Brock gives a long-suffering huff. “This is necessary, my lord.”
“Then let’s get it over with.” I speed our pace, each step toward the center of town adding to my irritation. Am I not capable of choosing females from among my own people?
Taking changelings from the Nightlands may be tradition, but it’s one I don’t need.
3
Emma
The choosing stage is already set up, the old beams forming a platform where at least twenty young women stand in the dark. The bonfire is just now jumping to life as the gruff high fae shoves me onto the stage.
“Emma.” Imelda stands next to me, her brown eyes wide. “Why are we here? We’re too old.”
“Where’s Clenton?” I scan the growing crowd.
“He’s gone to fix the well at Gray’s Peak. Tele and Lira went with him, their first trip.” Her eyes water. “What if they take me? What if I never see my children again?”
“They won’t. You’re married.” I grab her hand. “That’s against the rules.” Is it? I don’t know, but surely anyone who’s already married with children can’t be taken as a consort.
I peer down the row of women, some crying, some solemn. Lysetta stands in the middle of the platform, her shoulders thrust back so her ample chest is on display. She’s desperate to be chosen, and I wish her all the luck the Ancestors can bestow.
The villagers stir, agitated by the unexpected violence from their sunny neighbors. Too many of us have been rounded up. Does the king intend on taking more than ten?
Mama pushes through the throng and stands just beneath me, blood still staining her lip.
“Are you all right?” I drop to my knees and reach for her, but a Dayland guard steps between us.
“I’m fine, girl.” She glares at the guard. “Stand up, make a good showing.” She plays it tough, but I can hear the wobble in her voice. As much as she talks about the good fortune of being a consort, she sure seems worried.
“I’m too old,” I reassure her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Imelda?” She turns her gaze to my friend. “Why are you here?” Mama puts her hands on her hips, thunderclouds gathering on her brow. “You can’t be a consort!”
“I know.” Imelda implores the guard as more girls are hefted up to the choosing stage. “I have a husband and children. Please, let me go. I’m not supposed to—”
“You will do as you are commanded.” His tone is gruff, verging on violent.
Imelda bursts into tears as I pull her up and wrap my arm around her.
“This is an outrage.” Mama’s voice rises, and the villagers nearby join in her yells, their anger like a red ribbon in the night. “No summer king has ever taken a wedded changeling as a consort, much less a mother.” She continues, her scolding tone particularly familiar to me.
“Take heart.” I squeeze Imelda’s arm to get her attention, then jerk my chin to the back of the stage. They’ve erected it too close to the old millhouse, the black-leaved bushes growing up wild and thick on the edge of the wooden platform.
She meets my eyes and takes a deep breath. “Should we?”
The guard has walked away from us, his hands in the air as he tries to quiet my mother. I could tell him that it’s an impossibility, but instead, I ease Imelda back, the two of us shrinking away from the light of the bonfire and into the dense leaves. She can’t be taken to the day realm, not when she has a husband and children who rely on her. I won’t let it happen.
Jumping down, I wince as the branches scrape my legs, but I hold my hand out to Imelda, and she follows. Making as little noise as possible despite the scratching branches, we fight through the bushes and creep around to the back of the mill. Everyone’s in the square, and the riotous noise grows louder by the second.
“Where can we hide?” She peers toward the road.
“Not that way.” I point to the wall that separates Moonhollow from the woods. “This way.” Pulling her with me, I hurry across the grassy yard and press myself against the moss-covered wall. Making a stirrup with my hands, I bend my knees. “Step here and jump over.”
She backs up a little, then comes at me on a run. With a punishing step on my hands, she launches herself to the top of the wall, slings her leg over, then reaches down for me.
I jump, but I can’t grab her hand. She’s too far, and too exposed sitting up there like that. “Go!” I wave her away. “I’ll sneak around to the road.”
“It’s too dangerous,” she hisses.
“I can do it.” I shoot a look at the road. It’s quiet enough, no wagons or horses about. Everyone’s at the village center. I wave her away again. “Run! Head for the peak and don’t look back.”
“I’ll wait for you there.” She throws her other leg over and drops from view. “Thank you, Emma,” barely makes it to my ears.
I crouch lower and scoot along the wall. The square is quieter now. Maybe the day king has arrived to make his selections. I roll my eyes as I hop over a fairy house, the light inside flickering. With quiet steps, I creep to the road. All I have to do is get past the wall, and I can hide in the trees beyond until the Daylanders are gone. Those sunstruck fools can’t find me in my deep, velvety dark woods.
When I’m certain the way is clear, I dart to the worn road and break into a run. I get about five steps before I’m hauled up by the back of my dress, a scowling Daylander dangling me from his horse as he rides into the city.
4
Solano
“Get your hands off me, sunlover!” The changeling struggles in Brock’s grip and tries to kick him, but she can’t get close enough to do any damage.
“You should be on the choosing stage.” Brock shakes her.
“Let go of me!” Her red hair hides her face, but she fights like some sort of wild creature, her nails scratching along Brock’s armor as he shakes her again.
“Go easy,” I say.
“My lord, if you go easy with them, they think they can—”
“I said go easy.” I straighten my shoulders.
“Fine.” He drapes her across his saddle.
“Hey!” She pushes up on the horse, her waves of auburn hair still covering her face. With a toss, she clears it, and I get a glimpse of her preternaturally fair skin and green eyes. “If you don’t put me down, I’ll, I’ll bite this horse!” She snaps her teeth.
Brock’s horse neighs but keeps cantering into the village.
“I’d advise against it. Operin can bite far harder than you.” Brock pushes her down, his broad hand on her back as she glares at me.
I rather like the heart shape of her face—her defiant chin and widow’s peak. Females like her don’t exist in my realm. The sun bleaches everything over time, including the high fae. Even my golden hair will eventually fade into white. But her? She’s a creature of the darkest realm, her luminous skin and fiery hair an example of everything that charms me about the night. Beautiful.