Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 132138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 661(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 661(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Ove is a youngling, barely past two, but brownies age differently. She’s a child but well on her way to her own work. Still, the light of youth is in her wide black eyes. She clings to me for a moment. Brownies are affectionate creatures when they’re allowed to be. My own nanny carried me until I got too big, and then Flanna stroked my hair and held my hand whenever possible. My mother loved the affection between us, and my father tolerated it.
Where is sweet Flanna now? Probably buried in the wide mass graves I saw Torin’s men digging as we fled the palace.
I shake off the thought and look down at Ove. “So tell me, little one, why were you looking for me?”
“The mayor’s coming.”
Three words and my whole day is wrecked. Micha O’Sullivan is a pompous ass who eyes me with far too much familiarity for a man twice my age. Unfortunately, he’s a pompous ass with too much power in this backwater part of the world. This village might be the ass end of the plane, but Torin still has some measure of control through the officials even here.
I set the brownie on her feet. “Did your mum know why he’s coming?”
Of all the people left on the plane, only Mags figured out who Gillian and I are. The brownie, who sometimes helps with the house and the fields, slipped up once a few years back and called Gillian by her title. It seemed she was born on the Unseelie plane. I despaired in leaving the tower since it’s now my home, but Mags took to one fragile knee and pledged to defend the Unseelie princess with her life. It satisfied Gillian, and now we have an ally.
“Mum said she overheard there was talk of new restrictions.” Ove’s eyes grow round, a wealth of fear.
I take a deep breath. New restrictions mean new laws against magic and non-sidhe creatures. I take Ove’s hand and begin to wind our way out of the field. I need to change clothes if the mayor is coming. He tends to call me to task when I’m seen in public in the soft leather pants I favor.
I regret leaving the field. I can think out here among the wheat I planted. I can close my eyes and almost feel my Dark Ones. What would the mayor think if he knew I dream at night of two lovers, one with dark powers and the other who can light up the night?
He would be horrified and possibly accuse me of witchcraft. It’s what they accuse everyone of these days. Witchcraft, once a valued skill, is now a way to punish anyone who doesn’t agree with authority.
When I travel to sell my wheat, they’re everywhere—bodies strung up on the side of the road. Witchcraft. Collusion. Improper contact with non-sidhe creatures. Whispering the names Beck and Cian. All offenses punishable by hanging.
There are rumors that the ones hanged are the lucky ones.
Gillian stands at the edge of the field, a stern look on her face. She’s dressed for the occasion in a sturdy but respectable gown that would prove completely impractical for work. “Where have you been?”
I look back at the crops pointedly.
“None of your sass, girl.” Gillian sighs and shakes her head. “If your da could see you now.”
He would be perfectly horrified, but the thought brings a bit of a smile to my face. “He would demand to know where his daughter was. Well, if he noticed at all. Now Mama, on the other hand, would have a fit of vapors, and my brothers would laugh.”
“Go on, then. I see the little one has already brought the news.” She winks down at Ove. “Go back to your mum.” She passes her a small container. “Morning milk, to thank her. Stay out of sight. The less they remember you exist, the safer you will be.”
Ove nods her scraggly head and takes off, the shafts marking her progress.
I’m halfway up the stairs when Gillian stops me.
“You have to be more careful. If the guards catch you holding hands with Ove, they have every right to arrest you.”
Anger curls in my stomach. “Then perhaps we should do something about the guards.”
Like gather together and show them what a mob can do.
I march to my room and fling my clothes off with a reckless hand. I slam open the door to my dresser and pull out my work dress.
Gillian sits down on the edge of the bed. “Could I talk you into the blue cotton?”
The blue cotton is my best dress, the one I wear to weddings and festivals. “I won’t waste it on him.”
I hate the mayor, with his covetous eyes. I select my work dress because it covers my chest and masks my curves. The mayor is looking for a wife, and he already proposed an alliance between us. I’ve been trying to put him off.