for the night,” she said after Olive had stumbled for the fifteenth time that day.

The crone did not argue nor make a suggestion, but collapsed in what Verve took to be either relief or despair. She stared into the dim woods, her expression blank. “I let terror get the better of me.”

Verve set her burden of books down and sat across from her. “I know.” They had been over this a dozen times.

That did not stop Olive from croaking out her regrets. “I should have just made another gateway with that hawthorn, traceable or not.”

“It’s all right.”

Olive ignored her. “I’ve made an enemy out of the trees. Now we shall die as mortals.” She looked at Verve, her eyes glassy. “Well, I shall die. You will go on.” Her tone was bitter and she curled up in a ball on the ground.

As she did every time Olive grew morose, Verve drew upon her store of magic and conjured a floating ball of blue fire, which hovered in the air between them. It let off a great deal of warmth and usually was mesmerizing enough to keep the crone distracted. Today was no different, it would seem. Olive’s mouth closed and she stared at the orb as though it might bring her salvation.

There was nothing to say to Olive to comfort her, so once Verve was certain the woman wasn’t going to wander off or accidentally harm herself, she got to her feet and set up a protective wall of magic around them. It had taken her two days to sort out the magic, but the more frustrated she grew with each passing hour, the easier the power came to her fingertips and did what she bid it to do. Protect us from harm, she thought as she shoved her agitation and magic together in a wide arc surrounding them. A barrier rose up around them, encasing them in a dome of light.

Satisfied with her work, Verve left the safety she had created and began to forage. Mushrooms were out of the question, as she had never learned to discern between what was benign and what was poisonous. Instead she looked for root vegetables and edible weeds. Earlier, she had found an underground spring, and they had drunk eagerly from it and filled several canteens Verve had magicked from blades of grass, so drink was not a current concern at the moment.

Verve rubbed the back of her neck, feeling again like she was being observed. As always, she used through-sight to locate whoever might be watching her, but there was no one there. No one for miles and miles. She closed her eyes, returning her vision to normal, and went back to scrounging about in the dirt.

You’re on the wrong path.

The words had been a soft sigh borne on a breeze, and Verve dismissed them at once as a hallucination. She was weary and hungry. Of course she wanted to hear Fenn’s voice, for that was what it had sounded like to her.

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and she continued to labor, but she brushed them aside and stood. Perhaps the next clearing would yield something edible. Verve stumbled around the base of a maple, wishing desperately it had been a seed-bearing oak. “I could roast acorns,” she murmured.

Firstblood, use your magic.

Verve scoffed. Her mind was cruel, playing tricks on her like this. “Quiet,” she said. The next clearing yielded nothing, as did the trees surrounding. She pressed on.

Take the old woman and head west. You are going the wrong way.

A shiver worked its way down Verve’s spine. The voice had been louder, clearer just then. “Am I dying? Is this what starving to death looks like?” Belatedly she amended, “Sounds like?”

There was no answer. Not that Verve had been expecting one; hallucinations rarely co-operated, she imagined.

Now the sun was on its way down, the land was growing dimmer by the minute; she had traveled ever so many miles, and there was nothing to show for it. Frustration gnawed at her mind almost as much as hunger pangs gnawed at her stomach.

Oh, for pity’s sake. Can you not hear me?

Verve shook her head, turned, and ran back in the direction she had come. Full speed was not an option; she would need the remainder of her stores of energy to keep Olive warm that night, and running would deplete them. Soon she slowed to a stroll.

West. Head west.

“Leave me alone,” said Verve.

There was a sigh. Do you need a sign to know I am not of your imagining?

Verve slowed further still. “I have been accused of insanity before. Perhaps my family was right. Perhaps I am just—”

A flash of near-blinding light streaked across the sky. Something, miles and miles away, struck the earth with a thud and a hiss, and then all was still.

Have I got your attention now?

Verve blinked. Again there was an overpowering sense of being watched. She looked about her, raising a protective shield around herself. But as always, no one was there.

Who knew the Fire Queen would be so woolly headed? The voice was bored, the tone droll. It reminded Verve very much of Dacre, but for the fact that it had the same tenor as Fenn’s.

“What do you want?”

Ah, she can listen. Another sigh. Return to your camp, gather your servant and belongings, and head west. You are a day’s journey from the city of—

Verve started running. The voice had gained more clarity, as though someone were perched in the tree branches above, looking down on her and shouting out directions.

Slow down, slow down. You’re hard to reach when you’re running.

She did not slow down, though her energy was flagging and her legs protested. When she arrived back at camp, the orb she had made still glowed brightly, and Olive had fallen asleep. “Olive,” Verve said, stepping through the bubble of protection. “We’ve been found.”

The crone groaned and sat up, blinking and rubbing her eyes. “You found food?”

“No.” She dropped the magic powering the orb and lifted the sack of books. “I said someone’s out there in the…woods.” Verve frowned. All had grown silent. The only noises she heard were Olive’s heart and breathing, plus her own. No living human soul was around for miles. “Odd.” She waited for the voice to speak to her again, and when it did not, she set the books down and scanned the woods surrounding them. It didn’t take through-sight for her to know her ears were right.

Olive scowled at Verve. “You woke me up and extinguished the fire for what reason? To stare stupidly into the distance?”

Verve’s temper flared and it took barely half a thought to create another fire orb. “Someone spoke to me out there.”

“I’m sure they did.” Olive shivered and drew closer to the orb, flopped back down, and curled up in a ball once more. A moment later, she surprised Verve by saying, “You heard someone out there?”

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

Now Olive sat up once more, her eyes widening in horror. “We’ve been found?” Joints creaking audibly, she pulled herself to her feet and looked about. “That must mean there’s a hawthorn nearby….” One look at Verve silenced her.

“There’s no one out there.” Above them, somewhere way up there, someone was watching. She could feel them. When Verve spoke again, her tone was measured, fearful Olive would think her mad. “I think it was some sort of vision.”

Olive blinked. “You saw something?”

“No, but a voice told me to go west, that we were headed in the wrong direction.” Verve hoisted the book sack over her shoulder, one foot pointed toward the fire orb, the other toward the west where the sun was setting. “What if we are going the wrong way?”

Olive sighed. “It wouldn’t hurt us to change direction. We’ve been wandering south-east for quite a few days now.”

Verve smoothed a shaking hand through her hair. “So you think the voice I heard was real?” It was almost too much to hope for.

The woman paused. “Well,” said she, “whether it was real is irrelevant, I think. What really matters is if it was benign or malevolent.” She scanned the wood surrounding them and turned in a slow, deliberate circle. “And you say you don’t hear anyone out there?” Olive did not wait for Verve to repeat herself before lifting her allotment of three canteens from the ground and slinging them over her shoulders.

“There isn’t anyone else out there,” Verve said, her voice gaining more assurance as she mulled over events. “It must have truly been a vision. But can it be trusted?”

“Trusted or not, we can’t keep going on blindly like this. Sometimes, you have to do something before you can discern the director’s intent.”

Verve nodded. “We’ll go west, then, and keep vigilant.”

With renewed purpose powering their steps, the pair picked up their camp and moved onward, setting their sights on the sun.

* * *

They traveled until darkness overcame them and then made camp several miles west of where they had been. Verve kept watch through the night in hopes she would hear the strange voice speak to her again. The hope was in vain. All was quiet.

The next morning, they packed up their meager supplies and began their slow trek westward. Their canteens were now bone-dry, and Verve knew they would have to find a way to replenish them. It was impossible to create drinkable water or edible food from nothing, though Verve knew Fenn could produce water without having any on hand. When she mentioned this to Olive, she had shrugged and said he must wring it out of the air. It made sense, as Fenn had the ability to manipulate water. Verve, on the other hand, wasn’t certain if that was one of her gifts or not.

“If you created a spile, perhaps we could drink the sap of trees,” Olive said after some time. Her breaths clouded the air in front of them, and her joints creaked like breaking sticks.

Verve took pity on the woman and slowed. “There are maples around here. I suppose they would be acceptable.”

Olive licked her chapped lips as if in anticipation. “I’m not going to last much longer, Miss Verity. We need to stop now.” She set down the one canteen she was carrying and collapsed with a groan.

“I’ll make a spile,” said Verve, wondering if she knew enough of the object’s structure to do so. Besides, sap flowed slowly from trees; they might just get a few drops, nothing to satisfy. Still, Olive was right when she said they wouldn’t make it much farther without satiating their thirst. Verve plucked a blade of grass from the earth, closed her eyes, and tried to picture the spiles she had seen during sugaring season back home. Once the image entered her mind, Verve fed her magic, feelings, and intentions into the grass and produced a hollow pick that broadened to a spout on the other end.

“Are you done?” Olive sat up with the first flicker of excitement in her hollow eyes Verve had seen in days.

“Almost.” Verve approached a maple and placed her hand against the bark, which pulsed cold beneath her touch. Like one burned, Verve pulled away with a yelp and studied the tree in bewilderment.

Olive was on her feet. “Is it a hawthorn?”

“No. It – it’s cold.”

Olive pushed past Verve and placed her hand on the maple. The ensuing look she gave Verve was one of disgust. “It’s just a normal tree. Lack of food and water is feeding your imagination.”

Verve clenched her jaw and shoved the spile into the trunk with more force than perhaps was needed. As expected, nothing happened besides a few beads of moisture forming. With a shout of frustration, Verve struck the tree with her fist. At the contact, the tree shuddered, and water gushed forth, soaking Verve’s front. Somewhere overhead, Verve thought she heard someone laughing. “Well, that answers my question.”

“What?” Olive snapped.

Verve turned to face her, and stared down at her own front with a gaping mouth. “I can control water.”

Olive wasted no time in reaching the tree, which now only dripped light drops of sap. She rapped her knuckles on the trunk and nodded. “You’ve tapped this one dry. Try another.”

“Right.” Verve yanked the spile from the maple and moved to another. She thrust the tool into the new tree and struck the bark with her fist again. As she did, Verve became aware of a twisting sensation in the pit of her stomach, one she recognized from before but had thought to be a hunger pang.

Olive drank greedily from the spile as watery sap rushed out. She did not stop until she was satisfied apparently, and Verve let her, though she was parched herself.

In all, they tapped out two trees, one to quench their thirsts, the other to fill their canteens. Verve slung the straps over her shoulder, picked up her books, and they were on their way once more.

Soon the sun shone brightly overhead, filtering down through the tree cover and making Olive look at the canteens they carried with covetous eyes. The woods began to thin suddenly, and in front of them sat a dusty road.

Verve froze and put out a hand for Olive to stop. She could hear carriage wheels rattling and rolling in the distance, men calling out, and women bickering and bartering.

“Miss Verity?”

“We’re close to civilization.” At once she ran a hand down her face and pushed her magic down so she wouldn’t be conspicuous. One look at her trousers, however, reminded her they were in Etterhea and she would stand out like a sore thumb, magic or not. Women didn’t go around wearing men’s attire. They just didn’t. But she wasn’t sure she had the ability to make clothes that fit without help, as Fenn had aided her in the construction of what she wore now.

Olive tamped down her magic as well, her hands shaking. “Where in the world do you reckon we are?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. We’re going to stand out, Olive.”

Olive shrugged. “Better than us starving to death in the woods. Do you have any coin?”

Verve gave her a look. “You know I don’t.”

“Hmm. Do you think you could make some?” She reached down and plucked a yellow flower from the ground. “Just turn it into gold and don’t worry about making it into a coin.”

“Very well.” Verve took the flower, closed her eyes, and fed feelings of desperation and hunger into the blossoms as she forced her magic to work. When she opened her eyes, she was holding a lump of silver.

Olive sighed. “Let me see.” She snatched the newly made metal from Verve and studied it, nodded, and passed it back to Verve. “That should pass. We will at least be able to purchase food and perhaps a room at an inn.”

“Will I be overly conspicuous, though?” Verve placed the lump of silver into her sack of books, which she then swung over her left shoulder.

“Do you mean the fact that you’re carrying several heavy canteens or that you look like you’ve been traveling in the woods for many days?”

Verve paused. “Those are problems bigger than trousers.”

“I would say so.”

In the end, they abandoned two canteens and cleaned up as best they could with the water from them. Again Verve checked her magic before they emerged from the woods and onto the road.

At first they saw no one close by. The nearest travelers were several miles ahead of them. Focusing her eyes, Verve could make out the town in the distance and the sentries that stood atop the wall surrounding it.

You’ll want to find the Library of Aslillian, said the voice from above, startling Verve.

She looked at Olive, but the woman showed no signs of having heard. “Aslillian?” she repeated.

Now Olive gave her a strange look. “Aslillian? We’re headed for the Village of Lost Souls, are we? There’s a Mortal Gate not twenty miles from here.” She swore and spat. “There will be other fae in the city, no doubt. We’ll have to keep our heads down. I’m certain there is a prize for bringing you to the Starsides.”

“There are more Starsides besides Dacre?”

Olive scowled. “Of course there are. They’re scattered far and wide. Don’t worry too much about it; none of them are as powerful as his lordship. I imagine you wouldn’t have much trouble defeating any that came after you, but we want to avoid causing a scene and attracting more attention to ourselves than we no doubt will.”

There was no disagreeing with that. Again Verve slowed her steps to better match the crone’s. “We’ll purchase food first and then see about finding accommodations.” She adjusted the sack she carried.

No. You need to get to the library before it is known you are in the city.

Verve shook her head. The voice was louder than it had been earlier, and it hurt her ears.

“Miss Verity?” Olive frowned in apparent concern.

“You really can’t hear that voice?”

Olive squinted at the trees on their left. “Is someone out there, you think?” Her steps slowed as she unstoppered her canteen and pulled deeply from it.

Never mind if the halfling can hear me or not. There are many fae in this town, and your description will be in the minds of some of them.

“What?” said Verve sharply, causing her traveling companion to slosh water down her own front.

Keep your head down and stay out of the market area. You need information about the Lands of the Dead.

“I have a book on the Lands of the Dead.”

Olive looked around them, her expression darkening. “Shade and shadow. Are you speaking with a specter or some sprite?”

Verve ignored the woman as the voice was talking again.

That book of yours has been tampered with. You’ll see what you are meant to see in it and nothing more.

“How do I know I can trust you, whoever you are?”

A soft gust of wind kicked up dust on the road ahead of them. You are simply going to have to take a chance, Firstblood. Get the information you need on how to find the Gate of the Dead and leave the city at once.

This was far from ideal, trusting a disembodied voice only she could hear. Verve shook her head and turned to Olive. “He’s telling us to get to the library, gather what information we need on the Lands of the Dead, and then leave.” She looked at Olive expectantly, hoping she would have some insight into the matter.

“After we’ve found food. We’re not going to make it very far until we’ve broken this extended fast.” They walked in silence for a few paces as the road sloped upward. Once they had crested the hill, the city came into clearer view, and Olive took another pull from her canteen. “And we’ll want to refill these. I can’t say sap is my preferred beverage.”

“He says to avoid the marketplace.”

Olive blinked at Verve. “He wants us to starve, then?”

“Perhaps—”

“No. We are replenishing our wares. If there’s a place to do that other than the market, this mysterious voice of yours can provide a better solution.”

Verve waited, thinking the voice might offer an answer. When it remained silent, Verve said, “We’ll avoid large crowds and wait for a break in the market traffic. Once we have enough food for the next few days, we leave immediately. Does that sound like a good plan?”

Olive stumbled and Verve caught her. “You’ll need gloves if you don’t want to hurt anyone,” said Olive. “I would make a pair quickly, before we reach the gate.” She nodded to the looming city wall.

The energy it took to magick gloves on an empty stomach made Verve’s head spin, but a quick swig of water helped. They had reached a point in the road where two other paths, one from the right and one from the left, joined together and the way widened considerably. There wasn’t much traffic, just a cart up ahead and a few travelers on foot to the right.

At the center of the wall, which stretched north to south for several miles, was a gateway wide enough to admit two horse-drawn wagons side by side. Atop the entryway there was an iron gate, ready to be lowered at a moment’s notice, apparently, by a guard sitting on the wall next to a lever.

“Try not to look so much like someone eyeing the exits,” whispered Olive.

There are two ways out of this city, said the voice. This is the easiest way. The other gate is on the opposite side of the city, and it is heavily guarded, as it faces the Mortal Gate.

“I’ll avoid it, then.”

That is the quickest route. Travel that way or you will lose a day going around the city. Besides, there are bandits on the roads, and creatures coming to and from Letorheas.

Olive jabbed Verve in the side. “Stop looking at the sky so much. And don’t speak to the voice; others will think you are mad.”

“Perhaps I am.”

The wagon in front of them finally was cleared by a sentry wearing chain mail, and they rolled and rattled through the gate. “Next,” said the sentry.

Verve stepped forward with Olive at her side. The man was holding out his hand, and Verve was uncertain for what, until he sighed impatiently and said, “All weapons need to be declared and examined before you are permitted to pass.”

“I have no weapons,” said Verve, her hold on the pack on her back tightening. “Nor does my companion.”

That made the man’s eyebrows rise. “Well, that is rather foolish of you both. Do you have any traveling papers or form of identification?”

Verve shot Olive a look, but the woman didn’t seem to understand what the man was saying. “We don’t have any papers. I didn’t know we would need any.”

The man shook his head. “No weapons. No papers. You’ll simply have to check in with the registrar so his underlings can assess your threat level.” He passed Verve two red cloth patches the shape of a half moon. “Until such a time as you reach the registrar, keep these on your persons at all times. They identify you as guests of the city that have yet to be approved. If you lose one, the penalty is a two-hundred-mark fine and two days’ imprisonment. Head straight for the registrar and make no stops elsewhere. Next.”

“But where is the registrar?” Verve asked, much to the sentry’s apparent annoyance.

“Two blocks from here, just this side of the marketplace. Large black building. You can’t miss it. Next!”

Verve grabbed Olive by the elbow and pulled her through the gate. A large queue had grown behind them, and there were many impatient mutterings and dirty glances being thrown their way. “Here, take it and don’t lose it.” She passed Olive one of the half moons and clutched the remaining one in her right fist. “We need to make for the registrar’s office.” The crone had slowed, and it took all of Verve’s patience not to drag her.

“We need to register to enter the city?” Her tone was incredulous, her expression dark. “I’ve never heard of such a thing in my part of Etterhea.” Nonetheless, the old woman tucked the fabric in her fist and leaned heavily on Verve. “Let’s hope this registrar isn’t a great distance.”

“Indeed.”

After a matter of steps, they were swallowed up in a crowd of people, though most seemed to have an innate sense to give Verve plenty of room. Twice she nearly became separated from Olive and feared the old woman would be trampled, so she tucked an arm through hers and pulled her closer.

The air stank of sweat and waste, and Verve caught herself before she could retch. A few people gave her strange looks and then headed off in the opposite direction, making signs to ward off evil. But for the most part, no one seemed to pay much mind to the pair, other than to avoid touching them.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Olive asked, her nails digging into Verve’s arm.

Verve held her back as a cart and horse came screaming from a crossroad, nearly clipping an unwary boy who had stepped off the corner. “The sentry said it should be this side of the marketplace.”

“And that is where, exactly?”

“Two blocks,” said Verve, her voice taut. She’d always hated crowds, and this hatred was now compounded by the fear that she might accidentally touch one of them and send them into a fit or worse.

Thankfully, the tall, black building came into view soon enough. “Papers! Have your papers ready,” shouted a sentry to Verve’s left.

Verve pulled Olive along a little more quickly, which unfortunately drew the man’s attention.

“Oi, stop there.”

For a moment, Verve wondered if she should pretend she hadn’t heard. But soon enough, the sentry was there and had grabbed her sleeve, forcing her to stop.

“Did you not hear me?”

Verve looked to Olive. “I—”

“Do you have any identification on your persons?”

Swallowing hard, Verve held out her gloved hand and revealed the red half moon. “No. But I was told—”

“Did he not tell you to head straight for the registrar’s office?” The sentry looked at her more closely then, and his eyes widened considerably.

“That’s where we are going, sir,” said Verve.

The man scowled and snatched the half moon from Verve’s palm. “I don’t want any trouble in my city.”

Verve nodded and made what she hoped was a sympathetic face. “Of course.”

He studied Verve a moment more, and then pocketed the half moon with a sneer. “No good can come of your being here. Leave as quickly as you are able, scum.”

Olive’s grip tightened on Verve’s arm, as though she were afraid Verve would do something rash. “What did he say?”

“Hey,” said Verve as the sentry stalked away. “Hey! I need that badge.”

But the man was swallowed up in the crowd, leaving Verve cursing in his wake. “Blast. I needed that badge or face a huge fine and prison.” She turned to Olive, who not so discreetly moved her own badge behind her back.

“Sorry. I’ve had my share of prison, thanks.”

Verve gripped the woman firmly by the elbow and steered her into an alley, away from the ebb and flow of the crowd. “Let me try to copy it.” She looked around for grass or straw, something insubstantial she could use for transformation. It was all dirt and stone.

“That’s not going to work so well,” said Olive, nodding at the pebble Verve had scooped into her palm.

“Keep watch. I can’t be seen doing this.”

Olive grumbled something about ‘starving’ and ‘nosy onlookers’, but turned to face the mouth of the alley so Verve could get to work. “Pebbles and rocks have too much weight to them. You won’t be able to do more than change its colors, I’d wager.”

“You’re not helping.” Verve closed her eyes and fed magic into the rock, which grew warm in the palm of her hand. When she looked again, the rock had shrunk and done nothing else. With a curse she tossed the pebble onto the ground and then nudged Olive back into the open. She could try to make one from nothing, but that wasn’t a reliable method. “We’ll just have to be careful to avoid scrutiny until I find something I can transform.”

“It might not be duplicable.”

Verve looked up sharply from the road. “How do you mean?”

“It feels very…coarse and – my, I think there might be some Glamour in it. Glamour is very specific to its creator and not possible to copy.” Her grip on the badge tightened. “Should we leave the city at once?”

“Watch where you’re standing,” said a man wearing a turban. He took one look at Verve and his face paled. “Sorry.” And he hurried away.

Verve weighed Olive’s words and frowned. “Why would someone running the city have badges with Glamour in them? This place is full of mortals.”

Olive shrugged. “We’re so close to a Mortal Gate, no doubt there are some fae in leadership here. Perhaps it would be wise of us to avoid the registrar and any city officials, for that matter.” It was her turn to tug Verve out of the way of passersby. She looked at Verve expectantly. “The library?”

“The library. Then we leave.”

* * *

They allowed themselves to be swallowed up in the crowd again, not wishing to stand out to the officials or any busybody who might turn them in. Verve instructed Olive to make certain she didn’t walk into anyone, wishing to use through-sight to locate the building they were looking for. That did not go well. There were so many sights, so many sounds, all of them whirling around Verve, that her senses at once became overwhelmed and she had to return her sight to normal.

“Any help would be appreciated,” Verve said, her eyes on the sky. If the voice was able to understand her over the din, she wasn’t sure. As it was, she heard nothing in response.

After they walked for half an hour in the hottest part of the day, the crowds began to thin a little. Olive moaned. “We need to head to the market to get food. My senses are not so strong, and I can still hear your stomach rumbling.” The tug she gave Verve was weak, and Verve was able to resist it.

“Not an hour ago you asked if we should leave the city for fear of being caught.”

Olive shook her head and straightened. “If we can’t go to the marketplace, then…. There, he has bread.” Her pace quickened as Verve noted whom she was pursuing: a lanky man with a long loaf of bread tucked under his arm. “I’ll keep watch and you convince him to hand it over.”

“It’s too dangerous. I can’t use you-know-what in the open like this.” But Verve found herself matching Olive’s strides and did not stop her when she tapped the man on the shoulder. When he turned, he did not seem particularly disturbed to see the pair, though he wore a slight frown.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Verve swallowed. “Would you mind very much giving us a hunk of your bread? We haven’t had a meal in a while.”

His eyes narrowed. “Then go to the market and buy something. I’m busy.” The man started to leave, and Olive gestured wildly at Verve.

After a moment’s hesitation, Verve ran after the man. “Please, sir. We’ll pay you for the loaf.”

The man waved her away as though she were some pesky fly. “Do I need to summon the town guard?”

She took his sleeve and stopped him. “Please. We’re desperate.”

“Unhand me, you filthy rat.” His hand flew out and struck Verve across the face. At the contact, he fell over, writhing on the ground.

Olive snatched the loaf from him and ran as a few passersby came to a stop to stare at the spectacle of the man foaming at the mouth. This left Verve no choice but to run after her, leaving the poor soul to his fate.

Verve did not stop running, her eyes fixed on Olive, who had just dived into another alley. When she was certain no one had pursued them, Verve folded her arms across her chest and glared. “Well, this is a mess.”

Olive looked over her shoulder at Verve and growled. “You didn’t need to go drawing everyone’s attention.” She met Verve’s stern gaze and took a step back.

“Let’s hope no one got a good look at either of us.” Verve held out a hand and Olive tore the loaf in two with apparent reluctance and passed over one half.

The pair devoured the bread in uncomfortable silence until Olive said, “A woman was staring at you rather intently. I tried blocking you from her view, but it seemed she recognized you.”

“Blast,” said Verve after swallowing the remains of her loaf half. Her stomach twisted. “Why didn’t you say something?” They moved farther into the alley when loud voices drew near.

Olive pulled her down another alley to the left and they kept moving. “Can you shape-change?” she asked abruptly.

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

That seemed to frustrate Olive, but her tone remained patient. “His lordship can change forms. It stands to reason he passed the ability on to you.” They made a quick turn and then another, soon spilling out onto a back road with few occupants.

There were several men who stared at them with open curiosity and perhaps a touch of suspicion but quickly returned to their business and didn’t give the pair another glance. Thankfully, there were no lawmen in sight.

Someone sighed. The library is on the west side of the city, near the other exit. You’ll need to make haste if you wish to reach it before closing, said the voice.

“We need to move more quickly,” Verve murmured to Olive, taking her arm in her own again.

“The voice?”

Verve gave her a curt nod. “Why he didn’t speak sooner is beyond me.”

I’ve been preoccupied with some business. I can’t stand watch all the time, you know.

“No need to get snippy,” said Verve, her tone snippy as well. “I don’t even know who you are and if I can really tr—”

Patrolmen. Go into that shop.

Verve pulled Olive into the store on the right, bumping up against a display of ceramic pots. “Sorry,” she said to the shopkeeper, who gave them a concerned look.

After a moment, the man swore. “Two feeën in my shop? And one a mighty? Bless the Gate, I never thought I’d live to see this.”

“Is there a back way out of here?” asked Verve, looking around desperately as she heard voices outside spouting her description.

The shopkeeper, a squat little man with brown hair and a scraggly beard, practically beamed at them. “Careful where you go, Vuur Koningin. Bad men are everywhere.” He bowed deeply and motioned to a table. “Care for tea? Chao-Scholz is the best of tea merchants in the western seas. You will drink only the finest here. Please, sit.” He pulled out a chair and waited as Olive tugged on Verve’s arm.

Verve’s blood had run cold and she stared at the man in stunned silence for a long moment. “He just called me…Vuur Koningin.”

When she said the words, the man’s smile widened. “I know the name in seven languages.” He pulled down the neck of his shirt and showed a tattoo on his collarbone: a single flaming teardrop. “Given to me by my da; it’s the mark of the Expectant Enlightened. You care for tea, my queen?” He lifted a silver teapot from the table in front of him and gestured to it.

Verve shook the confusion out of her head and stepped forward. “Is there a back exit?”

The man set the pot down and motioned for them to follow him. “No back exit, but there is a back room. Are you in trouble? Saints, but you must be careful here, Majesty.” A line had formed between his eyes and his smile faltered. There were voices outside the shop’s door, and the shopkeeper motioned for Verve and Olive to follow him.

“Why does he think you’re the Fire Queen?” Olive demanded in a whisper as she and Verve hastened after the man. “I speak his language, you know.”

“Sorry, Your Majesty and friend. ’Tis a small room, but you’ll be safe in here.” He opened the door to the back room, a broom cupboard, and all but shoved them inside and closed the door in their faces.

They had hidden not a moment too soon. Verve heard the front door open to admit two people, both with mortal heartbeats.

“Welcome, friends,” said the shopkeeper. “Would you like tea? Chao-Scholz is the best of tea merchants in the western seas. You will drink only the finest here.”

Verve used through-sight to observe what was happening in the shop. Two men dressed in red tunics and black trousers stood in the entryway, their expressions stern and alert.

The taller one, a balding man perhaps in his fifties, said to the shopkeeper, “We’re looking for a woman who’s just been sighted in the city today.” He held up a piece of paper. “She was seen fleeing in this general direction not twenty minutes ago.”

The shopkeeper took the paper from the other man and held it up to the light. “Oh. Criminal?”

The second man shifted his weight, his hand resting on the pommel of the sword at his side. “Something like that. Have you seen her?”

“I might have done.” He lowered his voice, and Verve stiffened. “Chao-Scholz was smoking out front before you came. Saw someone like that and an old woman run past.”

Both men looked at each other. “Her description has been circulating for a month now. Surely you were going to report this incident to the Trusted.”

It was Olive’s turn to go rigid.

“Oh, yes. But Chao-Scholz cannot leave the shop unattended for long and was going to file the report after closing.” He handed the paper back to the balding man.

“What direction did they go?”

The shopkeeper moved toward the door and opened it. “That way.” He pointed in the direction from which Verve and Olive had come.

“You’re certain?”

“Yes, Chao is certain. The old one was limping so you shouldn’t have trouble catching them.” He stepped back and waited as the two men looked at each other.

“Should we summon him, do you think?” asked the smaller of the men.

The one with a balding head made a face. “Not until we’ve apprehended her or have her cornered by enough Trusted.” His shoulders heaved and he turned to Chao-Scholz. “If you see or hear anything more, contact us immediately.”

“Oh, yes. Chao will. Thank you.”

“This woman is wanted for killing some foreign dignitary. It’s of the utmost importance she is brought in alive for questioning. Are you certain she went east?”

Chao-Scholz nodded. “We are certain.”

The shorter man turned. “We?”

Olive closed her eyes, her hand gripping Verve’s arm tightly.

“Chao and his sister,” said the shopkeeper, a slight quaver to his voice. “Laine’s out of the city now. Should be home any day now with fresh teas for customers. Chao’s other sister is the one who saw the pair. Keye just ran home. But I can fetch her, should you need confirmation.”

Verve did not like the look that passed between the two men. If she didn’t know better, she would say Olive was praying silently next to her.

“Perhaps we should risk a bit of our acquisition to explore the building,” said the balding man.

“Why?” said the other. “I don’t smell any residual bursts. Using acquired magic here will alert fae for several blocks.”

Chao-Schulz gestured to the door. “Shop is for paying customers only. Either customers place orders or leave. Please, come or go. You are letting in flies.”

There was another moment’s hesitation on the men’s part, but they at once sprang into action when there was a shout outside the door and an almighty crash. They both ran from the shop, knocking the shopkeeper over in the process.

“Filthy so-called ‘Trusted’.” Chao-Schulz pulled himself to his feet, spat at the men’s departing backs, and shut and locked the door behind them. His heart was racing and he stood in silence for another minute before saying, “You can come out, but no using magic. Chao can’t promise your safety if you do.”

Olive was first in getting to her feet, using Verve to help herself rise. She hesitated a moment, opened the closet door, and looked around the locked and shuttered shop. “It’s safe, miss.” With a nod, she stepped out of Verve’s way and prowled toward the door.

“We can’t leave yet,” said Verve wearily. She closed her eyes, and her sight returned to normal. “There are two men watching this shop right now, and I imagine it’s not because of the tea served here. No offense…?”

“Chao,” he said happily. “And no offense taken.”

Verve glowered at Olive. “What are the ‘Trusted’? And how did those humans know about residual bursts?”

“Careful,” said Olive from the corner of her mouth. She nodded at Chao, who was smiling again.

“He knows what we are, Olive.” Verve scrutinized Chao, who flashed his teeth even as he blushed. “And he didn’t turn us over to those men.”

“The Trusted,” said Chao. “Those men were from the Trusted.”

Olive sighed and sat down with some force in one of the nearest chairs. “I need a drink.”

“Chao gets you tea!” Before Olive or Verve could stop him, the apparently unflappable man disappeared into the kitchen and could be heard striking a match and clattering pots and pans in his wake.

“Well?” Verve demanded.

Olive rested her head in her hands, propped her elbows on the table. “His lordsh—Dacre always talked about forming his own army of middlings, should things go awry with his plans.”

Verve jumped when Chao popped his head through the kitchen doorway and said, “Who wants honey cakes?” When neither woman responded, he disappeared again and knocked what sounded like a whole stack of iron pans onto the floor.

“Middlings have been going missing in Etterhea.” Verve sat across from Olive, her heart sinking. “Fenn was right. This is all connected.”

“You should have told me about the middlings,” Olive said. “This makes things even more urgent.”

Temper flaring, Verve tucked her hands under her bottom so she wouldn’t shoot sparks at the crone. “This isn’t the time to deal out blame. Why is Dacre building an army and why with middlings?”

The look Olive gave her was incredulous. “Middlings are the only mortals who have a one hundred per cent success rate traveling through gateways. And besides.” She leaned back in her chair and met Verve’s stare with her own. “They’re the only mortals upon whom power can be bestowed.”

Fear stirred in Verve’s stomach, making her want to vomit. “So he’s been transforming other middlings?” The room spun as Verve remembered the horrible sensation of water and Dacre’s magical blood filling her lungs. He had held her under, had tried the procedure several times before Fenn had saved her.

“No. Not a full transformation.” Olive looked at Verve with pity in her eyes. “Just what you did for me: a single drop of magical blood down their throat. It would give them some of his magic, which he would still be able to control.” She sat forward and clasped her hands in front of her on the table. “He’s going to use them to come for you or ferret you out. It was his contingency plan.” After making that dreadful statement, she leapt to her feet in a startled declaration as Chao burst out of the kitchen with a plate of scrumptious-looking frosted cakes.

“Water is heating for tea,” said Chao, obviously oblivious to the tension in the room. He set the plate between them and stepped back and frowned. “You need more sustenance? Yes? Chao will return soon with more food.”

Neither woman said anything as the strange man disappeared back into the kitchen. When they were alone once more, Olive sat and Verve lowered her voice to a whisper as her stomach began to clench.

“How do you know this? Olive, have you really been in that prison all this time?” She thought of reaching out, of trying to discern the woman’s motives with whatever extra sense she had, but she stopped herself. Any active use of magic could lead someone right to them, if some of the Trusted truly had the ability to smell residual bursts.

Olive frowned. “Of course I have. But this was decided upon long before you were dragged from your realm.”

Verve sat forward, waiting. When Olive hesitated, Verve slammed her hand down on the table, causing her to flinch. “We don’t have time for this. You need to tell me everything you’ve been holding back, and don’t say you haven’t been hiding things, because—” she gestured toward the door the Trusted had come in, “—that makes it obvious you have.”

Chao chose that moment to enter the room once more and set down a veritable feast in front of them: cold chicken and tongue, bread rolls, carrots mixed with snow peas and tossed in something that smelled like vinegar, and some unidentifiable dish that was clear and also gelatinous. After he filled the table to near overflowing, he gestured at the feast and bellowed, “Eat. Tea needs longer.”

“Thank you, but we can’t pay for this,” said Verve.

But the man bowed away from the table and returned to the kitchen without another word.

Verve turned back to Olive. “Well?”

Trembling with some barely suppressed emotion, the crone nodded and stared at a spot over Verve’s shoulder. “Do you really think you were the first Lord Dacre Starside believed to be the Fire Queen?” Her words were bitter, venomous, and it was Verve’s turn to recoil slightly.

“I know I wasn’t. There were two or three other attempts—”

Olive’s hiss silenced Verve. “Oh, you were the first attempt, but before you, there were two other young women from Etterhea his lordship believed fulfilled the conditions of the prophecies. One died shortly after arriving in Letorheas. The other…well, I think you can guess who the other middling was.” She held up a hand to waylay Verve’s words. “He said he loved me and was going to make me his forever. Young, foolish, and in love myself, I thought he knew what was best and was going to go along with whatever he wanted. Until I overheard him being advised to end me, that I was not the one prophesied.” Olive sniffed angrily. “So, I ran away. He hunted me for days, all the way to the nearest Mortal Gate. By the time he found me, I was half-dead. Pity took over and he fed to me a drop of his power, reviving me and binding me to him.” She shrugged and stared at the food, her eyes glassy. “He looked after me for a while, kept me close and allowed me to think I was still special, and I tried to be grateful. But when I started getting old and gray, his attention turned elsewhere and it became harder and harder not to grow bitter.” Olive sighed. “From the time he started forgetting about me to the time your arrival seemed imminent, sixty years had passed.”

Verve processed this information quietly, cringing every time Chao made an excited exclamation to himself in the kitchen. At length, she broke the silence. “But if you were forgotten, how did you know about the Trusted and his plans for them?”

“You must understand, Miss Verity, that forgotten people are invisible people.” She smiled ruefully. “I could go almost anywhere on the estate, do almost anything – except leave – without so much as a batting of anyone’s eye. It was forgotten by those important to Dacre that I might have conflicting interests, and they spoke openly in places I could hear. It would seem the idea of my escaping or communicating with a soul outside of the household didn’t occur to those arrogant fools. I didn’t know about the Trusted until a glimpse of the Cunning Blade had been sighted. Some mortals stumbled into Letorheas, found the blade, and ran off with it. Anyway, I overheard Dacre’s advisors discussing his plans to bring a mortal to Letorheas, one that supposedly had information about the blade’s whereabouts. That might have been the intent, or it might have been a ruse, but one thing quickly became clear: he had studied the prophecies and knew he would need more than his own might to control you.”

The kitchen door swung open and Chao strode out, a cup on a saucer in each hand. When he looked at the table, his smile faded. “Queen and her company should eat.” He set a cup in front of each of them and pulled up a chair and sat sideways on it.

Verve blinked away her confusion and stared at the sliver of light leaking beneath the shop’s door. Perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed to have dimmed considerably from when they had first hurried inside. “What time is it?” She nodded to Olive, hoping she could convey to the woman that they would discuss her history and knowledge more once they were alone again.

“It is past the midday hour. Chao wonders why it is so dark.” Chao got to his feet and moved toward the shop’s one window, which had been shuttered the entire time Verve and Olive had been there. Before either could warn him, the man pulled back an inch of the fabric and peered out. “Ah. Storm is coming.” To Verve’s relief, he covered the window once more. “Strange. Bad weather not in Chao’s forecast.”

“You predict the weather here?” Olive asked incredulously.

“Oh, yes. Chao is an excellent forecaster.” He returned to the table and gestured once more at the food. “An excellent forecaster who will be very sad if you let good food go to waste, yes?”

To placate the man and her now-growling stomach, Verve picked up a chunk of dark chicken meat with her bare hands – as there was no serving utensil – and tore into it. “Aren’t you afraid of being hanged? Burned at the stake? Disemboweled?” Perhaps she oughtn’t be so forceful and blunt, but she couldn’t bring herself to mince words just then.

Chao laughed heartily but stopped once he saw she wasn’t joking. “It is science. Nothing is wrong with science. Or magic,” he added. He smiled when Olive picked up a roll and bit into it. “Good, yes?”

Lost in thought, Verve didn’t answer but continued eating. She paused as she reached for a roll and her heart took off at a sprint. “How accurate would you say your weather forecasts are, Chao?”

A line formed between the man’s eyes but soon smoothed out as he grinned. “Chao’s forecasts? Oh, Chao predicted the Storm of Fish ten years ago. You see, great swirling winds drew fish from the canal and – BAM!” He slammed his fist on the table, causing both she-fae to jump. “Fish raining from the heavens. It was an amazing sight, and Chao predicted it. Well, not the fish, but the strength of the storm.” He turned a quizzical eye on Verve.

“Olive, can weather-makers control weather in Etterhea?”

The old woman did not seem pleased by Verve’s use of fae words in front of the mortal shopkeeper but did not comment on it. Instead, she said, “The very powerful ones can, yes. But, goodness, you don’t think someone would be trying to control the weather over the city?”

Verve stood, wiping her hands on her torn and already-soiled trousers. “I don’t know.”

“What purpose would it serve?”

Thunder rattled the shop and violet-colored lightning flickered beyond the dark curtains. The small hairs on Verve’s arms stood on end, and a reflexive growl tore itself from her throat. “It’s a signal,” she said without knowing how she knew. Her stomach twisted and her palms grew slick. “Dacre’s being summoned.”