Page 41 of Faerie Fate
I maintained eye contact with the direwolf until he broke it, blinking, closing his lips to cut off his panting.
“I really appreciate everything you’ve done and are still doing. Keep an eye out for us but make sure you stay out of sight,” I said.
Noren rolled his eyes and took off into the forest without a backwards glance. Fussy direwolf. I rose and dusted my hands on the front of my stolen tunic.
“All right, let’s go.” I strode forward faster than I would have normally walked. Partly to prove to myself that I wasn’t weak.
But mostly so Mike could see it. Mike and Bronwen struggled to keep up before the latter fell into step beside me.
“You don’t have to go so fast,” she griped, still looking a little green around the gills. “Please?”
I automatically slowed for her. “I’m sorry. Time travel really took it out of you, didn’t it?”
“If I could shift to a crow and fly into the past, I’d do that instead,” she insisted. “This inherent magic that comes withbeing fae… I’ve never figured mine out. But it’s definitely not time manipulation.”
My muscles tightened with nerves the further we walked toward Mirwen, which Mike kept insisting was “just a little bit further” for the next hour at least.
I stole glances at him, taking in the stoic lines of his profile and those familiar, well-loved features. I thought I’d seen every inch of him before now. No more lies. That’s what we told ourselves. We were going to be completely honest with each other after he discovered my part in the secret society, the Claw & Fang.
But more secrets grew where we’d uprooted the last ones.
I’d gotten better at reading him, though. I knew the look of his disgust and the way he tamped it down like a good little monarch in training.
“Don’t ask again,” Mike warned before Bronwen had a chance to do exactly that. “We’re almost there.”
Bronwen feigned a gasp. “Is the prince giving me attitude?”
It drew a small, tight smile from Mike but it was more than we’d gotten out of him since our arrival.
I stowed my worry for as long as it took to get us to our destination. But worry, like weeds and secrets, also has a terrible ability to pop up when you want it gone.
Finally, the narrow road widened enough to allow two carts to pass at the same time and a smattering of buildings spread out from the trees. A rolling field met the slight rise of a low plateau leading up to the base of the mountains no longer in the distance. Cleared by magic or not, the field was just open enough for the buildings and two large farms before the forest resumed its supremacy.
“This looks more like someone dropped a handful of Legos and they fell into the shape of a ‘town’. I’m using air quoteshere,” Bronwen said. She took another step, her hands on her hips, and Mike said nothing.
“You’ve got a good point,” I muttered.
My fingers twitched and although I felt Noren close, not having him right at my side felt like I’d lost a limb.
Mirwen, at this point, was nothing more than a few homesteads.
Mike stared at the buildings like he expected them to multiply right in front of his eyes, his brow furrowed. “The tavern is at the center of town. If it’s here, anyway.”
Across the field, settled against the slight swelling hill, a church steeple cut into the spotless blue sky and the dotting of gray headstones marked the cemetery beyond it.
Several houses spanned out from there and the road went straight through the village, showing the absolute nothingness beyond it. The dirt road would probably carry on through the field and up the crest of the rising mountains in the background, changing to rocky outcroppings.
Despite the cloudless sky and the blazing sun, a deep chill settled inside of me. I glanced for half-hidden enemies among the tangle of tree trunks and the houses ahead.
“Well, Tavi? You coming?”
I blinked, realizing Bronwen and Mike were paces ahead. I tried to unknot the tangle in my head and came up short, jogging to catch up.
This was a strange place. Or maybe all towns in Faerie three hundred years ago were this isolated, happy to be nestled against the forest. The nearest house had its windows battened shut and a harsh clatter rose from inside it. The chimney belched smoke; someone was cooking.
The tavern not only existed but turned out to be a two-room building with a pointed roof and a gleaming copper cap that forced it to stand out from its neighbors. A smattering ofhouses crowded against the tavern, taking shelter in the sturdy structure of the new build, but outside of the bar and a church, Mirwen was still in its infancy.
Before I lost the last of my bravery, I marched with the others in tow toward the front door. A sign above the door, carved by magic, boasted the name of the tavern.
