The breezy banter blew Sylvan’s frustration hotter.
“Enough,” Sylvan said. “I shall look myself!”
Inhaling the element of air and exhaling his material form, Sylvan rendered himself invisible. Screams echoed about them, invigorating him almost as much as the invisibility itself.
As the material world faded slightly, another level of the camp revealed itself to him. Elves, wood sprites, and other faeries perched on branches and wagons. Fae musicians, most likely there for the wedding festivities, played and danced to a lively tune as if nothing was amiss. A couple of brownies lurked at the outskirts of the wagons. And near the wedding feast, a stout goblin with a wicked grin appeared on the verge of mischief.
All but the musicians watched the scene as attentively as their gypsy friends. And all seemed keenly aware of and, from the sound of the chatter, amused he had joined their midst.
In his own land, the veil between the fae and human realms was much easier to breach than in Astonia. But from the volume of the faerie host in their midst, Sylvan suspected the gypsies had also mastered the tricks of interacting with them.
“Where is my genie?” he asked the closest elf.
The elf grinned and danced away.
A pixie hovering near Selena giggled. “She’s far and near. Hidden and in plain sight. Safe and in danger of being discovered.”
“And exactly where would that be?” he asked the pixie.
The creature buzzed around him, giggled a bit more and flew off.
“If you’re not going to say something useful, you might as well tell me to sod off,” Sylvan grumbled and dismounted.
“Sod off,” Selena said and spat again.
Insulting as the gesture was, Sylvan would let Morten deal with her in his own time. More important matters beckoned. As the sorcerer continued his genial conversation with Vance, Sylvan investigated the camp with a train of fae musicians in tow. Playing. His experience with the fae told him they wouldn’t interfere. Thankfully, they were usually more intrigued than concerned with the dealings of humans.
So, ignoring his entourage and making no attempt to be discreet, Sylvan threw back tent flaps and checked wagon homes at will, hoping to drive Kate from her hiding place.
While he discovered formidable supplies, more fae folk, and a couple heating up a bed of straw, the search did not produce his genie. As he wove through the camp on his return to the duke, he passed two young girls peeking out of a wagon and slowed to listen to their whispers.
“Mama had a vision about her,” the smaller of the two said.
“What did she see?” the other said.
“Lady Katherine was in a fancy carriage with other maidens.”
As Sylvan crept closer, the conversation shifted to how Kate had taught one to braid her doll’s hair.
While they were content to stray from the tale about the carriage, he was not.
Drawing so close he could smell the honeysuckle in the girl’s hair, he whispered low in her ear, “Tell me what your mother saw.”
The girl gasped and tried to duck into the wagon, but he caught her arm before she succeeded.
“I asked a question of you, did I not?”
The girl’s eyes narrowed as she tried to make out his form.
“Tell me what she saw,” he ordered with enough menace to make any man quake.
The child, not more than six years strong, glanced around the camp and dared to utter, “No.”
“No?” He tightened his grip until he could feel the ridges of her tiny bones. “This is not a demand you can refuse.” When the child’s eyes grew dewy, he squeezed harder. “Tell me what she saw.”
“No,” came her choked reply.
Sylvan growled and hauled the informant out of the wagon, for which she kicked and punched in protest. When her boot delivered a sharp jab to his shin, he threw the brat under his arm and took her to Morten.
“This one has information but has forgotten her manners and won’t share it.”
“Well, let’s help her find her tongue,” Morten said, turning his steed to face the girl.
Sylvan released her body, letting her feet hit the ground, but kept that same steady grip on her arm.
As the gypsies visibly pulsed forward, Vance drew a blade.
“Back,” Sylvan shouted. “I’ve a knife at her throat.”
The girl screamed and he tightened his hold. Lovely thing, invisibility. One could claim any number of threats and, unable to disprove with their eyes, people were forced to believe. At least the humans were. The fae gathered around him knew better and snickered at the deception.
“What does she know?” Morten asked.
Sylvan relayed the sliver of news.
“She didn’t say where Kate was going?” Morten asked.
“No,” Sylvan said.
“She doesn’t know,” said a slender woman with coal-black eyes and lavender buds woven into her hair. Drawing recklessly near, she added, “I didn’t see where Lady Katherine was going.”
“You lie,” Morten said. “You protected her last time. Delia, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I speak the truth. I did not see her destination.”
Squeezing harder still, Sylvan drew a whimper out of the girl.
“Please,” Delia said. “Take me instead. Hannah has done nothing.”
“That’s precisely the problem,” Sylvan said.
“She’s an innocent,” Delia said. “If you release her, I’ll tell you everything I saw.”
“The way this works is you tell us everything you saw and then we let her go,” Morten said.
“I have your word?” Delia asked.
“Do not trust him,” Selena cried. “Remember his last visit. He cursed us all. Even those who answered his demands.”
“That’s right. You did,” Delia said, growing noticeably frantic, but no closer to divulging the information.
Pulling a dagger from his belt with his free hand, Sylvan scratched the blade against the girl’s throat just hard enough to draw a small trickle of blood.
The girl began crying.
“Wait. Wait,” Delia said. “Lady Katherine was with a blond and a redhead. Royal, from the look of it.”
“From what kingdom?” Morten asked.
“I didn’t see crests,” she said. “But they were on a journey through a wooded land.” She glanced between Hannah and Morten. “Please, I promise I didn’t see more than that. Won’t you please release her?”
“That’s up to Lord Sylvan.” Turning in his direction, Morten said, “If he’s feeling merciful.”
Mercy and its benevolent cousins weren’t emotions Sylvan had felt in ages. Reason would need to dictate. While killing the child wouldn’t hinder his sleep, the mother had cooperated. Then again, the girl had denied him, and disposing of her would send the message that he and Morten weren’t to be trifled with.
As he contemplated his choices, the host of gypsies pled for her life and the fae watched in indifference. All except one.
He hadn’t noticed her earlier. Had she been there all along?
Elves and fae musicians parted as she passed through their midst, iridescent colors swirling about her, wavy midnight hair floating on the breeze. His eyes instantly recognized the amethyst hues of hers and the ridge of freckles dusting her cheeks and nose—a feature she’d earned in the many hours he’d helped her to appear in her human form. To the fae, the trait flawed her, but he’d always found it one of her loveliest attributes. And while endearing emotions eluded him, a whisper of longing tugged somewhere near his heart.