Chapter 1

One

Sixteen Years Later

The sprite was back. She was sitting on an upper shelf near the door where Papa had lined up several metal tankards—the ones he commissioned from the blacksmith to sell to travelers.

She was a wood sprite, no taller than my hand from the heel of my palm to the tip of my middle finger. She was quite pretty.

Her tiny female body was the vibrant blue of a summer sky, covered in downy feathers up to and over her breasts, where her skin, a paler blue, covered her throat and face. Her slender legs ended in sharp black talons, which she currently used to perch on the lip of the shelf above me.

She stretched out her black-tipped wings and yawned, revealing tiny, serrated teeth. Wood sprites had bird-like wings instead of arms like other sprites. Her head was small and smooth and covered in tiny blue feathers that curled up at the back of the neck. And she watched me with large, round black eyes.

I continued to sweep, trying to ignore the game of Kings and Bones Papa had been playing with customers for the past three hours. I wondered why she was watching me.

She'd first appeared not long after we settled here in these woods. Our high lord had been moving us frequently the past several years as the war between Northgall and Lumeria became more volatile. We'd settled here north of the Borderlands last winter in the dense forest not too far from Lake Moreen. And since the ambassador now sitting at the table with my father had carried the news to us that the war was over—had been over for months, actually—it seemed we'd be staying here.

I didn't like it. We were currently living on Northgall lands. And while our high lord had assured us we were too far away from any of the dark fae to be in danger, I knew for a fact he was wrong.

My sister, Tessa, had been taken by one this past summer. Papa had been gravely ill, burning up with fever. She'd left in the middle of the night to fetch juniper to help with the fever, and she'd never returned.

The next morning, I found a letter attached to something small wrapped in fine leather on our doorstep. The letter bore my name in Tessa's hand. Though it was certainly her penmanship, I was sure she was forced to write the letter, telling me she'd met a beast fae, who was now her mate.

That was ridiculous! We'd spoken that very night about how awful and terrifying the dark fae were. She'd never simply galivant off and leave me to mate with one.

In the letter, Tessa had asked me to meet her that night at the stream if I wanted to go and live with their clan instead of stay with Papa.

Nonsense. As if I'd fall for that. The beast fae who'd captured her had obviously forced her to write the letter to try to lure me away from home and the protection of our wood fae clan.

I didn't fall for it, of course.

However, I did find a beautifully made dagger and scabbard wrapped inside the leather. Tessa's letter had said it was a gift for my protection. It made me wonder about a captor who would allow her to send me a gift before spiriting her away in the middle of the night.

The dagger was small and fit perfectly in my hand. From that day on, I strapped the dagger to my thigh beneath my homespun dress. Without Tessa at my side, I felt even more vulnerable and would have to protect myself.

The wood sprite walked behind several tankards and settled right above my father and the men playing Kings and Bones like she was actually interested in the game. Curious.

I'd noticed her while I was gathering fennel in the woods last summer, not long before Tessa was taken. She'd followed me home that afternoon. When I called up to her in the branches, she said not a word, but simply watched me. All sprites could speak, but I wondered if she couldn't since she never did.

She reappeared many times over the next several months, simply observing me as I hung the laundry to dry behind our inn or worked in the small garden out back. She even followed me from tree to tree when I went in search of herbs in the woods.

Since Tessa left, I found the wood sprite's company comforting, even if she never spoke to me. She still felt like a friend.

"More mead, Murgha!" bellowed Papa from the corner table, his words slurring.

The sun was slanting through the western window, casting shadows on the rough wood plank floor.

There was no one else in the tavern of our four-room inn built beneath a giant black oak tree. The only customers were the three men at the table with Papa—the moon fae ambassador from Mevia and his two guardsmen.

"Hurry, girl," Papa called, rattling the bits of stone and bone in the pewter bowl before scattering them on the board of kingdoms carved into the table.

"Well done, Phestys," said the ambassador. "Seems you're on a winning streak."

My gut clenched as I retrieved a pitcher of mead from behind the bar and made my way to their table. Papa had always been a gambler. Even worse since Tessa left.

Once his fever had broken last summer, he'd stormed to the high lord's council and demanded they go after the creature who'd stolen his daughter. But our high lord was a useless coward.

Even though it was his idea to leave our home in Myrkovir Forest and flee to a safer place away from the war, he was the one who rarely stayed in residence here. He was always leaving for some important summit in Morodon on the coast or somewhere far away.

Ironically, he'd taken us here for safety, and yet, Tessa had been stolen in the night. Simply vanished into thin air.

"So I am, my lord," agreed Papa with a belchy chuckle, hauling his coin closer.

I poured him more mead then moved to the ambassador, a noble-born Mevian by the name of Rukard. Though I felt his eyes on me, I refused to look at him as I refilled his cup.

He was about Papa's age, some gray at his temples, his long brown hair tied back in a tail. His fancy Mevian silk garb threaded with silver embroidery signified his importance. While I stood next to him, he flared his indigo wings as if he was trying to impress me.

The moon fae were the only light fae who had beautiful, iridescent wings, ones that my true father would've had.

The ambassador's wings didn't impress me, nor did his lecherous stare. His two guardsmen both wore the blue and silver armor of Mevia. They were bulkier than the ambassador, of course, and their wings were a deep shade of blue.

I couldn't pretend their wings didn't fascinate me a little. Wood fae were considered a lower caste, not as anointed by the gods to be given the gift of wings.

Yet, I was well aware that the color of my white-blond hair and violet eyes set me apart from other wood fae. Only the noble line of Issosian moon fae had the same coloring of hair and eyes as me. Except they also were all born with wings. I was not. I was a half-breed.

"Why don't we up the stakes, Phestys?"

I glared at Rukard while I filled the bigger guard's cup first. Rukard grinned at me, but his eyes kept wandering lower.

"I've got the pot now," said Papa haughtily. "I'll set the wager, my lord."

I set the black-haired guard's cup down, ignoring his sly wink at me then rounded him to place a hand gently on my father's shoulder. "Papa, you've done so well. You should stash that away for good keeping. The winter will be here—"

"Oh, go on with you, Murgha." He shoved me aside. "Go clean the tables from the customers."

I didn't bother telling him they were all clean because we'd had no customers since the ambassador and his men had arrived two days ago.

Wood fae didn't much like the company of moon fae. It wasn't that we were enemies, but moon fae would often throw their weight around, especially ones with the authority of a noble lord like Rukard. They made other fae nervous.

As they were making me right that very minute.

On the table, the kingdoms were carved into four squares around a circular center. Each of the squares represented four realms—the heavens marked with stars, the oceans marked with wavy lines, the earth marked with round stones, and the mountains marked with spiky peaks. At the center of them all was the circle of the three hells, divided into pie-shape triangles. And at the very center of the triangles was a throne.

When a player cast the pewter bowl filled with three stones, six leg bones and the skull of a rodent, wherever they landed determined the roller's points for that round. I never bothered to learn the exact rules because I detested the game so much.

It seduced Papa into gambling away good money we needed to keep food in the larder and mead in our barrels. Not only for us but for our customers.

What I did know was that stones held more points than bones. The four realms on the outside were the safest and gave more points than the three hells. But anything landing on the throne doubled the points earned in that roll. And if the rodent skull landed on the throne, the roller was declared the winner no matter what anyone else rolled in the round.

Papa shoved every last coin he had into the empty square at the left of the table where the bets were made. "Everything in," he chuckled.

A stone of dread sank to the pit of my stomach. I'd seen this before, my father's unwavering optimism in conquering a player when it usually was the other way around.

"That's mighty steep." Rukard said with a serious expression while he scratched his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. "But I'll take the wager."

He pulled from the inside pocket of his fine, embroidered jacket a leather satchel of coin that he upended onto the pile. It wasn't just silver and copper pieces but the definitive sparkle of gold in the mix.

I gasped. So did Papa. But not for the same reason. While Papa's eyes gleamed greedily, I knew that mine shone with fear.

"I'll add this as well," quipped Rukard, pulling a gold ring encrusted with a trio of sapphires from his finger and laying it on top of the coin with a heavy clink.

"I'm out," said the dark-haired guardsmen.

"Me too," added the other, leaning back and drinking his mead.

"How about you, Phestys?" asked Rukard. "Surely, you can stay in the game, a man of your resources."

My stomach soured even more. Rukard knew exactly what to say to prick my father's pride and urge him further on.

"I…uh…" Papa faltered on a nervous chuckle. "I don't know if I can meet your wager."

He glanced up at me where I'd frozen a few feet away with the pitcher of mead in hand before he pulled something small that sparkled from his trousers' pocket and lay it next to the ring on the pile.

My free hand went instantly to my neck, even though I knew it wasn't there. It was my necklace, the one treasure I had from my mother. She'd left it behind when she left us. When I was ten, I'd taken it from Papa's box of trinkets and wore it from that day on.

Even though Papa had never given it to me, he saw that I had it and had never ordered me to give it back. When Tessa noticed, she simply said, ‘It looks pretty on you.' And that was that.

Until about three months ago when it went missing. I'd thought maybe the chain had broken when I was working. I'd looked everywhere and had even asked Papa. He'd grumbled something about getting on with my chores.

But, apparently, he'd stolen it. It happened about the same time when Papa's drinking and gambling had begun to spin out of control, carrying us closer and closer to the brink of ruin. I wondered if he'd already used it to gamble once and had won it back.

Rukard reached over and lifted the delicate silver chain, holding the moonstone in his palm. I wanted to reach over and jerk it from his nasty grasp.

"Well, well. This is quite the beauty. Delicate and lovely to be sure." He tsked. "But if you want to meet my wager, you'll have to come up with something more."

"That's all I've got, my lord." Papa swiped a palm through his sweat-slick hair, and for a moment, I felt relief. He was going to give up.

But then Rukard's gaze cut to me. An icy finger of dread trickled down my spine. "I believe you do have something of great value, Phestys."

Papa's gaze followed his. All four men were staring at me. I couldn't imagine what my expression reflected. I felt frozen in utter fear that Papa would even consider it. And yet, I knew he would.

He'd only ever tolerated my presence, giving what affection he did have to Tessa. I was simply a servant in his house, another mouth to feed, but one who could earn her keep. Since Tessa left, it had become worse—his moods and his sour grumbling about the sad lot fate had dealt him as he sank further into his cups and into gambling.

"Papa..." I begged softly without saying anything more than his name.

He averted his gaze to the pile of sparkling coin and the sapphire on top. "Aye. My daughter Murgha would even the scales."

"Indeed," agreed Rukard with a lascivious grin before turning back to the game.

A flicker of blue caught my eye as the wood sprite zipped out the open window. A sense of doom weighed even heavier. It was like she'd sensed the coming shame and loss, for I was certain that Rukard didn't want me as a servant to sweep his floors and clean his kitchen.

A round in the game of Kings and Bones consisted of each player rolling three times, the one with the highest total points winning the game. So I had the time it would take for six rolls to sneak my way through the kitchen to the residential part of the house where I could flee out the back.

Trembling, I rounded the bar to wash the now empty pitcher. I rinsed it quickly and set it on a towel to dry. Rattle, rattle, swish.

Papa rolled his first one. "Haha!" He laughed. "The finest roll yet," he declared with glee.

"Quite so," said Rukard, not seeming ruffled.

I kept my head down, pretending to clean items with trembling hands as I made my way closer to the swinging door that led into the kitchen.

"That was eighteen points on that one, my lord. Your roll."

Rattle, rattle, swish.

"Not bad, not bad," said Papa, a twinge of nervousness in his voice.

I kept wiping the towel down the bar then tossed it on a barrel before stepping toward the kitchen door.

A strong hand caught my arm and tugged me back. I gasped and looked over my shoulder at the dark-haired guard.

"Why don't you come and watch the game, Murgha?" he said too familiarly.

I didn't even know his name, nor had I ever introduced myself, yet the smug quirk on his mouth told me he wasn't asking. He was telling me what to do.

"I should clean up after a long day," I told him.

"No," he declared, "you should come watch your new master win you to his house."

My belly rolled with nausea again. I wondered how much longer before I'd empty my stomach onto the floor.

I didn't resist because there was no use, but he hauled me back to the table roughly and forced me down onto a stool next to him at the bar. He let go of my arm, but his close proximity was a warning that he could snatch me if I tried to get away.

I clasped my hands in my lap, grazing the strap at my thigh that held my dagger beneath my dress. Relieved that I had that for protection at least, I blew out a shaky breath.

By the time they'd ended the second round, Rukard was up by five points. Papa didn't seem dismayed. Like I'd said, he was an optimist in the throes of gambling. He always thought he'd win…until he didn't.

My entire body was shaking by the time Papa scooped the bones and stones into the pewter cup and began to shake them for his final roll.

Rattle, rattle—

The tavern door slammed open, knocking the wall behind it with a shudder. Everyone jumped, but the guard at my side was on his feet, his sword unsheathed. Then, no one moved at all.

We were all frozen at the sight standing in the doorway, the setting sun silhouetting a giant shadow fae—one of demonkind—in all of his terrifying glory. His wide dragon-like wings blocked out nearly all of the light, his four horns curled back in an elegant crown over his sleek black hair.

Then he dipped his head and folded his wings tightly against his back so he could walk through the doorway made for light fae, not for the oversized demonkind.

The guard at my side stepped forward with more bravado than I thought he had and demanded, "State your purpose here, shadow fae. This inn does not accommodate the likes of you."

The shadow fae stepped across the room, his heavy boots sounding hard on the wood floor. The newcomer stopped next to the table where Papa and Rukard were also staring in shock up at him. The dark fae's red-eyed gaze flickered to each one of them, stopping on me for a lingering moment before returning his attention to the table, not to the guard who'd spoken to him.

"I am a shadow fae priest," he stated in a deep, silken voice, "and I have come to play the game."