“You have a daughter of age, old woman?” He looks right at me as he asks the question, so I naturally find him to be quite stupid.
“Old?” Mama scowls and pushes her shoulders back. “You need to look again, Daylander.”
The other one snorts, his head also grazing the thatch ceiling. “Changelings all look the same to me.”
Mama puts her hands on her hips and gives him a look that usually makes people wince. “What’s your business here, your lordliness?” The sneer at the end is perfection.
Too bad the tall one doesn’t seem to appreciate it. He jerks his chin at me. “Take her.”
His companion pulls me up by my elbow.
“Hey!” On pure instinct, I try to yank free of him.
“Unhand my daughter. What do you think you’re doing?” Mama backs away and reaches for the rolling pin.
“Mama.” I shake my head vehemently, fear sinking into my gut like a cold blade. Striking a high fae is punishable by death, and Mama is just crabby enough to try it.
“Bring her,” the tall one says. “Let’s go.”
The other one drags me toward the door. I stop fighting. There’s no point. The high fae rule us, and the Daylander high fae? They’re untouchable.
“Release my daughter.” Mama follows us into the street, her red hair flying out behind her.
“She must be inspected along with all the rest.” The tall one strides to the next stone cottage and bangs on the door.
“Inspected?” Mama runs after me.
“Go back. Please, Mama.” I don’t want to be dragged through the street, but I can’t fight the fae. I tried that once. It didn’t end well. My mother, though, she still has the same iron in her spine that led her to boot my philandering father, raise me on her own, and become the head seamstress for all the nearby Nightland lords.
“I will not go anywhere. Not without my daughter.” She stomps along behind us, but the tall soldier darts out and grabs her, then backhands her across the face. The loud smack reverberates against the stone road, and I try to dig in my heels.
“Where are you taking her?” She falls to her knees in the street as screams sound from all over our small village.
“Mama!” I can see the trickle of blood flowing from her lip. But she can’t save me. No one can. The fae soldier is too strong.
“Where are you taking her?” she cries and struggles to her feet.
“Stay down, changeling.” The soldier wraps his arm around my waist and carries me at a faster clip, the night embracing my mother and hiding her from view. “Your daughter will have the honor of being offered as the king’s consort.”
2
Solano
I don’t want a consort. Irlirin snorts her agreement as we ride through the dark wood at the edge of Moonhollow, the changeling village. I stroke her mane and turn to Brock. “This is ridiculous. I don’t need a changeling harem. I’m not the same fae as my father.”
“It’s custom.” Brock peers through the odd gloom, the shadows changing as we move beneath the trees. “We take ten from the Nightlands. The night king takes ten from our lands. It keeps the selections fresh and prevents the changelings from trying to take back their females. Not to mention, it solidifies the bond between our realms.”
“It’s idiotic. If I wanted a mistress, I have an entire court of high fae to choose from. Not to mention our changelings in the Daylands. And the bond between our realms? Are you serious? Our borders have been under quiet attack for months. King Sigrid is waging a war against us, yet we continue to make nice with him through this farce?”
“The selection is tradition, and we have no proof that Sigrid is behind the attacks.” Brock knows the court rules better than I ever could. He served my father, and now he serves me. “A king must have his needs met. And it’s far safer to have a collection—”
“Harem. It’s a harem, Brock.” My tone is sober.
He persists, “A collection of changelings—all of whom are thoroughly vetted—for you to choose from. To satisfy you until you find your fated mate amongst the high fae. This is the way it’s been for millennia.” He casts me a sideways glance. “It was good enough for your father, was it not?”
I’m not my father. But I can’t say that out loud. So I stop protesting. There’s no point. Instead, I watch the fireflies and listen for the owls that roam the air above our heads. The Nightlands have always fascinated me, the darkness silky but not absolute. But I can’t concentrate on the newness or the wonders around me in the starlit evening, not when I’m required to select ten changelings from the village here. And not when I know the ruler of these lands seeks to overthrow the delicate balance between our realms.
“The incursions are increasing. Every month, more farms burned and villagers disappearing. And I know it’s Sigrid.” I turn and stare into the dark toward the south where the stone castle of night waits, brooding under the moonlight. Though I’ve only visited a few times when I was much younger, I still dream about its obsidian walls and the staircases that seem to go on forever. So different from the Shard of Day, the day realm’s palace with its crystal spire and white stone walls.
“He’s promised an investigation into the raids.” Brock grunts. “Which does make him seem more guilty, frankly. The night realm never offers anything to its neighbors. We’re only here because the law between the realms requires this changeling exchange. He’d never give up anything willingly.”
King Sigrid has become a stronger foe—one that pretends to be an ally—ever since my father went to the Glowing Lands. It makes sense. He sees a young, untried king on the day throne and wants to see how much he can push before I fight back. Even so, I doubt he’s ready for the swift reprisal I’ll bring down on his head once I have definitive proof that the attacks are by his soldiers.
We pass a few night farms, the fields full of the few crops that will grow here. The black cherries lining the lane are in bloom, their blood-red flowers littering the ground as we go by.
A wagon creaks behind us, the edges gilt in golden hues, the inside littered with the finest silks and pillows for our cache of purloined females.
I shouldn’t be here. I should be back in my court and discussing the threat along our borders. Instead, I’m upholding this utterly archaic tradition.
We approach the village without fanfare. Torches burn along the cobblestone road, and there seems to be a commotion up ahead. A scream cuts through the night, and I reach for my sword.
Brock gives a slight shake of his head. “The selection process isn’t without difficulty, but we are perfectly safe.”
“I know I’m safe. I was more concerned for whoever let out that gut-wrenching scream.”
“Don’t worry yourself.” He sighs. “You are still so young, my lord. But you will soon see the way of things. The changelings are not your people. They have no magic and no place in the realms except for their work.”
“And as members of my harem.” I release my sword and stroke Irlirin’s mane again. “Let’s not forget that.”