Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (3)
A life that was a life—not a waiting game within a pretty cell.
Sacks of coin encircled the large boots of a muscular faerie taking names and payment. Silver glinted from the weapons strapped to his woven belt, in his arched ears, and from a glimpse of his large nose.
Two men remained.
People leaving the tent pocketed the coin they’d exchanged their prized possessions for, and headed quickly toward the dim glow of town.
One lone man holding an armful of books stepped forward.
Before I could get a good look at the titles or the female who exited the tent to whisper something to the coin and name collector—a sword sheathed at her back between two dark braids—Rolina latched onto my wrist and burst forward.
The man before us had yet to enter the tent, but she didn’t care.
She dragged me with her and tossed our entry fee into an open sack at the faerie’s feet.
The clink created a silence that screamed.
The female who’d been in talk with the collector froze and eyed us with glowing moss-green eyes. Laughing silently, she shook her head and patted the male’s arm. Then she rounded the tent and disappeared.
The male sighed. “Name.”
She spoke as soon as he did. “Rolina.”
“And the...” The male finally looked up from the handful of walnuts he’d retrieved from a pocket in his tight leather pants. A sharp brow rose as he chewed and stared at me. “Faerie?”
Rolina shifted her short brown hair behind her ear. “Her name is Flea.”
I nearly snorted at the way she’d casually pronounced it, as though I hadn’t been named after an insect because the woman hadn’t cared to name me at all.
The male looked back and forth between us with gold-brown eyes and dark brows. One of them was also full of silver rings. “Flea?”
“It’s short for Fleanna,” Rolina said, exasperated.
I chomped down on my lips, tempted to say she was lying. The male’s amused assessment of us told me he’d already guessed as much as he extended his hand for mine.
Certain creatures could detect age. In this case, full maturity could be confirmed by touching a faerie’s pulse. My stomach tightened, though I wasn’t sure why. I’d reached twenty years during the full moon just last month.
“Fresh,” the male confirmed, a tilt to his lips as he gave me another—far slower—once-over.
Heat rose up my neck to fill my cheeks when his thumb brushed over the sensitive skin of my inner wrist. Never had anyone touched me in such a way before, and though it was but a touch and expected, it still startled me.
I ducked my head, both ashamed and terrified and...
And something else.
Rolina snarled. “Eyes and paws off. We’ve important business to tend to.”
“I’ll bet you do,” the faerie muttered, but he released me and nodded to a bald female wearing an eye patch.
We walked toward her, and she eyed me curiously as she stepped aside to let us pass.
I felt it and almost gasped. A gap in the air right before the entry to the tent. The midnight material dissolved over our skin like water, cool and rushing.
Rolina shivered and made a low sound of disgust.
Another faerie with dark eyes stepped before us and gestured for us to wait. He then moved back to the shimmering wall of the tent.
Rolina huffed indignantly as we did as instructed.
Lining the large circular space were crates, sacks, and woven baskets, most already filled with wares. Numerous faeries sorted through them while others kept guard with weapons at their sides and backs.
It was then I began to understand why the Wild Hunt bothered with trade visits to Crustle.
At the tent’s center stood a dark metal table loaded with treasure and trinkets that glittered and gleamed. They spilled over it like stars reflected across a cloud-covered lake. As someone stepped away from the table, I glimpsed the embossed and worn spines of piles of books.
Faeries ushered some of the treasure aside, presumably what they considered high value, as we awaited permission to step forward.
I’d been too preoccupied with attempting to read the titles of the books to notice Rolina’s patience had run dry yet again.
I should have known it would. Regardless, shock seized me as she daringly crossed the grass floor of the tent to the creatures who sat at the trade table.
“Lady,” snapped the same male who’d halted us upon our entry. “You will wait to be called forth.”
My mouth opened and closed, fear and mortification keeping me frozen.
“I’ve waited long enough,” Rolina said. “Twenty years, to be exact.”
Unsure what to do, I gave the faerie what I hoped was an apologetic look and hesitantly trailed Rolina.
The male frowned. I feared he would throw us out when the creature who seemed to be in charge drawled in a cutting tone from his high-back chair behind the table, “Then, by all means, do show us what you’ve got that is of such importance.”
All kinds of folk lived in the middle lands.
But I’d never seen a being quite like this one.
He had the body of a giant man and a head that resembled a serpent. Where most men would have facial hair, scales flanked his cheeks. An off-green hue darkened his forehead and brightened his reptilian eyes. A sheet of parchment hung between his fingers. Each scaled hand had only four, half the length of a typical faerie digit. Darkened nails sprouted and curled, resembling sharpened claws.