Page 38 of Faerie Fate
This was a different valley than the one where Eahsea rested. None of the progress I’d gotten used to in Faerie existed yet.
I swallowed my surprise. Soon the field was behind us and the ruts in the road deepened. We rounded a corner, the road split into two distinct paths, and wordlessly Bronwen and I headed left, away from the forest.
A stone hut with a blistering forge inside turned the interior molten. A small cluster of houses centered around a meadow with a stacked stick fence and several grazing horses inside.
“This is fucked up,” Bronwen whispered.
Noren crouched in front of us, his head swiveling left to right in protector mode.
“Am I the only one who feels like we’ve been thrown into a Medieval Times?” she added with an exhale.
“What the hell is a Medieval Times?” Mike grunted, his voice slurring.
“It’s this giant arena where people go to eat and see a show. There are knights on horseback, jousting, all kinds of things,” I explained. Poorly, of course. But Bronwen had a point.
Hoofbeats sounded behind us before a voice called out, “On your right!”
The rider passed us, gawking, and spurred his horse to a faster trot.
A woman called out a greeting as he passed her, then cut off in fear when her gaze landed on us. Noren growled and the woman disappeared into her house with a swish of her dress and a slammed door.
Mike’s strides grew steadier the longer we walked, and sweat beaded along my brow and between my shoulder blades. Without the benefit of clouds in the sky, we had uninterrupted glare, and the heat and exertion warmed my muscles.
Another woman, dirt smudging her face, called out to her neighbor while she cast a spell to beat her rug with a poker. She stopped when she saw us, her features twisting into shock. These people were fae without a doubt.
“Did you know about this?” Bronwen asked Mike, supporting his weight. “The, ah?—”
“Homesteading?” I tried to supply it with false cheer.
“The mass poverty,” Bronwen corrected bitterly. “These people aren’t rich. They look like they’re starving.”
“I guess,” he replied. His gaze fixed on the rider disappearing in a cloud of dust on the road ahead of us. “The general consensus by palace historians was that every other territory in Faerie suffered. Not ours. The king’s city, from what I’ve heard, has always been wealthy.”
“Maybe your father, but clearly not his people.”
And we stood out in our modern clothing. Our cloaks stood out in the worst way. The more we walked, the more strange looks we garnered from the locals.
“My father isn’t in power yet. Soon, I think. My grandfather ruled during the time of the Great Pixie War but he lost his life on the front lines. That’s when Tywin took over.” Mike missed his next step and stumbled, forcing Bronwen and me off balance with him.
One fae woman with a child let out a squeak and hustled her kid away from us, stopping their play.
We needed different clothes immediately or we’d never get anyone to talk. I licked my cracked lips, clearing my throat. Noren darted ahead and nipped at butterflies darting above reedy stalks of pink flowers.
There weren’t many houses around us yet. If we were close to a village, then we’d have a way to walk before we made it to the heart.
I gently unpeeled myself from Mike, who looked almost relieved to be free of me, and gestured for him to stay with Bronwen while I scouted.
“I’ll find us some clothes. Okay? Just rest.”
Bronwen dropped gratefully down in a patch of soft grass while Mike collapsed on his back.
Another set of riders passed us at a faster clip than the first. The road was busy. The angle of the sun probably put us around midday. Where was everyone, though? Most of the farms we passed were silent with only a few, like the riders and the children, out in the open.
Which would work in my favor, for sure, since I’d have to steal the clothes. If I could steal a car, then I could grab some laundry. Easy, right?
I looked for laundry lines but saw none.
Frustrated, I quickened my pace back to Mike and Bronwen. Together, we made our way down the road further, until the path widened and the houses grew closer. A magic-made wall of wood about eight feet high separated the rest of the village from the outskirts of the manor house. Or did they call it a keep? History had never been my strong suit.
