Page 1 of Empire of Flame and Thorns

CHAPTER ONE

You’d think that being a part of a badass secret resistance movement would involve something a lot more glamourous than sitting on a cold stool, wrist-deep in fish guts. But apparently not.

Shifting my weight on the wooden stool, I discreetly scan the street around me for dragon shifter patrols while I continue to gut the mountain of fish waiting for me in the buckets below my stall. Only other fae like me occupy the street at the moment. Or maybe not exactly like me. As far as I know, the young brown-haired guy a little farther to my left is the only other member of our resistance group out here. Everyone else on this particular street is a civilian. Mostly because the real action, the actual important work that the resistance is doing, is taking placeinsidethe building behind me.

A chilly fall wind whirls down the street, tugging at my clothes and my long silver hair. I resist the urge to raise my hand and push a stray strand out of my face since it would only smear fish guts across my cheek. Instead, I flex my cold fingers around the knife handle in an attempt to get some warmth back into my hands.

Gutting fish might not be the most desirable job ever, but after the dragon shifters slaughtered all the dragon riders and conquered the Seelie Court, we lost the ability to decide our own lives, so I can’t really choose anything else. It has been millennia since then, and generations have come and gone for both our races, but they still rule over us with the same brutal iron fist.

But not for long. Or at least, not if we can finally organize a strong enough resistance to overthrow them.

I cast a discreet but very longing glance up at the windows high above me. The leaders of the resistance are meeting somewhere in there. Plotting. Scheming. Discussing crucial plans and making important decisions. I so desperately want to be in there. But instead, I’m out here. Gutting fish.

A faint clanking sound comes from the left.

My heart leaps into my throat, and I snap my gaze towards it.

Jeiman, the young brown-haired guy who is also watching the street, frantically tries to straighten the stack of copper pots that he almost knocked over.

I shoot him a look before returning my gaze to the street.

Mabona’s tits, how did I get stuck with him for this job? I’ve been working for the resistance for years, and yet I’m still assigned as a lookout together with this damn rookie who started last month. I should have moved up the ranks by now. I should be inside, helping them plot and scheme. Not sit out here as if I’m some fresh recruit that needs to prove herself. I have proven my loyalty. And yet, they still don’t trust me.

Stabbing my knife into the wooden board before me, I blow out a bitter sigh before reaching down to switch from the now empty bucket to one filled with dead fish. Another cold wind rushes between the buildings. The few fae civilians who are walking down the street flip their collars up against the chill. One particularly miserable-looking guy stops right in the middle of the road and heaves an endless sigh.

Behind me, warmth and the soft murmur of voices spill out from the door to the tavern.

The miserable-looking fae man turns towards it. Then he abandons whatever it was that he was doing and instead marches straight through the door and into the tavern’s alluring warmth.

I can’t really blame him. It’s an overcast and chilly afternoon, and the winds that keep rushing between the rows of wooden buildings aren’t exactly helping either. I once more flex my hands to get some warmth back into my fingers while wishing that I was indoors, doing something important at the meeting upstairs.

Though I suppose I can’t be too bitter about the fact that the higher-ups still don’t trust me. They barely trust each other. They always wear masks at their meetings so that no one knows who they really are. It’s to keep the resistance safe in case one of them is captured. If they don’t even know who their co-conspirators are, they can’t have that information tortured out of them by the Shadow of Death.

A ripple pulses through the air.

My breath catches.

There is no sound. No movement. Nothing in sight.

But something is wrong. I can feel it.

The fae on the street tense up. Then quickly hurry down the road.

One second later, a dragon shifter patrol rounds the corner and marches onto the street.

My heart jerks.

Shit.

While twisting as if reaching for another fish to gut, I discreetly smear some of the slimy stickiness that coats my fingers on the window behind me. Another lookout, who will be mixed in with the civilians inside the tavern, will see that markand sprint upstairs to inform the leaders of the resistance that it’s time to get the hell out.

I keep an impassive expression on my face as I pick up the fish that I pretended to reach for while keeping one eye on the dragon shifters.

They look like humans. Or at least what I think humans look like, since I have never seen one in real life. Only fae live in the Seelie Court. Well, fae and some shifters from the Red Dragon Clan who are here to make sure that we remain exactly where they want us. Which is on our knees and underneath their heel.

Gray light from the overcast sky falls on their red leather armor as they continue in my direction. Thankfully, they don’t appear to be in a hurry. If they continue at that pace, our resistance leaders will be able to leave the building by the back door before they can make it inside the tavern.

I place the fish I picked up on the wooden board of my stall. Now, I just need to?—

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