The Mist Thief

1

The Mist Thief

Being on the losing side of a battle was shit.

Victors always chose the reparation prizes, and they were wretched, in my limited experience. Prizes like unwitting brides to vicious princes with a score to settle.

I blew out a long breath. Some of the elven plum wine I kept tipping over my lips churned in my belly. One palm braced against a stone wall, I waited for it to settle before continuing down the dark, cobbled path. With the moon half-hidden by soupy clouds, now was my only chance at freedom.

When fae armies attacked the isle of the shadow elven-my folk-there'd been no choice but to raise a blade. Now my life had been purchased for glory and a bit of petty revenge.

By tomorrow's sunset, I would have a husband.

I was already drunk enough that the thought now brought out despondent chuckles more than hidden tears in the night.

What a tale I would recite to the littles someday-for there was no doubt heirs would be part of this damning alliance-bright-eyed young ones looking up at me as I told them the romantic tale of the day their father came for me.

Maj, tell me your love story.

Ah, little one, let me tell you how your father whisked me away into the sunset, complete with shackles and promises of blissful hate for the rest of our days.

I snorted and took another foolish sip of wine before tossing the small vial into the dark leaves of a briar shrub, then pulled the woolen hood over the starlight silver of my braids.

My future husband was taking me as a wife for no reason save my former betrothed was the prince of the Ljosalfar, the light elven clan. Prince Arion was the one who raised battle against the sea fae-allies to my future husband.

All I could puzzle through was since Arion fled after the battles, it meant I became the next best target for enemies to exact revenge.

Heated frustration boiled in my veins. I nearly stumbled when I tried to kick at a pebble in the soil, wine still heady in my skull.

My crimes in all this were being wholly naive and not seeing Arion's moves before he made them. But I was dangerous in my own right.

Arion desired me as his wife for the same reason as the fae-to use the darkness in my blood as his blade. Doubtless, my future husband would claim my affinity for himself after he'd broken me.

My affinity-the magic the gods saw fit to curse me with-was too unstable, too treacherous, to be left untethered. But to bind me through vows would create an unbreakable bond with my new kin.

There was a long-standing belief in our lore that elven could not bring harm to their kin without marking their souls in darkness.

I wasn't certain I believed it anymore. Seemed like there was plenty of kin-harming going around as of late.

My fists clenched until my fingernails ached across my palms.

Fae and other curious clans of magics were tangles of familial connections throughout their kingdoms. To make me their kin, in theory, would keep the whole of their realms protected from any threat of my dark affinity.

I ducked into the hedge, careful to avoid any main roads; I cursed Arion with every prick of a thorn, every snag of a branch in my silver braids.

This was his bleeding fault. Perhaps the cowardly prince should be the one being sold off as the pawn in a vow alliance. But Arion was tucked away in his glittering palace in Grynstad, the isle of the light elves, probably still sulking he didn't get his way while leaving me to shoulder his stupidity.

Tomorrow fate would deliver her sharp knife, but tonight was mine to live as I desired.

I emerged from the thorny hedgerow on the backside of a longhouse made of pale stones. Perhaps, if I were to get caught, my new clan would see me as too disorderly and rescind their offer of vows.

I snickered with bitterness.

No doubt, should I be caught by my future husband or his people, they would simply tighten the tethers.

Outside the back door, I removed the hood and secured a linen scarf over my head, the way most of the sea fae kept their hair free of their eyes. I plucked out the silver rings lining the whole edge of each of my sharply pointed ears.

With the tip of my thumb, I ran inky kohl under my eyes-a style of most sweaty sailors on the ships of the Ever Kingdom.

The land of sea fae was playing host for the alliance signing in a show of good faith, so it was the sea folk I would pretend to be tonight.

My borrowed boots were too large, and heavy buckles clinked on each step. With a silk scarf, I fashioned a patch over one eye.

When a twig snapped in the hedgerow behind me, I spun around. The night was empty. There was nothing but the vibrant stars, the glitter of the tiered golden palace of the sea fae on the hill, and a few splashes from playful merfolk in the surf near the docks.

Inside the tavern, boisterous sea fae sang cheery shanties of sirens and spirits of the far seas. Privateers, merchants, off-duty guards, dockmen, and a few unashamed pirates filled the tables. Some tossed wooden dice, others clanked polished drinking horns against the other. There were women who sat on the laps of lovers, while others looked as brutish with their blades and trousers as any man.

Since the Ever Queen stole the heart of the wicked king and was crowned, the women of the Ever Kingdom were bolder.

Or so I heard.

I took a bit of strength from them tonight.

The docile, obedient elven princess could crawl into the shadows for now and make way for a bold sea fae woman fresh off the tides who was looking for a bit of debauchery and diversion.

When no one glanced my way, when no palace guards rushed from the alcoves to drag me back to my chambers, I accepted my disguise as adequate and approached the long counter, sticky with spilled ale and what smelled like old bile.

Tables were filled, but most seats at the counter were empty. Only the aleman stood behind the edge, scrubbing drinking horns. On the last seat, leaning one shoulder against the wall, was a hunched man in a thick canvas cloak with a straw hat tipped low on his brow.

I aimed for the far end away from the drunkard.

A man with a floppy brim hat grunted a rough "Pardon" when we collided.

I skirted around him, on the path nearer to the center seats. Fine enough. All I needed was a bit of bold sea fae rum and a few game pieces to join in at one of the tables.

The moment I carved between two game tables was the moment the players decided to verbally attack each other.

"You be damn cheats!" A man with a matted beard and two heavy rings pierced in his tapered ears shot to his feet.

He blocked my path, so I dodged him.

"Calling me a cheat?" The second voice was younger, smoother. He stood at the opposing table, forcing me to sidestep.

In another breath, the two opposing players lunged at each other. Chairs skidded over wooden floors, tables rocked as men raced for the tussle. With a shriek, I spun away from the chaotic tables to avoid being yanked to the floor in a rowdy battle.

"Move," a disapproving voice said. Strong hands took hold of my arms, shoving me aside so another fae could slip around me. He wore a black scarf over his head, a gold ring in an ear, and a vicious gleam in his gaze.

This might've been too reckless.

Back home on the isle of Natthaven, I was not allowed a great deal of independence to wander. In the palace of sea fae-former enemies who trusted few things about elven folk-I certainly was not left alone without a watchful eye.

I blew out a long breath. No doubt, I was merely overthinking, unsettled by the noise and being alone for the first time in turns.

With all the shuffling, I was now three seats away from the drunkard at the counter.

He likely wouldn't even know I was there. Still, I shouldered him out and took my place on a crooked stool.

"What'll it be, lady?" asked the aleman, scrubbing the same horn when he approached.

I cleared my throat, lowering my voice to sound like a smoke-soaked rasp to match many of the sailors. "Brown rum. And a few pieces." I tossed over the only coin I had-a juvel, elven currency.

If the aleman cared, he made no note of it. Then again, with the approaching alliance, more and more Dokkalfar elven had stepped foot on fae lands whenever the king came to visit me, his somber granddaughter.

I was the caged creature when all I had done was try to keep my folk safe. I should've known, if I fought and revealed how my mists could swallow entire lands, the fae folk would see me as the fearsome princess the same as many elven.

What was I to do? My grandfather had been bespelled by one of Arion's minions into a sleep. He was defenseless, vulnerable. I had to stand between the fae warriors and the king.

"What's a wee lady doin' out here in a place like this?"

It took me a moment to realize the drunkard hunched three seats down had spoken.

I frowned, scanning my disguise. "Do I not look like I fit? Just got off the sea."

"Did you now?" He chortled, thick and rough. "Most folk come here when there're troubles on the heart. What's troublin' you?"

"There is nothing troubling. Merely want a drink, if you please."

The drunkard slapped the table. "Drink for milady, Tonguetaker!"

Tonguetaker. The aleman perked at the name. Sea fae had the strangest surnames. Each one different and named for the magic they kept in their song or their prowess with a blade.

Tonguetaker could be skilled at anything, but none sounded entirely pleasant.

"I was getting to it." The aleman clapped a horn in front of me in the same moment the drunkard scooted down a seat.

I swallowed, embarrassed how the hair lifted on the back of my neck, and raised the drinking horn to my lips. Gods, it burned. I winced against the satin fire, feeling it drop down my throat to my belly.

"You runnin' from something, lady?" asked the drunk. "Looks like you might be."

I forced down a second sip. "There is nowhere I can run. I came to enjoy my last moments of independence. Not that I had much of that before."

"Always the good girl then?"

"Always." Another drink. It was getting simpler to stomach.

"What be so horrid that you chose to spend your last bit of independence, as you say, in a piss-hole as this?" The man waved his hand at the aleman. "No offense meant, Tonguetaker."

I clapped the drinking horn over the tavern counter, gasping through a swallow. "I'm to be sold off in vows."

"Hmm." The man paused. "Thought most of the lady folk liked the notion of a mate."

"Ha." The laugh broke from my chest like a kind of warbling seabird. "A mate? More like a jailer."

"Now that's taking it too far."

Was it the rum, or did the drunkard's voice shift to something smoother, something dark and deep?

A rush of air fled my lungs when the man crowded me, nearly spilling me off my seat. He tossed the hat onto the counter and tugged the thick wool scarf away from his chin.

All the bleeding gods, no.

Verdant eyes held mine, so green they looked like I could step into a sprawling meadow. His tousled brown hair was dark in some strands, then almost auburn in certain light.

When I had seen him across from me during the fighting, blade in hand, his eyes were black as pitch from his own horrifying magic.

Now, he wore a smug, stupidly handsome grin on his lips when he leaned in close. "I draw the line at being called a jailer, Princess."

My future husband.

Jonas of House Eriksson.

"H-how?" The word struggled over my tongue.

"We'll need to work on your sneaking. You're quite obvious, but your lack of discreetness gave us plenty of time to think up this little scheme." He chuckled and opened an arm to the ale room.

Dammit.

Every man who'd stood in my way, from the man with a matted beard that was clearly false, to the brawlers, to the sea fae who'd shifted me out of his path, pulled away shrouds and scarves to reveal faces I'd often seen wandering the corridors of the palace.

They were friends and allies of the damn prince.

I faced the aleman, still scrubbing that drinking horn.

He popped one shoulder. "Sorry, lady. You're not to be out of the gates."

"You know." Jonas leaned closer, the scent of his skin-parchment, oak, and deranged man-burned through my nose. He tugged at my false eyepatch, holding my gaze. "I thought you were supposed to be rather . . . empty. They say you're unable to feel since the battle."

On instinct, I stiffened, allowing the cold mists of my affinity to draw me back, to shield up my emotions. Difficult to do when my heart would not stop pounding.

The gods-awful prince laughed. "No, don't do that. Don't even try." He had the audacity to lean his lips close to my ear and whisper, "I've already seen the fire in your eyes."

With a flourish of his hand, the prince backed away, but boots shuffled and floorboards creaked.

"Princess Skadinia."

I closed my eyes and fought the urge to groan. Jaw tight, ire burning toward the nightmarish prince at my side, I turned on the simple stool. "Dorsan."

My grandfather's inner guard stood at the back of the alehouse; a dozen Dokkalfar royal guards with their dark blue tunics and bronze spears were positioned at his back.

There was not a line on Dorsan's pale face that hinted the man had ever laughed. Stern as marble, but loyal as the tides, Dorsan approached my side, taking hold of my arm. "Time to return, My Lady. The negotiations are set to begin."

At my other side, the prince strode past me. "See you shortly, Wife."

I leveled him with what I hoped was a dagger-sharp glare, allowing the elven guards to drag me from the alehouse, back to my unavoidable fate.