Page 42 of How to Keep a Fae

“Good,” my father says.

Good? What does good mean?

He holds out his hand. I drop the keystone into it, and he slips the chain around his neck, tucking the stone under the collar of his armor.

We ride east, entering a broad forest path wide enough that carts must frequent it.

I want to ask him.

I also don’t want to know.

The unease I have felt on occasion rises tenfold.

It is replaced by a more urgent, prickling sensation at the back of my neck... “Attack!”

Raiders spill onto the path on both sides of us. My horse spins. Trained in battle, it kicks its hind legs, sending a raider flying.

My sword is in my hand—the precise slash opening up another raider’s throat.

More come. I hear the whistle as a bolas flies toward me. I wheel my horse around, but the road is crowded, and I have nowhere to go. The spinning bolas misses me, but tangles my horse's legs.

It goes down with a scream. I jump from the saddle, tumble, and come up on the balls of my feet. My sword whistles down, slicing through the rope. My horse breaks free.

A short, vicious battle follows. There are a dozen of them and only two of us.

They still fall easily.

As I stare down at the bodies littering the forest path, my earlier unease returns with a vengeance. The one before the raiders swarmed the path, the one about the keystone and what I felt—the one that relates to my father and why he brought me here.

I glance at my father, seeing him once more as Aurelius, the ancient male fae with imperial blood known by kings in other worlds whose life journey is entwined with the historically pivotal events of our people.

He killed as many as me, maybe more, moving with the fluidity and grace of a dancer. He could have handled them alone, of that I am certain.

Our horses have a couple of nicks, but thankfully nothing serious.

The raider’s bodies are dragged off the path and burned.

We continue on, putting distance between us before making a quiet camp in the forest.

But the violence has loosened a lid on the resentment inside me. And it will not settle back into place.

He doesn’t need me for protection.

“He visits me regularly,”Cecil had said back in the training hall.“Asking about you. Your progress. He reads every operational report you are involved in. He does not apply this exacting interest to any other warrior under my care. Nor did he deign to visit me even once before you joined my hall.”

He has been following my progress for a long time.

Why do I only now consider that Cecil might have reported my fight with Jayga and the subsequent agreement regarding Adaline?

“Why did you bring me here? You don’t need me for protection. You certainly don’t need me for conversation to break up the monotony of travel, either.”

He does not react to my words beyond setting aside the half-eaten bowl of his food.

My anger flares.

“I believe he has a purpose for you,”Cecil said.“One you will come to understand over time.”

He separated me from Adaline. Left her with Jayga. I have every reason to believe he did so purposefully and with intention.

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