In a whoosh, a torrent of water falls from above, cascading down the burning timbers and splashing on the dry hay.
It’s Solano. I wonder at him as he uses magic to scoop an even bigger pool of water from the stream and sends it crashing down on all the flaming spots. How can he control fire and water? I’ve never seen any fae so powerful.
He rides back as the carriage stops in front of the now-smoldering farmhouse.
My knuckles have gone white as I grip the window frame, and I pull my hands back.
“You!” Solano points at a group of soldiers. “See if there’s a trail to the south. Capture the villains if you can. I want answers.”
“Sire.” They mount their horses and ride away as the other soldiers work to extinguish any lingering flames in the fields of grain.
The smell of charred flesh almost overwhelms me, and when I get a closer look, I see that there are six bodies. Two are adults, but the other four ... My gorge rises, and suddenly the carriage is too small, the space too tight. I open the door and almost fall out, but I keep my feet. Bending over, I just try to breathe, but nothing can rid that scent from my nose or the taste from my tongue. The smallest one was nothing more than a baby. It’s still clutched in its mother’s arms. My stomach churns, and I vomit what little I have. It splashes on the slick shoes Mama made me wear, and my eyes water as I try to catch my breath.
A warm hand on my back sends comfort through me, and I stand as best I can.
“You’re safe.” Solano’s eyes are hard now, no more teasing. “Stay here.” He strides toward the bodies.
Brock already kneels beside them, his gaze roving over the blackened remains.
“Any sign of what attacked them?” Solano drops to his haunches.
“No.”
I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my dress. Closing my eyes, I send a prayer to the Ancestors that this family is welcomed to the Glowing Lands with love and warmth. And I add another request—that whoever did this pays with their life.
“They can’t be far.” Solano rises and peers toward the Nightlands. “We’ve only missed them by minutes.”
“If they’re here, the soldiers will find them.” Brock doesn’t sound too convinced.
“Why?” I can barely hear my own voice, but Solano turns to me.
“We don’t know.” His frustration crackles in a crown of fire atop his golden hair. “Attacks along the Nightlands border have been increasing.”
“My people?” I shake my head. “We would never do something like this.”
“Not changelings, no.” He and Brock share a glance, and then Solano calls more soldiers over to him. “Give them the funeral rites favored by their people.” He glances up as other lesser fae and a few changelings arrive, likely from neighboring farms.
One in particular storms up, his wings small and bent. They’re too weak to be of use, and they’ve seen rough days, just like the lesser fae who bears them.
“They slaughter us, and you do nothing!” He points at the king. “This is the third attack in a month. We’re dying. What are you going to do to stop it?”
Solano steps forward. “I understand your anger, and I share it. I’ve increased border patrols, and I’ll station additional soldiers to protect the roads and your farms.”
“Patrols? Against what?” He looks up. “There’s nothing here. There never is. Whatever stalks us does so with ease and then slinks away. It leaves no survivors to tell what happened.”
A female changeling kneels next to the bodies, and her tears and sobs grow louder as she reaches a hand toward the charred infant, then draws it back. Another lesser fae goes to comfort her, but there’s nothing that can lessen the grief that resonates from the changeling. I can feel it, and it draws tears from me like water from a well.
“You and the rest of your nobles sit up at the Shard of Day and don’t care who farms your fields and stocks your tables. You don’t care if we’re carried off or killed.” The farmer’s voice rises as more lesser fae and changelings assemble behind him, some wary, some nodding in agreement.
“You forget your place.” Brock strides up and glowers, but he doesn’t stand even with Solano. He keeps back a few steps.
“My place? To die like that?” He points to the bodies and the wailing mourners then spits on the ground at Brock’s feet. A grave insult, one I’ve seen earn a beating in the night realm.
Brock steps forward. “You—”
“Stay.” Solano holds a hand out, and Brock stops, then backs down despite the thunderous look on his face.
“I will find this evil, and I will root it out.” King Solano approaches the lesser fae with the broken wings. “We are all part of the day realm. We are all one people.”
Someone in the crowd snorts in derision.
“One people?” The broken-winged fae shakes his head. “We die. You do nothing. We work. You take everything we make. The nobles are the only ‘people’ the day realm recognize. Your father—”
“I’m not my father.” Solano’s tone takes on an authority that seems to give the angry farmer pause. “And I swear by the magic, that I will destroy whatever enemy targets my people.” He holds his hand out, and the lesser fae is truly off balance now. In the night realm, high fae never make promises to lesser fae or changelings. One high fae soldier explained it to me thusly: “Why make an agreement with a dog? The beast can’t understand it.”
My nausea finally passes, and I stand straighter as the farmer considers the king, then reaches his hand out and grips Solano’s forearm. Orange sparks bind their forearms, the sun’s heat flashing between them as their agreement is inked in magic.
I look at Solano with new eyes. Maybe he’s different. Maybe he’s not some playboy king who doesn’t know what he’s doing.
“Thank you.” The farmer seems just as stunned as I feel.
Solano nods, then breaks his hold. “My soldiers will help with the funeral rites and stay to assist in sorting out the damage. The rest of you,” he raises his voice to the crowd. “Your king will see this through. I have freely made this vow, and I intend to make good on it. More troops, more supplies, and more involvement from the Shard of Day are just the start.”
They whisper amongst themselves, and it’s as if someone opened the flue and the chimney smoke escapes into the open air. The temperature cools, and the farmers disperse somewhat, many of them helping with the remaining fires and others joining the mourners.
I lean against the charred fencepost as the sun bathes my skin in warmth despite the chill that’s settled inside me at the grim scene. The sun’s heating sensation is odd, nothing like the glow of the moon, though I feel no pain. Grimelda is as good as her word—the ward she placed on me is a perfect barrier. The tickling sensation of light along my skin is made even odder when Solano approaches, his gaze still intense as he looks me over.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” I wipe a shaking hand across my clammy forehead. Here in the sun, his eyes are a deep bronze fleck with lighter bits of gold, and his skin is yet another shade of gold, warm and inviting.
“You don’t look it.” He takes my elbow and escorts me back to the carriage. “You look pale—” He amends, “Paler than usual.”