Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

WREN

T he rejection letter sits in a place of dishonor above my jeweler's bench. It mocks me, the faux-polite veneer of each sentence growing more burnished every time my gaze skates over it.

Kicked out of my coven.

Polish, polish, polish.

Rejected from the Metalsmithing Guild.

Polish, polish, polish.

Doomed to use up what little savings I have and give up completely, what with no customer base to speak of.

The metal band I've been polishing slips from my aching fingers, and I scowl up at the letter from the guild as the ring spins on the wood bench.

Fenn yips at me and I glance down at him, angry tears threatening once again.

"Maybe it is time for a break," I tell him, sniffling. "Maybe we should close up shop for the night and just go for a walk. Would you like that? Some fresh air?"

His tail flicks back and forth, but I'm not truly paying attention to him anyway.

Add bad fox-mom to my list of failures.

"What's one more?" I moan.

Fenn blinks once, unimpressed with my dramatics.

Well, that makes two of us. I push back from the bench, pulling the exquisite pair of dwarven-made loupes from my forehead.

Wincing, I stretch my arms high above my head, trying to work out the kinks and cramps in my shoulders and lower back.

I've been sitting and working for much, much too long. Lost track of time, if the darkness descending outside is any clue.

My stomach grumbles, and my mood grows blacker by the second.

What would my parents say if they could see me now?

The jewel-tone shawl my mother wove for me years ago hangs on a hook by the front door, and the knotty wood floor squeaks as I hurry over to it, wrapping it around my shoulders. My stiff fingers fumble with the key as Fenn darts out behind me and I finally manage to lock the door.

A warning rumble from Fenn sets the hair on the back on my neck standing up.

Slowly, I turn, and the reason for Fenn's upset becomes apparent immediately.

The Unseelie fae from a few days ago… was it last week? Already? I frown, rubbing my eyes and managing to scrape the key over my cheek.

"Ouch," I say, pressing my fingers to the wound.

"You've hurt yourself," he says in a low voice, stepping closer.

He's taller than I remember, and as I inhale, I catch the scent of lavender and tea.

My stomach growls, and I blink up at him owlishly, completely out of sorts.

"Have I upset you?" he asks.

"No," I tell him, frowning. Frowning harder, at least, because I'm pretty sure I've been frowning since I woke up this morning. Maybe since I fell asleep last night.

"But you are upset," he continues, taking another step towards me. "You're bleeding," he says, and before I can get together the brainpower to move, he's cupped my chin between his elegant, strong fingers. A handkerchief appears out of nowhere, and I wince as he dabs the fabric against the small cut on my cheekbone.

"Thank you," I tell him, embarrassment at how I must look starting to overpower my shock at seeing the unexpected male. "Caelan, right?"

The fae goes still, so still that it's all too clear how very different he is.

Otherworldly, from the tips of his long ears to his too sharply handsome face to his long, perfectly lean, muscled proportions.

"Did I say it wrong?" I ask, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I'm sorry. It's been a very long day, and I am out of sorts?—"

"You said my name more perfectly than anyone has ever said it before," he says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smile.

A belltower in the town center chimes three times, and I startle at the sound.

"Seven o'clock," I say. "I let time get away from me today."

My stomach makes another inelegant noise and I cringe, too tired to be afraid of this fae that I know I should be wary of.

"You're hungry," he says, a glint to his icy blue eyes.

"Yes." I pull my shawl closer around my sleeves, torn between wishing I'd put on something nicer and that I hadn't ventured out of my safe little shop at all.

"Let me take you to dinner," he says, cocking his head at me, that hint of a smile almost enough to curl my lips in response.

"Why?" I ask, looking down at myself. "I'm a mess. I have been working since daybreak, and I am afraid I would be terrible company."

"Because you said my name like it was meant for your voice." He says it so seriously that I laugh, because surely he's joking.

He tilts his head, and my laugh cuts off suddenly.

"And my boss told me to explore the town." He grins down at me, the tip of a pointed fang catching on his lower lip. "If you're not too tired, maybe I could coerce you into showing me around in exchange for a meal."

"You found work then?" Self-conscious, I tuck a piece of stray hair behind my ear, which immediately tangles in my stiff fingers. I am a mess.

Ugh.

"Mmm-hmmm," he says, the low vibration of the noise calming. I take a deep breath, coming slightly unwound, relaxing from the normalcy of simple conversation.

Huh. Who could have known all I needed was a break?

I rub my stomach. A break and some food, I decide.

"Lila at Long Leaf Brews took pity on me. She has a wonderful café, and she and her husband have been good to me." There's a hollow ring to his words, a quiet sort of questioning that echoes how I've been feeling all day. All week .

"I would like to get dinner with you," I tell him, deciding in that very instant.

"You would?" his smile grows sharper by the second, dangerous and alluring as all the worst ideas are.

"I would." I sigh, rubbing a hand across my face before giving him a pitiful look. "But don't say I didn't warn you. I might not be the best person to show you around Wild Oak Woods." I shrug a shoulder at the street.

The lanterns that line the street begin to glow as the sun sinks below the thatched and tiled roofs of the homes that butt up to the downtown blocks. The glass is spelled to project the light, powered by night-blooming mistflower and enchanted by Nerissa to enhance its brightness.

"It's clever spellmanship," Caelan remarks, noticing where my attention's gone. That, or mindreading is one of the many unsavory Unseelie fae attributes. "There's been a lot of thought put into this place."

He extends his elbow, and I stare at it for a beat before realizing he's offering it to me.

My cheeks flush in embarrassment, and I clumsily poke my hand through before stumbling slightly into him.

"I'm sorry," I say, my cheeks beet-red. "I'm stiff from sitting and working."

"You're not taking care of yourself," he says, a strange blue light in his eyes. "Why?"

The one word lingers in the air between us, and I turn it over as he leads me down the cobblestone street, nodding as we pass a centaur out with a pretty human woman.

"I'm worried," I finally tell him. "You don't want to hear about this," I say on the next breath.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to hear." His elbow nudges my rib cage gently, and it makes me smile.

Fenn makes careful steps next to us, glancing up at me occasionally but otherwise completely unperturbed by the fae I'm arm-in-arm with.

It's either Fenn's entirely unconcerned attitude, or a result of how absolutely wretched I've been, but I relax into him, letting him steer me around the town I've called home for a few months and have barely scratched the surface of.

It's nothing like where I'm from, the always busy and bustling eastern shore, the huge cities. Noise, smells, the sheer volume of people—getting lost in the crowd was a way of life. I thought it was perfect, the anonymity, blending in—until the coven decided my spot could be used for someone with more power, political or otherwise.

Then, cast out of the coven, my parents long dead, I was alone in a city full of creatures who didn't care to know my name.

"What was it like?" I blurt out, landing on the first question that comes into my head.

Anything to avoid those memories.

He glances sidelong at me. "The tea café?"

Thick embarrassment crawls up my throat. "No, I meant… the Underhill."

"Ah. That." He enunciates each syllable carefully. "It is not a place for those soft of heart… or hide."

I suppress a shudder. "Is that why you left?"

Quiet stretches between us. Maybe I've overstepped. Maybe that's a rude question. "I don't mean to pry?—"

"I left because my friends and I were no longer welcome in the Underhill. The Dark Queen does not take lightly to those that test her authority."

I pause, glancing up at him. "You tested her authority?"

"According to her," Caelan answers shortly. "And that's all that matters."

"Why Wild Oak Woods?"

"So many questions," he says and I wince, but he lets out a soft laugh. "Because you would have us. It was the closest village and… it's amenable to us. Why are you here, then, little goldsmith?"

I blow out a breath, grimacing. "Because I got lucky. I had family leave me that shop, which I'm going to drag down with me if I can't—" I cut off abruptly, and my stomach growls again.

"I don't think you're dragging anything down at all," he muses.

"You're just being kind."

"No." A throaty, deep laugh, and another nudge of his elbow at my side. "You'll find that's not quite in my character, Wren. Here." He stops in front of a food stall, and I've been so lost in our conversation and my thoughts I hardly realized we'd made it to the heart of the downtown area.

At this time, early evening, the main square is packed with creatures and people, but they're not all buzzing to get to the next place, as they might have been in my last city.

They're lingering, the bricks underneath all manner of feet and hooves a warm, white-washed red. Rainbow buntings crisscross overhead, food stalls stacked against each other in a riot of colorful awnings. Rich spices perfume the air, with the unmistakable scent of fried dough and grilled meat and vegetables.

A dwarven machine grates a massive block of ice under a light blue tent, a flock of winter pixies flitting around it, the bite of their cold spells tingling against my skin.

I inhale deeply, suddenly so grateful for being here that I can't stand it.

I squeeze Caelan's elbow, at a loss for words.

He smiles down at me, and it softens the sharpness of his face, just a bit.

"Thank you," I tell him, infusing the words with as much meaning as I can muster.

"Oh, no need to thank me," he says, and there's a touch of mockery to the phrase that stiffens my shoulders.

Unseelie fae, I remind myself.

Names and thanks mean different things to them than they do to us.

"Do I scare you?" he asks, and I once again wonder if he does have some kind of psychic ability to divine my thoughts.

"Scare? No, you don't scare me." I extract my hand from his elbow and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Maybe you should. Maybe I'm too tired and sad to be scared. I know I should be careful around you, and I'm not sure I have the energy right now."

Surprise lifts his eyebrows.

"Well, that won't do at all."

"What?" Thrown, I stare up at him, tilting my head. "You want me to be scared of you?"

"I have a reputation to uphold, don't I?" he drawls.

A laugh sputters out of me. "Do you?"

Caelan gestures to himself with an elegant hand. "Of course I do. Just look at me."

"Oh, yes, very intimidating," I agree, grinning widely. He's not, though, not the way he was when I first stumbled upon him in The Pixie's Perch. My initial shock at finding Unseelie fae in Wild Oak Woods has given way to… well, tired acceptance.

It's not just that, though, I suppose.

"What can I get you?" The harpy behind the counter ruffles her feathers as she waits for us, skewered meats roasting on spits on both sides of her. She casts a long look at Caelan, who seems to do his best not to notice the way she's looking at him… and the way she's sharpening her knives.

"We'll have two of each," Caelan tells her, smiling broadly, his sharp fangs on full display.

I watch him for a moment as he haggles with the harpy.

Every angle of his face is a work of art, the pointed tips of his ears begging to be touched. The way he flashes his fangs at the harpy makes me wonder what it would be like to feel them in my skin.

I shake my head and avert my eyes, certain I've been staring.

I need to start making sure I eat more. This sort of low blood sugar hazed judgment is not going to do me any favors.

And maybe make a point to get out of my own store.

And maybe I should take down that rejection letter and stop sulking.

Fenn butts his face against my ankle, and I lean down to scratch behind his ears. His tail twitches behind him and I wish, not for the first time, that I could speak outright to the familiar. I can tap his magic stores, keep him company, and get a general mood from him… but it would be nice to have a friend. A real friend, to talk to and not worry about coven politics or anything else.

By the time I stand back up, Caelan's holding several paper boats full of charred meat, steam still curling from them.

"I have some coin in my?—"

"Absolutely not," Caelan interrupts. "You'll hurt my feelings if you offer to pay. This is merely in exchange for the tour you promised to give me."

The words feel formal, despite his easy smile, no fangs in sight.

"I accept." The words come out naturally, and by the way his eyes glint, I know I've said the right thing.

He tips his head towards one of the few empty stone benches in the middle of the square, and we meander through the crowd and settle in.

Fenn sits at attention as Caelan hands me the first skewer, managing to balance a trio of dipping sauces on the uneven stone bench between us.

"Bargains are usual for you, then?" I ask, picking a piece of juicy meat off the skewer and offering it to Fenn, who's only too happy to scarf it down.

"For me, or for the Unseelie, you mean?"

I pop a piece of meat into my own mouth, enjoying the burst of flavor across my tongue, and consider his question.

A quartet begins playing at the corner of the square, a lyre and a flute accompanied by a drum and a singer.

"Both, I guess," I finally answer, feeding Fenn another piece.

Caelan stares at his own meat for a moment before the entire skewer seems to disappear into his mouth.

I blink in confusion.

"Bargains are the currency of power," he answers carefully.

There hardly seemed to be enough time for him to swallow, much less chew all that meat. A tingle of uncertainty creeps across my skin, and I tug the many-colored shawl tighter around me.

"In the Queen's court, knowledge meant staying ahead of your enemies. Bargaining for that knowledge meant staying alive, as long as you kept the upper hand."

Fascinated, I stare openly at him while I chew. "You were in the court?"

"All Unseelie fae are in her court," he says, not unkindly. "We don't have a choice."

I turn that over as I eat the rest of the skewer, braving the spiciest of the sauces to pass the time.

"That doesn't sound very nice," I manage. "It sounds terrible, actually."

"You say that, but when I bumped into you at your shop, you looked about as miserable as I felt on my worst days." He arches an eyebrow, then offers Fenn a piece of meat from one of his skewers.

Fenn's tail wags behind him as he seizes the piece of meat, making one of his funnier gurgling noises in the back of his throat.

"You know, it's odd to see a pet."

"Fenn's not a pet, not really. He's a familiar."

"All the animals in the Underhill are her spies."

The way he emphasizes the word makes it clear he means the fae Queen, and the pronoun drips with acid.

So, he didn't leave happily then.

I don't know why that makes me feel better. Shouldn't I feel empathy for him?

"I am an outcast too, you know."

"To outcasts." He raises his last half-eaten skewer of meat, and I laugh as we bounce the ends off each other in solidarity. "And to new beginnings."

I nod slowly, the gnawing anxiousness caused by the fact I forgot to eat most of the day slowly melting away. The night air is cool, the promise of autumn on the breeze, and the music winds through the town square along with the hum of conversation and laughter.

"Is it always like this?" he asks, raising a hand and gesturing vaguely.

"Like what?" I ask needlessly. I'm pretty sure I know what he means.

"Are they always so happy? So at peace?"

"No, of course not." I shake my head, giving the rest of the meat to Fenn, who's only too thrilled to eat the scraps. "I think everyone's just doing their best to play at it, sometimes. Happiness, I mean."

He gives me a look that makes me feel like I'm at the end of one of the sharp meat-sticks abandoned on the bench between us.

"You're unhappy," he says.

A gust of breath whooshes out from me, and I lean my hands back on the bench, tilting my chin up and inspecting the purpling sky overhead. The stone's rough against my palms.

"I shouldn't be." That's the truth of it. "I have everything I need to be happy. A beautiful home, a shop I was lucky enough to inherit with a full inventory, wonderful new friends, and then of course, there is Fenn," I say, and my sweet familiar bounds into my lap, whuffling at my chin before circling and settling in.

I curl over him, running my hands over his soft fur, loving the musky scent of him and the adorable way his white whiskers twitch.

"But something is missing," Caelan urges.

A hint of smoke spills into the air, the crackling of magic. I go still, turning my attention slowly to him.

He's watching me carefully, those ice-blue eyes taking my measure.

"I'm not interested in a bargain," I tell him, making myself laugh.

"I wasn't offering one," he says, frowning. "That's your magic, not mine."

"It wasn't mine," I insist, pushing at his shoulder in annoyance.

He lets out a laugh. Without warning, he seizes my wrist and brushes the barest of kisses on top of my hand.

My heart stutters. I stare up at him, wide-eyed and suddenly, too late, terrified.

Terrified, and alive .

"It was yours, little gold witch, and you should be smarter than to walk around offering up pieces of yourself with ears like mine listening." There's a bite to his words, a cruelty that makes me sit up straighter.

"I don't see anything wrong with your ears." I return my attention to Fenn, annoyed at both myself and the way my cheeks heat, and at the fae for making me feel heard.

For making me want to tell him my problems, consequences be damned.

"I think your ears are beautiful, just like the rest of you," I finish, feeling bold and ridiculous all at once.

A rough laugh skates from his lips, and I stand up abruptly, pulling Fenn to my chest before depositing him back on the white-washed bricks.

"I say we get some spiced cider and, ah," I squint, looking for the tell-tale green and navy checked awning, "some of the chocolate basil twists." I'm not sure entirely what's gotten a hold of me tonight but for once, for once, I'm out of my head.

I'm out of my head and I'm not thinking about the goddess-damned guild or my coven, and maybe that's enough for me to enjoy myself.

A smile spreads across my face, and I turn back to look at Caelan, gesturing for him to come with me.

His answering smile is bright, and his eyes dance with merriment.

I like when he looks at me like that, I decide.

I'd like for him to look at me like that more often.