Page 39 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

Wren loosened his hold on my waist by a fraction. “He’s the High Lord of the Court of Fire,” he explained. “And he has his own damn insignia, thank you very much.”

I shook off the questions brewing in my mind as Elera continued to walk further into town.How many Courts are there, and is Wren friends with everyone? Why is Belgrave’s insignia shared with a Faerie Court? And why isn’t anyone moving out of the way of the goddamn unicorn clip-clopping so loudly through the street?!

The thoroughfare ahead was crowded with beings that may as well have come straight from a drug-induced hallucination.

Horns and tails and claws and wings and hooves.

They were alien-like, and most of them made Wren look exceptionally human.

The pathway was a mirage of different skin types and shades of colour. Some leathery and wrinkled, or scaled and glistening, others smooth and clear, or opaque and matte. Every colour imaginable—and many of them unimaginable—filled the street, a sea of shades and textures to rival the sky.

Some did resemble Wren, standing at daunting heights with beauty to put the world’s most striking wonders to shame and clothes of a similar fashion—very simple clothing in plain colours and flattering cuts, neither old nor new in their design. Many of those beings, however, had donned a belt of ancient weapons in contrast to their loose shirts and long dresses. I thought it made for a peculiar sight to behold within such a peaceful and cheery atmosphere.

They were indeed talking and laughing as they strode down the street, stopping every so often to admire the waresdisplayed on wooden tables and the sills of open shop windows, all of them completely oblivious to the approaching beast with horns sharp enough to skewer them if they got in her way.

High Fae, I thought,who perhaps consider themselves above moving out of the pathway of a horse—even a magical one.

But the other faeries, who were lingering at the counters behind shop windows and stalls or conversing on the side of the road, did not look up at us as we passed by either. Not so much as a glance.

Elera jerked to a halt when a small, winged faerie with scaly blue skin stepped out from the curb right in front of her. Wren’s arm tightened almost imperceptibly around my waist, holding me in place.

“What is going on?” I whispered, clutching at Elera’s mane as she shook her large head and snorted her annoyance. She only continued walking once the small faerie had finished crossing the road.

I felt Wren shrug. “I put a glamour over us.”

“Youwhat? Why?”

He huffed. “Because like I said, bookworm, I don’t want any gossip.”

My blood heated, and I wriggled forward, trying to put some space between our bodies. “Then what was all of that bullshit about posture?”

“You have a nasty little mouth on you, don’t you?”

“Wren!”

“What?”

I sighed deeply. “Nothing.”

Every muscle and nerve ending in my body ached for the journey to be over soon.

The scent of fruit-filled pies and fresh bread filled my nose as we passed a bakery, followed by herbs and spices Icouldn’t name wafting out of a large cauldron at a stall two doors up, filled with a delicious-looking orange soup. A faerie who resembled an Ogre with a large bald head and wrinkly sage-coloured skin was standing behind it, using his enormous, thick-fingered hands to wield a ladle and goblet as he served the line of customers trailing down the street.

The crowd thickened as we veered around the queue, and Wren suddenly leaned down, almost horizontal to the ground, and swiped a sprig of grapes from the top of a straw shopping bag on the arm of a purple, three-horned faerie. He offered one to me, but I shoved him off.

I could feel Wren mocking me in his head, and I almost went to say something—but then I heard the crunch of the grape skin bursting as he popped one into his mouth, and I had to brace myself against my stomach’s ravenous complaints.

Baskets of wine bottles and freshly cut flowers lined the road, and a stall towards the far end of the marketplace had a display of hanging crystals that spun in the breeze and cast sharp rainbows on the off-white canopy.

My heart clenched.

Brynn would have loved this place, too.

“Does the glamour bother you that much?” Wren asked, poking me in the ribs.

“No. It’s not that.” There was no use in pretending that he couldn’t detect even the slightest shift in my mood based on body language anymore.

“Then what?”

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