“Wait! Okay, no thank you. I think I’d prefer real food if it’s possible.” As an afterthought, she adds, “Please.”
“River trout it is, then.”
“Sounds perfect. But you haven’t got a rod. Do you shoot them with your bow? Seems like a lot of effort just for breakfast.”
“You have obviously never seen a fae catch fish before.”
“You’re right, I haven’t. Can I come and watch?”
“No. Stay there. This is your chance to prove you can stick to our bargain. And, while I’m away, I shall devise terrible things to turn you into if you’re gone when I return, and I have to waste time catching you.”
“Will you leave Balor with me?”
“No. If I do, he won’t allow you to move, and I’d like to test the strength of your vow. Your will is yours. Don’t do anything stupid with it.”
Before she has the chance to prattle and complain, I pivot and leave.
The morning is swollen to bursting with a deathly silence. Creatures that should long ago have started their days shiver, entombed in nests and burrows, hoping I do not stop as I pass by.
I lash them with tiny whips of wind, to let them know I’m aware. That they are mine.
Mine, pumps my black heart. Mine. All mine.
Running through thick brush to the riverbank, Balor barks and forest-dwellers whimper.
I cut a path through the tangle with my sword, and then slide down a slope to the river’s edge.
The water sparkles darkly. Currents flow smoothly. And the fish begin to leap the moment I turn my mind toward them. With boundless joy, Balor throws himself into the water, jaws snapping, excited yelps ringing out that are likely heard many miles south, as far back as Ithalah forest.
“Quiet, Balor. You’re ruining everything this morning, putting the human at ease, chasing fish. What’s next? Will you want to ride atop Jinn, snuggling in the girl’s lap like a babe?”
He barks loudly and wags his tail.
“You would not like it, anyway. You’d overheat.”
In my arms, the mortal is much warmer than any fae lover. She is more solid, substantial in the way of earth and rocks, real and ripe-smelling like banquet fruit at midsummer. I think of sweet mangoes and berries, the way their insides bleed when crushed between my teeth.
The clouds roil and gather above us, brewing a foul storm to match my mood. Enough thoughts of the freckled wasp. It is time to fish.
I whistle Balor from the water and, crouching low, draw my palms through the air, pulling five of the fattest trout along until they are flapping and gasping near my boots. Pursing my lips, I inhale and steal final breaths from their trembling gills, killing them in an instant. Ending it quickly.
These dead fish are perfect, and my rumbling stomach heartily agrees. The human should be well pleased—but, actually, I do not care what she will think.
As rain spatters my cloak, I thread large hooks through my catch, string them on twine, and depart with a spring in my step and a happy dog at my heel.
My improved mood sweeps the storm clouds from the sky, and a few birds even dare to sing from high in the treetops. Sunshine warms my back, my shoulders flinching at the unfamiliar sensation. What would it feel like to be warm all the time? If I kept the wasp’s furnace close, I would surely know.
What a stupid thought.
As I draw near the clearing, voices drift toward me, the girl’s musical lilt and a deeper rumble. Seems the wasp has company. I let the fish hanging over my shoulder slide softly onto the grass and take a deep breath. The male’s scent is fae.
Creeping through the thicket, I consider which weapon to use—wind or sword—and as I recognize the intruder, my decision is made. A sharp sword it shall be.
There is no mistaking the pale-seaweed-colored hair that courses down the fae’s back in snarled lengths. It belongs to Temnen of the Court of Merits. A first-class troll turd if ever there was one, and a danger to all creatures including himself.
He’ll try to take the human away, and I will have to slay him. Then his father will likely come for my mother and our courts will be at war, an outcome I’d prefer to prevent. So, regrettably, diplomacy is the blade I must wield.
As I secure my sword belt, Temnen’s words ring through the forest. “Why won’t you give me your name?” he asks, in his slithering tenor.
Curious to hear her reply, I remain hidden and wait.
“I’ve already given it,” she says brightly.
Recently, I’ve heard much of her voice—last night, it even invaded my restless dreams—so I recognize the fear present in it. She’s doing well, though. I doubt Temnen is aware of her terror.
He draws his thin body to its full, formidable height and exclaims, “Wasp? What kind of name is that for a young lady?”
“My companion tells me I resemble one.”
He circles her, the fervent glow of his orange eyes visible from where I stand hidden in the silver thicket.
“And where is this companion of yours, and why has he left you to fend for yourself in the wild and hostile woods?”
“My friend is a hunter. He’s gone fishing for our breakfast.”
Temnen stills, the long bristles that sprout from his forehead quivering like anteaters’ tongues.
I rush a few steps back to collect the fish, and then throw them over my shoulder.
Speaking to Temnen might be tricky. I’d prefer the mortal continue to believe me a huntsman, not a prince.
As I swagger into the clearing whistling jauntily, he glances up, his sly smile spreading.
“Ah, what have we here? If my eyes do not deceive me, I believe it is a powerful huntsman called Ever.”
I sling him a dramatic bow. “Indeed. Huntsman Ever at your service, Prince Temnen.”
The wasp’s green eyes widen to an alarming size. He has not told her who he is, then.
“A human, Ever? You’ve captured a human girl! What a prize. I can hardly believe what I see. And, tell me, do you take her back to your court?”
“Yes. That’s the plan.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds a dreadful bother—an audience with your queen, perhaps a trial. And if she’s from the dark worlds, then you yourself may be blamed for bringing her here. There may be personal consequences. Are you prepared to face them?”
“I am.” I tilt my head, an insincere expression of humble regard, then whistle shrilly. Jinn appears out of nowhere, still munching on white clover, his ears pinning backward when he spots the prince at my side. My horse hates the Merits almost as much as I do.
“Good morrow,” Temnen says to Jinn, and Jinn answers with a snort.
Smoke billows as I dampen the fire with water from a leather pouch, and Temnen’s sharp gaze follows my every step. He is disturbingly silent for a near-constant babbler.
I rustle through my saddle bags, throw the mortal her second strip of meat for the morning, and then wrap and pack the fish. Later, when we’re a safe distance from Temnen, I’ll stop and cook it.
While I restring my bow, he watches to see if I will nock an arrow. I badly want to, but I don’t. As I attach the bow next to the saddle—a brazen warning—he clears his throat, waving a hand toward the wasp who sits with her legs crossed in the dirt.
“I will do you a favor and take her off your hands now, Ever. You may thank me immediately if you wish.”