4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

All four Great Houses were necessary for balance. Each House and each King will force the world to shift in one direction at the expense of the others. Flames will push the world toward destruction and cleansing. Earth toward healing and stagnation. This is expected and normal. The world is built on cycles.

~Vyran the Black, A History of Magic and Dragons

The Tilted Mug earns most of its money from the townsfolk who come for the bad ale, worse atmosphere, and the small amount of news from Stormhaven, the closest large city. But it has beds on the second floor. Not many, but more than one, and that's all I need.

At least the Tilted Mug is a clean and honest establishment. The smell of stew wafts in from the kitchen and mingles with the yeasty scent of spilled ale. The tables are only a little wobbly, and the chairs are only a little sticky from the ale. There are dozens of people here, and their conversations drown out the sound of the crackling fire in the hearth. Locals, nearly every one of them, and their words mingle and mix until I can barely make out any of them individually.

Several of them puff on pipes, sending oily smoke rising into the air. The sweet scent of that smoke reminds me of when my father would sit on the porch of our little cottage and watch the sunset with me. He'd reminisced about my mother and tell me stories while I sat on his lap. The scent brings me back to happier times, but I have to pull myself away from them. I cannot live in the past, and the present requires a bed.

"I need a room," I say to Calum Hayes as he fills another mug of ale, and I put two pennies on the bar. He's a balding man in his late forties. Like everyone else in Blackgrove, I've known of him since I could walk, and while we've never interacted through the years, he hasn't mistreated me.

"Just a moment," Calum says without looking at me before he walks down the bar to a group of older men wearing dingy tunics and trousers, looking tired from days in the field. Most of the field crops won't be ready for harvest yet, but the hay needs to be scythed and bundled. That's hot and heavy work to do in the middle of the summer heat.

Just like in the forest, I feel a prickle at the back of my neck, and I turn around to see what danger there could be in Blackgrove's inn. Like a shining star on a dark night, I see him sitting in a corner.

His eyes are on me, not bothering to hide his stare. Even though he wears a green cloak that covers most of his face, it's like he's glowing. His corner is dimmer than the rest of the dining hall, but I can't pull my eyes away from him. I can't even see his eyes, but I know what he is. A Fae. There's no other possibility. Nothing sets him apart except for his obvious desire to stay away from everyone.

I can't turn my eyes away from him. Is this what normal humans feel like when they look at me, when they see a Wyrdling?

Before I have time to think about it, Calum says solemnly, "You stay away from that one."

I turn around and realize that Calum isn't shunning me. I knew he'd rent me a room, but he's treating me like any other person. "What is he? He's…"

"That's a High Fae. We don't get them in these parts very often, but don't let their prettiness get to you. They're cold-hearted bastards, and they'll watch an entire village burn if it helps them get whatever they're looking for. They're pretty, mind you, and every woman and probably half the men here are wondering what he looks like under that cloak. That's how they get you, though. A pretty smile, a heavy coin purse, and a bit of magic that makes you think they can do anything."

He's serious with those words, but without waiting for a response, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key. "Just because your mother was one of them doesn't mean you should spend time with them, Miss Maeve. If that one takes an interest in you, there's not a person in this entire village that can stop him from doing what he wants with you."

The thought sends a shiver through me. I know what magic's capable of now, and I run my finger over my wrist where that little shadowed tally mark shimmers on my skin. "Don't worry, Calum. I'm on my way out of Blackgrove. Do you know how to get to Stormhaven?"

He arches an eyebrow as he slides the two pennies off the bar. "Sure, you just follow the path northeast out of town. You'll pass a few villages, but just keep going and you'll get there. About a week's walk if you're trying to get there in a timely fashion. You know Wyrdlings aren't treated any better in the city, don't you?"

I nod. "I stopped expecting anyone to treat me decently a long time ago. Why aren't you bothered by me?"

"I remember your mother. She… she was a different kind of Fae. I figure you're a different kind of Wyrdling. Plus, every Wyrdling I've ever heard of has already killed half their family long before they were your age. I doubt you'll start any fires at this point."

I blink, surprised at Calum's candor, and the things he's saying, but instead of responding, I just take the key and give him a nod as he turns back to his other customers. Part of me wants to talk to him about my mother, to learn more about her, but he's busy, and I don't know if I can handle any more surprises tonight. It's probably better that I get some sleep and maybe talk to him tomorrow.

As I walk past the other patrons at the bar, I hear one of the younger men say, "Shade save us all. That evil mist is getting closer by the day. Riverside down the way is gone. Not abandoned. Gone. The mists swallowed it up, and no one's been seen since, save two travelers who were just passing through. They don't remember a thing. One moment, they were eating supper at the inn. The next, they were standing on the edge of the mist."

A shiver runs through me at the mention of the mists. Just another piece of the world that's wrong. Everyone knows not to go in them. Bodies have been found after they've receded with their skin melted off. Like someone had poured boiling water over them. It's sickening to think about.

"That's a shame," one of the old farmers responds. "Riverside was always a nice little spot. No one of any real importance came from there, and I think that's a good thing. Just good people minding their business. Can't say anything bad about a man who takes care of himself and leaves the rest of the world alone."

"Unlike that Trevor Arden. The man's a menace," Terry Wood says with a sneer. "Between Arden and Milligan, I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to tax us. It's not like Arden even earned his money. That's Fae gold from that sister-in-law of his."

There's silence from the group. Like so many people, they have plenty of terrible things to talk about, and almost nothing to do about any of them. That's the way it goes when the world is dying, though.

I walk up the stairs, feeling a lot of pressure on me. I wish I could be down there with those old farmers. The work wouldn't be enjoyable, but worrying about food sounds a lot better than trying to do something that no one else would fathom doing. It's terrifying. No, that's not the right word. It's overwhelming and feels impossible.

Another one of Vesta's sayings pops into my head. "Destiny doesn't care about your feelings. You do what must be done or you die."

Vesta was not a kind woman, but she cared about me. I don't know if I'd have survived my childhood in the woods if I hadn't had her guidance. I needed to run free. Vesta had understood, and she'd taken me deep into the forest where there were real dangers.

She'd been more stoic and emotionless than anyone I've ever met, but I never felt afraid when she was near. Where my father was the person I went to when I wanted a hug or a story, Vesta was the one I looked to when I needed someone to protect me or someone to teach me.

I take one last look at the dining hall of the inn, and my eyes move to the High Fae who's staring into a candle not far away, his forest green cloak hood covering his eyes in shadows. And yet, I feel those eyes on me. There's no doubt that he's seen me as something more than human, just as I can tell that he is.

If you fight a Fae, you will die . Vesta's words echo through me, and I don't doubt them. Not after seeing this. Like this morning with the deer, my body wanted to move toward him, to talk to him, but that chill that ran down my spine told me he was dangerous. My hand clenches around my spear a little tighter. As Calum said, no one in Blackgrove could stop him from doing anything.

Him staring me down from across the dining hall doesn't make me feel particularly confident that I've kept my head down. When I unlock the door to my room, I slide inside and quickly lock it back. Without a second thought, I look around the room. I need more than a locked door between me and a High Fae. Especially one with an interest in me.

The room is a typical barebones room at an inn. Another wobbly table in the far corner. A bed large enough for two people that might be better than a bedroll on the ground is pressed against the wall. There's a heavy wooden dresser against the wall between the room and the hallway, and I move to the side of it. I have to really work to get it to move, and when it's finally in front of the door, I feel a lot better. It would take a lot for someone to open the door with the dresser in front of it.

That doesn't mean that I get comfortable. No, danger's already found me, and there's no chance that I'll be doing much more than tossing and turning tonight. At least they won't be able to sneak up on me. If someone manages to open that door, they're going to do it while making plenty of noise.

I may not win a fight with a Fae, but I'll be damned if I let one kill me without giving it my best shot.