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Wren was keenly aware of everybody who came through the tavern doors—human, fairy, or otherwise. Since she took up work there, robberies had gone down considerably. She was unassuming. A human girl without a drop of magic in her veins, neither breathtaking nor gritty in appearance. Taking advantage of underestimation was half the victory.
So long as she deterred trouble under the tavern’s roof, she was rewarded with a humble fee and a meal by the end of the night. There were worse jobs to have, and slow evenings made for easy coin after a day in the field.
The tavern was crowded that night, but no one dared take her seat at the end of the bar. She leaned against the wall, one elbow propped on the counter, observing. The usuals seemed to be on their best behavior.
Movement from the window drew her eye. She examined it calmly. A fairy hovered behind the glass, staring inside. Even from a distance, she could see that feminine figure was cloaked in a finer fabric than anyone for miles could afford.
Interesting.
This woman had certainly never been here before. If her appearance didn’t give her away, her ignorance of the fairy-sized entrance closer to the roof did. The little figure hovered by the main entrance, waiting patiently for a patron to exit before slipping through the open door.
Wren narrowed her eyes but didn’t budge an inch. More than once, the rotating cast of barkeeps had commented on her eerie manner of watching without being noticed. Though the fairy wrung her hands and looked around fretfully, black curls bouncing against her shoulders, she had little sense of truly taking in her surroundings.
If she hovered there like an idiot any longer, someone was sure to stumble right into her.
“Miss?” Wren called over the din.
At once, the fairy turned toward the end of the bar. She drew closer, brilliant blue eyes wide with uncertainty. Her clothing was fine, though worn at the edges. There was something frustratingly familiar about those delicate features, but Wren couldn’t place her. Staring her up and down, Wren couldn’t stifle the touch of self-consciousness about her scuffed boots, patch-worn blouse, and muddy trousers.
“You look hungry.” Wren leaned her chin into her hand and offered a smile that disarmed anyone who might consider her a threat. “Can I help you?”
Relief flooded the fairy’s face. “Um, yes!” A proper little accent. What the hell was she doing here? “I… How do I get food?”
Wren tapped two fingers on the bar, signaling her to land. After a beat of hesitation, the fairy closed the rest of the space between them and lowered herself to the counter. A sigh of relief shuddered through her minuscule body when her wings stopped flitting. Up close, the signs of exhaustion were even more apparent—heavy eyelids, unsteady feet.
It was Wren’s turn to feel uncertain. “Were you attacked?”
“No!” The fairy straightened into a posture that was too upright, as though it came naturally to her. “It’s merely been a long journey.”
Perhaps she wasn’t lying, but there was still something terribly false about her smile. Wren could practically smell the trouble that this woman could be bringing to their doorstep, but she would play along if it meant wheedling the truth without causing a scene. She flagged down the fairy barkeep and ordered a vegetable stew and a little tankard of ale.
Seeming quite unsure what to do with herself, the fairy eyed the space nervously—particularly the door. But nobody was paying her any attention except for Wren.
Resting her arm on the bar, Wren lowered her chin onto the back of her hand for a better look—playing at innocent curiosity. “I’m sure I’ve never seen you around here before.”
The fairy smiled tightly, shifting from foot to foot. “No?”
“I’d remember a face like yours. And those wings… How beautiful.” Wren eyed the glasslike membrane, truly taken by the veins that swirled through like spun gold. The fairy’s face flushed, but she didn’t appear all that unhappy with the attention. Wren smiled with interest. “What would your name be?”
“Ely—” The fairy cut herself short and cleared her throat. “El.”
Once more, familiarity burned at the back of Wren’s mind, but it vanished when she tried to tug on it.
The fairy barkeep, a beauty with light brown locks, returned and handed El her drink. “Here you are, Miss.”
El accepted the little tankard and made a face at its contents as soon as the barkeep turned away. When she took a tentative sip, she gagged. Between her hacking and coughing over the taste, something peculiar happened—her appearance shifted. Or rather, she looked entirely the same, but the familiarity was blaring in Wren’s mind like a scream.
In the next instant, her mind was trying to convince her that she’d seen nothing.
A glamour slip.
She needed to act now before it clouded her senses again.
“El,” Wren said, feigning concern. “Would you like the washroom to clean up before your food arrives? I can show you.”
El hesitated, still sputtering with little coughs, but as she looked down at her stained cloak, she nodded. Setting her tankard down, she took to the air and followed.
Wren weaved through the tables and rowdy conversation, peeking back twice to make sure El hadn’t caught on and fled. She led her in the exact opposite direction of the washroom, turning down a short hall and passing through a doorway. The moment they were alone in the storeroom, Wrench nudged the door closed and lashed a hand out at El.
A choked cry of surprise was all the fairy managed.
“What business do you have here?” Wren said through gritted teeth, relinquishing her grip just enough to ensure El had the air to speak.
But all she did was whimper and squirm with fright. She clearly had no practice with evasive flying or self-defense magic. Wren almost felt bad as El clawed uselessly at her hand, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks. The glamour fell away completely, and Wren could see her with startling clarity.
This face had crowded the missing posters on the village’s noticeboard for weeks. Likely every noticeboard in every village and town for miles and miles around.
“You… You’re Lady Elyse,” Wren whispered.
Elyse flinched, somehow looking even more terrified. There was a brief flicker over her appearance again—a pathetic attempt to make Wren forget what she had seen, but it didn’t work. If Wren knew anything from her fairy acquaintance, delicate work like glamour was difficult without focus.
“P-please…” Elyse drew in a sharp breath, wriggling in vain.
“Everyone thinks you’re dead.” Wren shook her head slowly, unable to make sense of what was happening. “You were kidnapped… weren’t you? I can alert your people—”
“No!” Tears gone, Elyse looked almost manic. She straightened in Wren’s fist, apparently trying to muster some sense of authority as though her revealed status would grant it. “I… I command you to let me go, barkeep.”
Wren was stunned for a second, then scoffed. “You command it?”
Paling, Elyse wet her lips. She opened her mouth once, twice, to try again. But ultimately she slumped and gave Wren a look of desperation. “You don’t understand what it’s like,” she croaked. “I had to run. Please… Alert no one of my true identity. I’ll find a way to repay you. Please.”
Instinct told Wren to scoff. Must be so difficult living the cushy life of a noblewoman, she wanted to snap. But she resisted. She’d never been one to jump at instinct.
After a moment of hesitation, Wren relinquished her grip. Elyse recuperated on her palm before tentatively taking to the air. She didn’t move far, as though that would inspire Wren to lash her hand out again—which was entirely true.
Crossing her arms, Wren regarded her with narrowed eyes. There was certainly a tale here, and this girl looked desperate for a friend.
“Why don’t you tell me all about it over your vegetable stew?” Wren asked, softening her expression. She reached for the door and swung it open—a peace offering.
Elyse’s shoulders slumped in relief.
As they exited the storeroom, Wren’s mind spun with every possible path sprawling before her. The most appealing ones led to the outrageously high reward printed on every poster that begged for information on Lady’s Elyse’s whereabouts.