were known for their cruelty. The story of the first Sword of the Guardian was full of that cruelty.
Peigi felt sorry for Crispin, but then again, she didn’t. He’d made his choice. If he’d been a captive of the Fae prince, he’d have told them that once he was free, instead of professing loyalty to him.
Cian also puzzled her. His scent told her he was sincere about whatever he’d said to Stuart, but she wished Stuart had taught her a little more of the dokk alfar language than the basics. She could say hello and good-bye, yes and no, and a few curse words, but that was about it. She couldn’t even ask where the bathroom was.
Cian walked quietly beside Stuart, unworried, as though out for a stroll on a winter afternoon. Only an observant person, or a Shifter, would sense his tension. He wore thin-soled leather boots, good for feeling his way in the woods but strong enough to keep out thorns and rocks.
She absently wondered if the dokk alfar had cattle, or what sort of animal the leather came from. It gave off an odd scent, another tidbit of information she filed away for later use.
They walked for an hour or more. During that time she saw and heard no other Fae, the only sounds the scurrying of small animals in the underbrush or birds flashing from tree to tree.
Cian paused and the dokk alfar halted. Peigi quickly caught up to Reid, then growled in her throat.
The mists before them shimmered. Peigi did not like the smell of that air, like sulfur and burning charcoal. Michael and Crispin also halted, noses wrinkling.
The female dokk alfar soldier who’d first spoken to Stuart gave a command. The warriors formed up behind her, walked through the shimmering mist, and disappeared. Cian started to follow, noticed the others hanging back, and gave Stuart a pointed glance.
“It’s all right,” Stuart said to Peigi, though his undertone wasn’t reassuring. “It’s a link to deeper dokk alfar territory, and a barrier to keep the hoch alfar out. Similar to a scent-marked boundary.”
Michael huffed. “A magic-marked one. Doesn’t fill me with joy.”
“It’s more like camouflage,” Stuart said. “It won’t hurt you, unless you have hoch alfar blood.” He gave Michael and Crispin a keen stare. “Anyone?”
“Like I’d be a half-blood,” Michael sneered. Crispin screwed up his face in disgust.
“Now that we have that settled.” Stuart took Peigi’s hand. “We’d better go before they decide to come back and drag us through.”
The warmth of Stuart’s grip moved up Peigi’s arm to twine her heart. It changed her, that touch, made her believe she could do anything. As long as Stuart was with her, all would be well.
She gave him a smile, clasped his hand tightly, and walked with him through the barrier.
The mists were cold, but the tingle of magic quickly fell away. Noise, color, and odors assailed Peigi as the rush and roar of a busy town surrounded them. The change from silent woods to a teeming square made her suck in a breath.
Dokk alfar were everywhere, men and women, children, dogs, horses, wagons, carts. The square and roads that led out of it were paved with cobbles, rounded and worn from centuries of use. The air had warmed, as though they’d traveled enough distance for a change in climate.
Shops lined the square, open-air places that sold produce, cloth, spices, dishes, candles—all sorts of goods, including what appeared to be musical instruments. A man pedaled a potters’ wheel, his hands wet with the clay that formed under his touch.
Men wore the leather and metal studs Cian’s people did, but also trousers and cloaks. Women too wore trousers and cloaks, and some men and women sported long robes that swirled in the constant breeze.
Cian didn’t take the lead but let his entourage guide them across the square to a larger open-fronted building.
Peigi had been in enough bars in her lifetime to recognize this as one. A counter ran across the back of the room, behind which were shelves of colorful bottles. Tables and benches covered the floor space. A window to another room in the back slammed open, and a pair of hands shoved a tray of steaming plates onto the sill. A waitress grabbed the tray and sailed through the crowd to deposit the food in front of four dokk alfar, who greeted it with joy.
A stage rose about a foot from the floor on one side of the room. Three men and two women sat