They had broken off from the rest of the camp to forage. The second their packs hit the ground, Remy shucked her too-tight boots. She was sure she would have blisters in the coming days.
Fenrin and Heather were both accomplished foragers, as most brown witches were. One walk through the forest could procure enough medicinal plants to line their pockets with druni.
Though the witch covens shared some magic in common, each possessed their own unique powers too. The blue witches had the gift of Sight, the green witches made delicious food and gardens grow, the red witches could animate objects, and the brown witches were healers and expert foragers.
Remy, however, was useless at identifying plants. She could not tell the difference between a medicinal mushroom and a poisonous one. She would still join Fenrin while he foraged, though.
In the past, they had a lucrative business going for themselves. They could have moved to bigger taverns closer to the Western Court cities, but their goal was to stick to the backcountry, where the living was rough and the money was bad . . . and it was all because Remy was a red witch.
“I wish I had my bow.” Remy pouted, sinking her toes into the cool moss beneath her bare feet. She rolled her stone-gray trousers up to her calves. It felt good to have fresh air on her sore feet.
“Maybe if you ask really nicely, the prince will buy you one.” Fenrin snickered, passing her two mushrooms as he carried on.
“I’d rather go hungry than ask him for a bow.” Remy tucked the mushrooms into her pocket.
It felt so strange to fall into their easy routine. Here they were, on the road with a bunch of high-class fae, still breaking off into their little duo to forage.
“Do you trust him, the Eastern Prince?” Fenrin asked, his blue eyes scanning through the forest.
“Not even the slightest.” Remy snorted.
“Good. Be careful with him,” Fenrin said more to himself than to Remy. “The others I like well enough. They make good company. Carys told me she’d show me the East one day and . . .”
“You need to be careful with them too, Fen,” Remy said. “They might act like your friends, but they’re dangerous.”
“I know.” Fenrin passed back another handful of mushrooms. “Still, it’s better than what we were doing, right? I’d rather travel with a bunch of fae warriors than scrub sheets at the Rusty Hatchet.”
Remy smirked, rubbing her dirt-stained hands together. “Yeah, me too.”
“Our mansion in Yexshire will have an armory.” Fenrin laughed, ducking behind a tree. “Then you will have dozens of bows to choose from.”
This was the game they played to pass the time. They would plan their dream home, a castle that they would erect in the rebuilt city of Yexshire. It was a daydream that began the day they met when they were twelve, and it still lasted even seven years later.
Remy looked up to the treetops at her left, as if she could see the High Mountains through the forest. On the other side of that crown of mountains sat her fallen court, her homeland. The High Mountain Court had the most beautiful seasons: hot, verdant summers and snowy, white winters. Even in the depths of winter the sun shone every day, if only for a few minutes. In the Western Court, weeks could stretch by on end without a single ray of sunlight breaking through the dismal gray clouds. Remy remembered her court as a magical place filled with sweeping alpine vistas. She wondered how much her memory had exaggerated the beauty of the High Mountain Court. The feeling of home still strummed through her body like a song only her soul knew.
“What was our plan?” Remy toed a fallen red leaf. “In this dream, did we just hope that the Northern King would fall and Yexshire would suddenly rise again, and we would stumble across a bounty of wealth and . . .”
“Hey—” Fenrin cut in. “This isn’t part of the game.”
“What was the plan, Fen?” Remy persisted. This daydream didn’t seem to fit her anymore. “Was I meant to just hide forever or until the world fixed itself without me?”
Fenrin jutted his jaw to the side, considering. They didn’t talk like this. They only worked their tavern jobs and planned their dream lives. It was different now that they had their lot thrown in with the fae. It felt like they were actually doing something about the state of the world.
“I don’t know, Remy,” he said. “I just know you are too important to go getting your head cut off trying to fix the world.”
It was the same advice as Heather’s. They both wanted Remy to stay hidden and insignificant. She was apparently so important that she had to make herself unimportant. She was sick of waiting for the world to be set right. Even if the quest for the talismans led to nothing, Remy felt the burning need to finally do something. The High Mountain Court deserved its vengeance.