Page 92 of Forged in Flame and Shadow

Leon’s unit slowly sheathe their weapons, but they continue to hold themselves alert and at the ready. I know that any one of them could break out their sensic magic and start incapacitating these people anytime they wanted.

There’s so much going on I’ve barely glanced at the man standing behind Will, but he speaks now, his voice bewildered.

“You called her Morgana,” he says to Will, before turning to me. “You’reMorgana Angevire?”

The man’s probably a few years older than me, with brown eyes and a round face. He looks mostly human, but there’s a distinctly green tint about his skin and, though his hair is cut brutally short, it’s got some of the same emerald color in it.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you here?”

Instead of answering, the man holds up his hand to his friends on the beach, beckoning them over. They slowly sheathe their blades, and all together the fae and humans do a strange kind of march toward the porch, never taking their eyes off each other for a moment. It’s a fragile truce, but a truce nonetheless.

“Itisher,” the man says, his voice excited now. “This is Morgana Angevire.”

To my surprise, they bow.

“Your Highness,” one of them murmurs, and I raise my eyebrows. I’m wondering how they found me, but I’m also caught off guard by their deference to my rank. I didn’t really picture it from subversive types like the Hand, especially after their hostile approach.

“Now no one’s in imminent danger of getting stabbed,” I say. “What the gloam did you do to my friend?”

Leon glares at the green-skinned man, who suddenly looks sheepish.

“I just gave him a little fever,” he says.

I blink. That doesn’t sound like any kind of terrial magic. That sounds almost viatic. From the man’s appearance, I’d assume he has some dryad blood in him, except everyone knows dryads don’t deliberately hurt people. I file my curiosity away. We have more pressing things to worry about.

“A fever made him pass out?” Leon asks, clearly skeptical.

“I made sure it spiked quickly.”

“But he’ll be okay, won’t he?” I demand. “He doesn’tfeelweaker.”

The green-skinned man tilts his head, my statement confusing him, but then he shrugs.

“He’ll be fine. Really. It’ll burn off in a day.”

“Hyllus, will you take Alastor inside?” I ask.

“There’s a bed in the back,” Will says to the fae as he easily scoops Alastor up and carries him into the cottage. I round on our visitors.

“Who told you I was here?” I demand. “Was it you?” I turn to Will. From his reaction to the fight, it’s clear he knows these people, but I don’t want to think what that might mean. I can’t have another person betray me, not after everything.

“No,” Will says forcefully. “I didn’t know they were coming.” He throws the rebels a frustrated look. “I’ve had some contact with the Hand since I retired, but I would never have shared your location with them against your wishes.”

“Someone better start explaining how you knew where to find her, or the Hand’s going to be short a few fingers,” Leon says, his voice low with warning.

One of the rebels clears her throat, a redheaded woman with her hair tied back in a severe bun.

“We keep tabs on a lot of our contacts. We got a message there was an unusual group in Gullert asking for Will Mercer, including a woman who looked a lot like the missing princess.”

“You got here fast,” Damia says suspiciously. “Are you sure you weren’t lying in wait for us?”

“The one who sent us word is an aesteri,” the redhead says. “Their messages get to us quick.”

“And why are you so interested in the princess?” Leon asks.

The redheaded woman exchanges an unreadable look with the part-dryad.

“Because ever since the palace announced that Elowen and Alaric Angevire had a daughter, our leader has wanted to speak with you for a very pressing reason.”

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