LITMIR.BIZ

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smile, the expression feeling stiff and unnatural, as though the corners of my mouth needed to be oiled. This was not surprising, considering the day’s events and the dearth of friendly greetings I was receiving. Marissa gave a tiny wave, but it was clear from her wide, watchful eyes that she still thought I could hurt her, and Magdalene glanced between her parents as though she might get in trouble for acknowledging me. Elyse wouldn’t meet my gaze, while Thatcher, the only one among them with probable cause to distrust me, stared at me unrelentingly. I was grateful when Shea dragged an extra chair into place at the table—standing made me feel overly conspicuous, a target for fear and hatred. I sat down, perched on the edge of my seat—ironically as if I could take flight.

      “I believe I owe you an apology,” I said, catching sight of a bandage wrapped around Thatcher’s thick forearm, his crisp white shirt rolled above it.

      I concentrated my attention on my hands, not pleased with the timidity my discomfort was breeding. When no response was forthcoming, I braved raising my eyes to his. They were dark like Shea’s, though there was movement within them, calling to mind rolling fog, his traveling thoughts practically visible. It might have been wise to show deference to him, but I sensed a test to see if I could be intimidated. Pride swelled, and I refused to give ground. I was royalty, and fortitude was inbred. He could stare forever, and I wouldn’t look away.

      At last, Thatcher More smiled—not widely, but it was a smile nonetheless.

      “It’s all right. I might have done the same in your position.” He shifted his gaze to his food, stabbing some venison with a knife, his manner a touch too nonchalant. “That’s an interesting weapon you used against me. It burns as much as it cuts.”

      I braced myself, his reference to the Anlace making me uneasy, although the rest of the family obliviously began to eat.

      “An irritant of some sort, I presume,” he went on. “Derived perhaps from poison sumac or ivy?”

      I neither confirmed nor denied his assumption; I couldn’t have addressed it even if I had been disposed to do so, for I wasn’t sure of the answer. The blade could have been infused when it was forged with the sap of a poisonous plant—Fae knew how to construct weapons in that manner. But the secrets of the Queen’s Anlace were known only to the Queen, and I did not occupy the throne.

      “I should also thank you for saving my life,” I said, redirecting the conversation to insert a small test of my own. “Although I’m not sure why you did.”

      “You needed help, and I was in a position to give it. There’s nothing more to be said on the subject. You can stay with us until you’re well enough to travel. I assume you had some destination in mind at the time you were ambushed?”

      “Yes, I did.” I glanced around the table. Shea alone showed interest in our exchange, reading my expressions and her father’s with subtle looks. The rest of the family was engrossed by the food on their plates, the younger daughters mirroring their mother’s behavior. At risk of pushing my luck, I forged ahead with Thatcher. “But I won’t get far without my travel documents.”

      Thatcher cocked one eyebrow, then reached into the pocket of his coat and tossed the leather envelope containing my passport onto the table in front of me. I reached to pick it up, and caught him examining the ring I wore on my right middle finger. The likelihood was slim that he would recognize it as a royal ring, but it was obviously valuable. What if he demanded it in payment for his kindnesses?

      “Forgive me for going through your things,” he said as I drew my hand and passport beneath the table. “It’s important for me to know who is in my house, so I took your papers.”

      My eyes narrowed. “And did they put your mind at ease?”

      “Yes, despite the fact that they’re falsified. The forger’s work was excellent, and those types of illicit documents usually come with prudent priorities.”

      Everyone stopped eating, stopped moving, their forks poised in midair. Thatcher, however, merely reached for more bread, signaling that the meal should continue.

      “Forgery doesn’t bother me, Anya, assuming that’s your real name. I expected it. The law may be pro-Fae, but that doesn’t mean the people of the Territory are. It’s safer for Fae to have documents that say they’re human, just like it’s safer for some humans to carry papers that don’t reveal their true identities or professions. Mind you, I’m not talking about criminals here. But the fact that your passport is such a good forgery tells me you’re well connected. And I can see now that you’re well-enough raised.”

      I bristled at the condescension in his tone. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

      He settled back in his chair, one hand forming a mighty fist.

      “Faerie.”

      The word rolled off his tongue like a curse, and whatever tenuous trust I’d begun to develop in him vanished. Fae-hater, my brain insisted. But that couldn’t be the case. Not only had Thatcher’s family kept me alive, they’d been regarding me as a guest, providing me with a bed, fresh clothing, and food. Yet something in this man’s background made him mistrustful of my people. Though common sense screamed that I let the matter rest, I responded in kind, my tone a match to his.

      “Human.”

      Again the world seemed to come to a grinding halt, the only sound the clock against the wall, its ticking absurdly loud. Then Thatcher laughed, pushing back the heavy hair that fell to his cheekbones.

      “Well, I’m glad that’s out of the way.” He raised his glass to me in salute. “Feel free to move around the cabin and join us at the table for meals. Shea can lend you some suitable clothing for dinnertime. But keep in mind, knives should only be wielded when eating.”

      The jest broke the last of the strain between us, and though I still felt like an unexpected and not entirely welcome guest, the family’s usual dynamic emerged at last. Marissa and Magdalene, it turned out, were little chatterboxes who enjoyed sharing the events of their days. Thatcher doled out the next morning’s chores to his daughters as though they were gifts, and Elyse smiled and nodded politely along. Discarding caution, I ate hungrily, Shea sending encouraging looks my way. I was certain she had vouched for me with her father, and while I was appreciative, it did not erase the reservations I held. If she hadn’t endorsed me, how would he have dealt with me?

      When everyone had eaten their fill, Thatcher rose from the table to settle into a worn-out armchair by the fire. As he packed and lit his pipe, Shea cleared the dishes, and Elyse herded the younger children to their bedroom. I stood uncertainly by until Thatcher took note and called for me to join him. I grimaced, thinking the interrogation that had started at dinner was about to resume. Nonetheless, I obliged, pulling a kitchen chair close to the fire.

      “Did you get a look at who hurt you, Anya?” he asked, motioning toward my back.

      My jaw tightened, his interest resurrecting my fear that he might be a Fae-hater. Perhaps he was worried I might be able to identify one of his friends.

      “No, only that it was a group of five men and one woman.”

      Thatcher took a pull on his pipe, considering. “I’ve on occasion seen a group of men in this part of the forest. I’ve never thought of them as Fae hunters, though. They do contract work for clients, but I suppose if the client wanted a unique trophy...” He trailed off and tapped the stem of his pipe against his chin. “I’ve never seen a woman with them. I imagine it could have been the client. Some want to experience the thrill of the kill, if you know what I mean. Fetishists and the like.”

      My stomach churned at his choice of words. Were we Fae viewed as no more than animals on this side of the Bloody Road? How could someone take pleasure in the agony that had been inflicted on me? The notion was faith-shattering. Maybe the Anti-Unification League’s rhetoric that we should keep this kind of evil locked outside our borders had more validity than I had been willing to consider.

      “I don’t know any of the men personally, mind you,” Thatcher continued, showing no sign he was aware of

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