“Where’s Grimelda?” He pulls me toward the bar, the smell of ale and sweat surrounding me like a smoky haze.
“In the back room there, your highness.” The bartender bows, but bumps his horns on the bar, then stands up and rubs the spot. He’s a lesser fae, his nose hooked, his horns crooked, and his eyes with horizontal pupils, something akin to a goat’s. He eyes me for a moment, then hitches a thumb toward one of the doors along the back wall.
Brock, Solano’s second, is already there, opening the door and checking inside. He turns and gives us a swift nod.
Solano pulls out some gold and slaps it on the counter. “Drinks on the day realm.”
That gets the crowd going again, and the fairies finally snap back to work, flying the sloshing drinks around the room as the harlots go back to plying their trade. I suppose that’s what I am now, a harlot. The king’s dolly that he can position however he wants. Well, at least one good thing will come out of it—Mama never let me wear rouge, she said it was only for strumpets, but now that I am a strumpet, I can pink up my cheeks all I like.
“Come, nightling.” He gently pulls me along beside him and into the room at the back of the tavern.
The sour ale scent recedes just a bit, but something more bitter takes its place. Magic. I hold my breath at what I’ll find, but I’m rather surprised to see a smiling face.
“Welcome, my little one.” The witch, her white hair seeming to shine with its own dash of sun, motions to the seat across from her at a small table. A fire crackles in the corner, and a threadbare bed sits against the wall.
“Grimelda?” I ask as Solano pulls my chair out for me.
“The very one.” She holds her hands out, palm up, and I notice her claws. They’re neatly trimmed, but still sharp, and I have no doubt they’ve ripped the meat off more than a few bones. She’s not an obsidian witch, but there’s something dark inside her, something that hints at evil deeds done no matter if it’s day or night.
“Come, come, darkindle.” She wiggles her fingers and calls me a night dweller in the old language of the fae.
“You’re safe.” Solano leans against the door, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Safe with me, yes.” She darts her gaze to him, and I realize her eyes are like opal, multi-colored to the point it looks as if they change shades with each of her breaths. “Safe with you? Remains to be seen.”
“Watch your tongue, witch.” He glowers.
“My tongue isn’t your problem, young king. Someone else’s has spoken against you. You’re covered in it.”
“What do you mean?” Suspicion colors his deep tone.
“Cursed.” She blinks her opal eyes, and when she opens them again, they’ve taken on a deep purple hue. “Cursed, you are.”
He sighs. “If you’re seeking more gold to lift a supposed curse from me, you can ply your tricks elsewhere. Now, cast the shade on my nightling so we can be on our way.”
He doesn’t seem cursed. I glance at him over my shoulder, his skin almost glowing with its own light.
“Come, my darkindle, give me your pretty hands with the soft, tender flesh.”
I gently place my palms on hers.
Her grip closes around me like a vise, her claws lengthening until they press against my skin but don’t pierce it. I don’t fight her. There’s no point. If she wanted me dead, one quick swipe across my throat would do the trick.
She smiles again, her sharp teeth clean and white. “You’re a friend to the witches, my darkindle. Your soul is marked as if with chalk.”
I shrug. “I’ve been known to do the forbidden chants under the moonlight.”
“You’ve danced naked with my sisters, your soul whipping through the air like a flag.” She closes her eyes and smiles as if she can see it. “Joining them in their ritual of joy and freedom. Beautiful.”
“Naked?” King Solano asks, his voice rasping a bit.
I frown at him over my shoulder. “How else do you dance with witches?”
“I don’t make a habit of—”
“You are marked. A good mark. One that means I should do you a good turn.” She nods, ignoring the day king and focusing on me. “I will cast the shadow on you.”
“What does it do, exactly?”
“Hides you from the sun. Protection. You’ve lived your life in the shadows of the world, so you can’t survive the day without help.”
“I’ve heard it burns.” I lean closer to her. “Burns your skin. Is that true?”
“Yes. Yours especially. The sun here is far too powerful for changelings. It’s made for the fae, for the creatures that soak up its power and wield it as a weapon of war.” Another glance at Solano, and then she turns her opal eyes back to me. “But you will be safe. I will make it so.”
“I can come back to the Nightlands, though?”
“Yes.” She nods. “To your mother’s hearth, though you may find it cold when you return.”
The sizzle of prophecy lights in my veins, and I shudder, worry blooming inside me like a night flower. “Cold? Is Mama okay? Can you tell me more?”
She shakes her head. “My sight is a jumble. Past, present, future—all a mess. I used to be quite good until I followed the magic. Eons I spent with it, talking and sneaking into the world of men disguised as a child or a fox or a house. But when I finally returned to Arin, my sight was lost.” Her gaze slides back to Solano. “But some things I can still see.”
“Oh, the curse, is that right?” Solano harrumphs. “And how much gold will it cost me for you to tell me about it, or better yet, lift it.”
“How much have you got, Daylander?” She smiles, her teeth sharp.
“Get on with it,” he growls.
I shake my head at their bitter banter. “Go back to my mama. So, the cold hearth you mentioned could be in the past?” A cold hearth means only one thing in the Nightlands. Someone has died. Our fires are forever burning, our candles always lit. The only way they go out is if the one who tends them does, too.
She strokes her claws along my now-clammy skin. “Can’t see for certain, darkindle. But there is danger in your future, both near and far. Your spool is unwinding, your fate stretching out and becoming straight and taut. Ready to be plucked and played sweetly or—” She snaps her teeth. “Cut.”
“Enough.” Solano has come up behind me. “You’re scaring her. Give her the shadow ward.”
“Hold your unicorns.” Grimelda shakes her hair, the waves of white flying around her. Her light brown skin shimmers, and I think I could fall in love with her if I weren’t, unfortunately, attracted to males.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Sure.” I take a deep breath, knowing what comes next.
Her claw is sharp enough that I don’t feel it at first, but red blood wells from the spot she pierced on the back of my hand. I wait as the singe of magic burns along my skin. Grimelda’s mouth moves with silent incantations, my blood bubbling along my skin until she leans down and licks it off.
Smacking her lips, she releases me and claps her hands. The sizzle of the magic subsides, and I gulp in a breath.