Page 4 of Stolen Threadwitch Bride
“Oh, no.” I groaned, rolling my eyes. “I’ve turned you into…” My step faltered as goosebumps crept across my skin.
Something stirred deep in my gut, stronger than my earlier envy. Something tight like a thread twisted too many times, fighting to spring loose. Something that tasted like tart rhubarb, clear night air, and starlight. What starlight tasted of, I had no idea, but that was the only way I could describe it.
And whateveritwas, it tugged on me, like someone calling my name.
But when I turned to the centre of the square, there was no starlight, only swirling shadows.
A Man of Smoke & Shadow
Iswayed, and Rose took a step in front of me, dagger in hand. Twenty feet away, the darkness deepened and thickened, forming a tall shape.
A man built of smoke and shadow.
But no man had that sort of magic. Becausethatwas the taste in my mouth, bright and sweet-sharp:magic.
Gut still tight, I gripped Rose’s sleeve. This was not the time for heroics. Whoever—whatever that was, he had—
With a snap, the smoke sucked together and solidified, leaving a man of flesh and bone, dressed in midnight blue.
Taller than any of the gawping townsfolk nearby, he stole the breath from my lungs.
Because he was handsome… No,beautiful. Maybe a little of both—hells,a lotof both.
One eyebrow arched as he glanced left and right, and his full lower lip jutted out as though he wasn’t impressed by what he saw. The light caressed his high cheekbones and cast shadows beneath his strong jaw and the dimple in his chin. It gleamed through his dark, dark hair, leaving a sheen of blue and violet like a magpie’s tail feathers.
That wasn’t—I’d never seen hair like that. How did he…?
And then my gaze snagged on his ears.
Hispointedears.
Not a man.
A fae.
The ones who stole you in the night. Who took you away to dance and dance and dance until you lost your mind. Who could charm you with a glance into doing whatever they wanted.
Every hair on my body strained to attention.
“Rose.” My fingers knotted in her sleeve. A fae. Good gods,a fae. All the more reason for her not to wave that damn dagger about. “Do you see—?”
“I see.” Her knuckles whitened on the hilt, but she lowered it a few inches.
No one in Briarbridge had seen a fae in a hundred years, not since the last Tithe was taken.
Once, Papa had told me, the fae had come every fifty years to claim an unmarried girl from each town near the border. In payment, they left a chest of riches—fae-worked tools and weapons, magical trinkets, rich metals and jewels and impossible cloth spun from silver and sunlight.
No one could agree on the exact reason. Some said it was a deal Queen Boudicca had made with the fair folk centuries ago, when they agreed the border and erected the Queen’s Wall. It was a way to keep humans safe. Others said the Tithe towns themselves had made the bargain as a way of benefitting from their fae neighbours.
Most likely the real answer was lost to time.
The fae lifted that dimpled chin and cleared his throat, gaze off to one side as though bored of waiting for the sounds of surprise to fade. Silence fell.
“Humans of… whatever this place is called”—his broad shoulders rose, filling the tailored lines of his jacket—“I am here by order of the Night Queen of the Dusk Court.” He surveyed us, the wide-eyed humans who’d never seen one of his kind before.
I swore the flicker of a smile crossed his lips.
It was as Mama said—the fae were powerful—toopowerful. And capricious and dangerous with it. More likely to harm than help.
