Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

CAELAN

I 'm in a foul mood. Kieran is likewise in a foul mood, though that's nothing new. The Unseelie prince scowls as he surveys the fish charring over the fire.

Only Ga'Rek seems to be enjoying our so-called jaunt outside of the Underhill.

Better here than in Her Majesty's dungeons, though.

I cast a sidelong glance at Kieran. The prince has never been outside the palatial halls and luxuriously appointed rooms of the Underhill's palace. Even as the fourth spare to the throne, the fae prince was spoiled rotten by his doting mother and all the two-faced courtiers hoping to score her favor.

Sighing, I turn my own fish over the fire.

Might as well get both sides evenly burnt.

Ga'Rek hums under his breath, and Kieran skewers him with a look the huge half-orc changeling is only too happy to ignore.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were happy to be out of the Underhill," I say, finally giving up on an even char on the damned trout and popping a piping hot piece in my mouth. It's not bad.

It's real, at least, not the sawdust the Queen would be making us eat as prisoners of her magic beneath the palace.

A shiver goes through me.

"Why wouldn't I be?" The orc squares his shoulders, sizing me up. "Would you rather be rotting in her dungeons?"

Kieran sighs, and I immediately roll my eyes at the now-familiar sound.

"I was just defending myself," he says, and there's a petulant whine to the comment that sets my teeth on edge.

It's what he's said, over and over and over again, since the night he nearly gutted his eldest brother and heir to the throne.

It is true , which is the only reason, I suspect, we were allowed by Her Dark Majesty to escape to the above world, to the mortal realm, several days ago.

Days, which are still a strange concept, still feel odd, even though I've been topside before, to wreak havoc and mischief on the mortals who live here.

I am used to the endless dark of the Underhill, of the Queen's black moods and midnight predilections.

Even now, though, I can feel her presence, a dark shape in the shadows of the trees around us, though it's weaker now, during daylight hours.

Maybe Kieran's words aren't the only thing rubbing my nerves raw.

"Fish is good," Ga'Rek says, grinning broadly at me, his tusks gleaming in the small daytime fire.

"Better than sawdust and bonemeal," Kieran says wearily, echoing my own thoughts. "What was I supposed to do, let him kill me?"

I want to stab the pointy stick in my hand through his royal eye, but I grit my teeth and keep the urge to myself.

Kieran, for all his faults, is my friend.

"You survived."

"Why do you say that like it's my fault?" he asks.

"Well, technically, it is your fault. This is all your fault. But you made the choice to live, so now we have to deal with it." I shrug one shoulder, the stiff leather jerkin creaking slightly. "You can either drive us all crazy by repeating the same drivel over and over again, or you can shut up and decide to make the best of it."

"That's no way to speak to a prince." He sounds completely mortified.

Ga'Rek bursts out laughing, and a flock of birds scatter overhead in terror. "You're not the prince of shit anymore, Kieran. You can either be a dead prince or a living outcast. I know what I'd prefer if I were you."

He sniffs, clearly annoyed with both of us but unable to argue.

"This is a good place," Ga'Rek announces. "Besides, I know of somewhere for us to live. For a time, at least."

If they think we'll be in the Dark Queen's good graces and allowed to return to the Underhill again anytime soon, they are sorely mistaken. I am saved from voicing the thought by our much-maligned fae Prince.

"What, in some hollowed-out tree with a bullfrog for company?" Kieran snipes. His bright green wings scrabble against each other, the buzzing a sure sign of his annoyance.

I resist the urge to stab him. Truly, good for me.

"Why?" Ga'Rek smiles even wider. "Did you find one?"

I burst out laughing. Ga'Rek was dealt a shit hand by the fae, taken as a child from his orc family and given fae strength and longer life in return for his service to the Crown.

It didn't change him, though. He's remained as steadfast and kind as he was as a child.

I should know, since I was the one that took him.

"There's a village over that hill," Ga'Rek finally says, jerking his chin over his shoulder. "At least, there was when I was child. I remember it well."

Kieran scoffs. "When you were a child? That could have been three hundred years ago in mortal time."

"Maybe. Maybe it's gone." He shrugs a shoulder, though there's a hint of sadness around his eyes. "Maybe we can still find something worth salvaging there. A place to seek refuge, shelter, at the very least."

My skin prickles, the tops of my ears tingling.

There's magic at work here.

It's not the Dark Queen's either.

The unfamiliar rub of it sends goosebumps prickling across my purple skin, and I squint into the distance, where my fae sight can just make out the merry puffs of smoke in the distance.

The perfume of magic, I think, comes from there.

Exactly where Ga'Rek seemed to think there would still be a village.

"We should go," I say, stabbing the fish on a stick into the ground and rubbing my hands together. "I do so love mortals. A good plan, ‘Rek."

He grins at me before taking my abandoned fish and swallowing the rest whole.

Kieran just looses a long-suffering sigh, his iridescent beetle wings reflecting the sunlight.

"This is not what I remember," Ga'Rek chokes out, staring all around with a wide-eyed enthusiasm that's contagious. His tusks are on full display as he grins, clearly delighted with the flourishing mortal settlement.

Not just humans, either—I'm pleased to know I was right about the source of the magic tickling the tips of my ears.

There is magic here. Real magic, different than the illusions of the Dark Queen. It's a cat curling around my shins, butting its head against me for attention. It's so strong it's seeped into the cobblestones, which line the network of streets throughout the vibrant town.

"Wild Oak Woods," Kieran announces, his wings buzzing in their green casing. "Smells like witches."

"Smells like fucking pastries," Ga'Rek adds enthusiastically. "Smells fucking delicious."

I'm not sure if it's the heady mortal magic in the air or the scent of sugar and butter—but Ga'Rek is right.

It smells incredible, and tantalizing, and perfect, and I've never been one to deny any of my impulses.

That would go against my wicked Unseelie heritage. I wouldn't even dream of it.

"I like it." I inhale deeply, as if I can suck the very source of the incredible scent straight into my lungs.

The uneven cobblestone streets are impeccably clean, compared to the bigger mortal cities out east, and an absolute plethora of boutiques and restaurants and taverns crowd along the path. Each boasts glossy clear windows, expensive windows. I run the tip of my tongue over one fang, delighting in the excess. Colorful signage shouts out the wares in gilded lettering above striped awnings.

The streets aren't bustling, not now, at least, but with the wicker lanterns swaying in the gentle breeze above, I have a feeling these streets are fuller when daylight wanes.

Oh yes, I like this place very, very much.

"There is mischief to be made here," I declare.

"I want whatever is causing that smell." Ga'Rek's stomach growls in agreement, and even Kieran smiles slightly.

"We don't even know what kind of currency these mortals use."

I strain my eyes with the force it takes to keep from rolling my eyes at him.

Ga'Rek's tusks flash in the sunlight as his smile widens and he tosses me an amused look.

"That's not a problem."

Kieran mutters something not worth hearing under his breath, and I shove my hands into the pockets of the leather vest and saunter down the street.

Firefly Lane, a signpost reads.

"How positively quaint," I say with admiration. I barely recollect this place. Then again, I've hardly ever been topside since snagging Ga'Rek as a strapping lad all those years ago.

Things have changed in a few hundred years, it seems.

Imagine that. The magic, for one, usually muted in this mortal place, is vibrant. Charged.

Wild. I fucking love it.

"It feels strange," Kieran, as always, is a thundercloud in a bright spot.

"Well, this is where we are making our home. For the time being, at least," I tell him with a hint of snarl. "So stop grousing and get that scowl off your face. You'll scare away all the good prey—mortals," I correct.

Not prey. No, no, that wouldn't do at all.

I whistle as we stroll, and then we're outside it: the source of the delicious scent of baked goods, of sugar and butter and all manner of sweet things.

"The Pixie's Perch," Ga'Rek intones, one dark, pierced eyebrow quirked at the sign overhead.

"I didn't know you could read," I announce, feigning shock.

His grin deepens. "That's because you're a rat bastard of the worst sort, who doesn't even care about his closest friend enough to know about his reading habits."

A pink and white striped awning blocks the afternoon sun, and we step closer to the small shop. Pastries line the window, arranged prettily with flowers to create some sort of wild-looking diorama. There's even a statue of a deer.

I bend closer. The thing is strangely lifelike, so real I could almost imagine its little white tail flicking this way and that.

Then it blinks, and I know I wasn't imagining it.

"A familiar," I breathe, slightly stunned. The deer disappears into the shop, and I follow it, entranced.

"A what?" Kieran asks Ga'Rek behind me.

A bell tinkles overhead, and sure enough, I scent it through the chocolate glazed eclairs and cinnamon shortbread and lavender-lemon scones.

Magic.

A witch's magic.

"Welcome to The Pixie's Perch," a lilting female voice sings out from the back room, and I smile. "Be right with you."

"This is it, lads." I turn to my companions, spreading my hands wide. "This is our new place. Among the witches of Wild Oak Woods."

Kieran pinches the top of his nose, his beetle wings buzzing in irritation.

As for Ga'Rek, he's staring, open-mouthed, into the small arched opening that must lead to the shop's kitchen.

And when the petite, pink-cheeked brunette human witch steps out, dusting her hands on her apron, I see the exact moment his life changes.

"You're outvoted, Kieran," Ga'Rek rumbles. "This is where we're staying."

A satisfied smile curls the corners of my lips as the witch pales, clocking exactly what we are in the span of a few seconds.

Her stunned reaction only lasts a moment before she's all smiles and rosy cheeks again.

"Well, we haven't had fae in town in… well, I don't know when," she babbles. "What can I do for you?" she asks.

"What's your name, pretty witchling?" I lean against the curved glass counter.

Ga'Rek growls at me in warning, and I suppress a laugh at his expense.

The witch, however, just blushes. "If you think I'll freely give you my name without knowing yours, you've got Wild Oak Woods all wrong." She arches an eyebrow and spreads her small hands wide. "What can I get you?"

A laugh hums behind me, Ga'Rek as clearly smitten with her as it is day outside.

"We are, as you've noticed," I pause for effect, glancing sidelong at Kieran's deep lavender skin and bright green beetle wings, "new here. Can you recommend a place for us to stay?"

"Change is on the wind," the witch mutters, her attention lingering a moment on a birch broom beside the door.

I follow her look, confused by her non-answer. Mortals are such strange creatures. Witches, though, are even stranger.

"Answer me this," she says. "Do you mean the citizens of our town harm? Do you come here for sport?" There's an icy ring of glass in the questions, some of her syrupy sweetness falling away.

"No," I answer, honestly, for once. "We seek refuge away from the Underhill."

Kieran's jaw drops, and even Ga'Rek gives me an annoyed look, his green brow pinched, huge ham hands fisting at his sides.

I do roll my eyes, now, and it feels glorious.

"From the Underhill," the witch repeats. In an instant, her icy demeanor melts, though concern still crinkles the corners of her eyes.

Kieran shifts on his feet, and Ga'Rek puts a massive hand on his still frenetically buzzing wing.

"Right." She nods once. "Well, you'll find Wild Oak Woods to be welcoming of strangers who are welcoming of it."

"You speak as though the place is alive," Ga'Rek says, leaning forward, surveying the small witch from head to toe.

"What place isn't?" she counters. "Now, sit down and I'll bring you bread and salt. We can go from there."

"Clever," I say in admiration. "Bread and salt with the Unseelie fae."

An old magic, but a classic. Freely offered bread and salt, while not necessarily foolproof, as many fools have found, ensures we mean the shopkeep witch no harm, and will create a pact of sorts between us.

There are loopholes, but for now, I'll play her little witchling games.

The door breezes open again, the bell tinkling merrily, and my attention whips to the newcomer.

Another witch.

With delicate, high cheekbones, a small, pointy chin, thick full lips and grass-green eyes. A snarled mess of blonde hair hangs heavy down one shoulder, and those spring eyes are rimmed in red, as if she's been crying.

The tips of my ears tingle again, and this, this witch, I realize, is who I scented back in the forest.

She smells of dark places in the earth, of gemstones and gold and of the wildest magic I've felt in all my years.

I see her, and my heart stills inside my chest, and when it begins beating again, I don't feel the same, not at all.

"You," I breathe, my eyes wide.

A red fox pushes past her in the doorway, yipping at me.

Ga'Rek coughs noisily into one of his oversized hands, breaking the momentary spell as I memorize every angle of her pretty, witchy face.

Well.

Perhaps our visit topside to the mortal realm will bear more fruit than I imagined.

Perhaps this Wild Oak Woods was calling to us the whole time.

Something about the witchling in the doorway certainly sings to me.