The leafling looked forlornly out from her prison, long spindly fingers beating a sad tattoo against the bars of her cage. The cage was a beautiful, ornate affair—two levels high and heavily decorated with scrolling metal leaves and flowers—but it was still a cage.

  Gwin sat looking at the sad creature while she waited for Vanth to arrive. The leafling had a child’s face with bright eyes and a tiny snub nose. Her wings were veined and pointed like young green leaves, wilting sadly against her back. She gazed back at Gwin, lifting a tentative hand to her fingertip when she pressed it against the bars.

  “Hello, little one,” Gwin whispered. “How did you end up in this dreadful place?”

  The leafling did not respond. In her woodland home, the grass-green sprite would have been almost impossible to catch, blending in with the moss and leaves of the trees. Gwin wondered how it had been accomplished, then realised the leafling was probably lured into a trap and bristled at the prospect.

  The tavern keeper appeared and she dropped her hand back down to the table. He was a large man, bulbous nosed and sweating at the temples.

  “Your food, Miss,” he said, placing a battered metal dish on the table in front of her. He wiped his hands on his greasy apron. “Best I could do, anyway.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure it will be fine.” She appraised the two badly bruised apples and softening pear with a sinking feeling, but smiled politely as the tavern keeper moved away.

  Gwin took up the knife laid next to her plate and cut a slice of apple, discreetly lifting it to the cage and offering it to the leafling between the bars. The sprite shook her head and slunk away into a corner.

  “What in Thetia’s name are you eating?”

  Gwin looked up to find Vanth standing over her. “It’s an apple.”

  “I know what an apple is, but why are you eating one here? This is strictly a meat and bread place. I’m astonished Bryce was able to scrounge up anything as exotic as fruit.” Vanth sat down on the opposite side of the table.

  “Is fruit a luxury in Armoria?”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Oh.” Gwin nibbled the corner of her apple slice and wrinkled her face at its rancid taste. She slowly put it back down on her plate before reaching for a cup of water. “I believe I should have ordered bread.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the pork. Bryce salts it himself.” Vanth turned to the tavern keeper stationed behind the bar. “Bryce, how about some lunch?”

  “Of course, Vanth.” The man disappeared into what Gwin assumed was a kitchen.

  An uncomfortable silence descended while they waited for his return. Gwin did not want to stare at Vanth but she could feel the other woman looking at her, taking in her every detail with those dark, knowing eyes. Finally, Bryce returned with a steaming plate of pork and a hunk of rough-looking bread.

  “This smells wonderful, as usual,” Vanth said. Bryce nodded and resumed his position behind the bar.

  Gwin thought the plate smelt awful. The fatty aroma pricked her nose and filled the back of her throat with bile. She swallowed, embarrassed when she noticed Vanth was staring at her again. Her disgust must have been obvious.

  “My people don’t eat meat,” she explained.

  “Is that so?” Vanth placed a large forkful of pork in her mouth, eyes still fixed on Gwin’s face.

  “I imagine you have many questions.” She gently pushed her own plate away.

  “You imagine correctly.”

  Gwin glanced at the tavern’s scant customers. They each sat alone, couched in their own disconcerting quiet. “Are you sure we won’t be overheard?”

  “The place is almost empty,” Vanth said, gesturing at the room with her fork. “The Leafling’s Half has never drawn crowds, even when Bryce brought in that koskin in the fancy cage.” Gwin flinched. “Those that are here are deep in their cups by this hour, so stop worrying and start talking.”

  “Then please ask your questions. I promise to answer truthfully. You saw the magick hidden in my music, I have nothing to hide from you.”

  “What exactly does that mean? What did I see?”

  “It isn’t what you saw that matters. The fact that you saw it at all, that is what’s important.” Gwin sighed when she saw Vanth’s eyes narrow. “I don’t mean to be unclear. Maybe I should begin with the purpose of my journey?”

  Vanth swallowed another mouthful of pork. “Go on.”

  “I am not what I appear to be, or who I appear to be. I’m certainly not from Jonick. My people are the Asrai.” The leafling fluttered beside her, thin wings rustling against the bars of the cage. Gwin pretended to ignore her.

  “I’ve never heard of the Asree.” Vanth spoke with her mouth full, her bottom lip shiny with pork fat.

  “The Asrai,” Gwin corrected her. “I was selected as their envoy, charged with travelling into Joria to find others like ourselves.”

  “You’re the only one they sent? Your people put a lot of faith in you.” Vanth spat out a piece of bone and wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. “What if you got lost in Nymed on the way? What if you’d stumbled into a ditch outside the city walls and broken your legs, or were set upon by hungry cathclaws? Do the Asrai have invulnerability in common with Lord Dewer?”

  “No. Unfortunately. Invulnerability is not something we share.” Gwin was beginning to feel uneasy. This sardonic, meat chewing Salt Sword was toying with her.

  “And you came here to find others like yourself? I think you might be disappointed. Where did you come from, anyway?”

  “I travelled here from the Wastes, and I don’t think I will be disappointed. I hoped to find changelings and I saw a great many of them at your Midnight Bard competition last night.”

  “There are changelings living in the Wastes?” Vanth sounded sceptical.

  “You misunderstand, the Asrai are not changelings. We do share their blood, though. You could say we are distantly related.”

  “I’ve never been to the Wastes, but I’ve heard stories. People say it’s a barren place. A land of ice that stretches for hundreds of miles towards the sea. I find it hard to believe anyone could live there.”

  “We are creatures of the ice. I can prove it to you.”

  Gwin looked at Vanth’s arm resting on the table and grasped it, gripping it tighter when the Salt Sword tried to pull away.

  “What are you doing?”

  Before Vanth could reach for a weapon, Gwin summoned the ice that slept within her, forcing its flow through her arm and into her hand. Calling on the frost touch was like breathing in and out, like commanding feet to flex and walk. The icy flow froze the warm spot where Gwin’s grip met Vanth’s forearm so swiftly, icy smoke curled from beneath her fingers. Vanth gasped and twisted, attempting to pry the Asrai’s fingers loose. Gwin let the bitter chill of her touch linger for a brief moment, then pulled it back inside herself and released Vanth’s arm. Any longer and the Salt Sword would have been scarred.

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  “The marks will fade,” she said, assessing the arm Vanth was now cradling to her chest. A faint outline of her fingers remained on the woman’s forearm, rimed with blue frost. “I apologise, but you thought I was lying. I had to prove to you I was not.”

  Vanth’s face was dark with anger. She braced herself against the table in an effort to control her barely perceptible shaking.

  “If you ever touch me again, I’ll pop those pretty blue eyeballs from their sockets and grind the jellies under my boot.”

  “I truly am sorry.” Gwin clasped her hands together in her lap. This was not going very well.

  “The pan flute,” Vanth said through gritted teeth.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Tell me about the sodding pan flute.”

  Gwin nodded, eager to move the conversation on. “The pan flute is spelled, made to look plain and unremarkable so as to draw the least attention. Only those I seek are able to see the magick conjured by the music. Ordinary Jorians remain unaware and hear nothing but a pretty song.”

  “Why would you need a magick pan flute to find changelings? You need only look at their hair and their wild eyes to see what they are.”

  “That’s true,” Gwin agreed. “I want them to see me though, to come to me. All the moon-blessed who heard me play last night will seek me out. At least, that is my hope.”

  “Then what will you do? Form a panflutist’s guild?”

  “More sarcasm?”

  Vanth did not reply. She sat still for a long time, her gaze fixed on the table. Gwin could see she was piecing together her story, turning the details over in her mind. Then she sat up straight, her eyes wide.

  “You came here to play your spelled pan flute and lure out changelings. But I saw that bird flying over Midnight Square and I’m no changeling. Surely this is all some trick? You’re just another filthy charlatan.” Gwin watched Vanth’s hand slide towards the daggers holstered on her belt.

  “You have the sight though, do you not? Perhaps you are attuned to Aikana and the Changing of the Moons has strengthened your abilities.”

  Vanth shook her head, a little too firmly. “Everyone sees strange things sometimes. Out in the Scratlands, in the forest.”

  Then her demeanour changed, became hard again. She leapt to her feet, ignoring the chair that crashed to the floor behind her, and leaned across the table, a deftly drawn dagger angled towards Gwin’s chest.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” the Salt Sword demanded. “How do I know you’re not working for Dewer? Have you been sent to test me? To learn how insane Vanth the Vile really is before you go scurrying back to your master with your report? I can’t have you doing that, I’ll slit that sick-pale throat right here.”

  Gwin sat back in her chair, her eyes darting to the other patrons. They were suddenly exceedingly interested in their lunchtime drinks.

  “They won’t help you.” Vanth turned to address the three lone customers. “Get out of here,” she shouted. “And if I hear any of you gossiping about this, you’ll be ending your days in the Pit.”

  There was a hurried scraping of chairs on stone as the three men rose wordlessly and headed for the door. Even Bryce disappeared into the back room behind the bar.

  Gwin could feel the necklace at her throat begin to grow warm, trembling with a vibration that made her shiver.

  “Please calm down. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “I’ve spilled the blood of many a maid, I know what I’m doing.”

  “No, you do not understand.”

  Gwin groped for the right words to win Vanth’s trust but with a sick thrill of horror, she realised the eye in her necklace was already opening.

  The pendant itself was unremarkable. Gwin knew Vanth’s Salt Sword training meant she would notice details others missed, but even she had failed to study the necklace or comment on it. When dormant, it was a grey pewter disk, subtly engraved with a sleeping eye. Now the eye had woken, suffused with a silvery light that shone unnaturally amidst the dank of the tavern.

  Vanth paused when it snapped to life. The lone purple eye slowly blinked and began to rove the room, finally locking on the Salt Sword as she took a step back from the table, pinioning her in place like a rat nailed to a board.

  “What is that thing?” Vanth breathed. She was holding her daggers so tightly her knuckles were white.

  “It’s spelled to protect me,” Gwin said, afraid to move or talk too loudly.

  “More bloody spells?”

  “Please sit back down, Vanth. If it perceives you as a threat, it will hurt you. It might even kill you. I had a trouble-free journey to Armoria, I’ve yet to see the eye awaken. I’m unsure how far the destruction will spread if it is set loose.”

  Slowly, Vanth slid the daggers back into her belt and reached down for the chair lying on the flagstones behind her. She set it right and sat down. Her movements were careful and precise, as though she was negotiating her way past a particularly angry snake. The two women watched each other across the table, their quickened hearts beating as one until finally, the pendant’s light dimmed and the eye closed once more. As it faded back into dark pewter, they each let out a long breath.

  “That’s magick,” Vanth hissed. “That ugly necklace and your frozen fingers, it’s some sort of slippery sky magick. You’re no druid; I’m breaking my Salt Sword oath by allowing you to wield it.”

  “The Asrai do not recognise Lord Dewer’s laws.”

  “Is that so?” Vanth took several deep breaths, still trying to compose herself.

  “I have very little control over the eye awakening. It was designed to be a last desperate measure, only to be used if my life was in danger. It’s been centuries since my people have ventured so far from their lands.” She smiled. “Perhaps the elders were overprotective.”

  “Maybe next time you should leave the bloody thing at home.”

  “There will be a next time? Does that mean you will meet with me again?”

  “That depends,” Vanth said. “You still haven’t told me why your people are seeking out changelings. What do you intend to do with them when you find them?”

  Gwin almost laughed. She thought her plans were obvious. “We need help to challenge Lord Dewer, of course.” She was surprised to see Vanth shake her head in disbelief.

  “You know I am a Salt Sword, sworn to protect Lord Dewer and his city. What in Thetia’s name makes you think I would betray him and join your foolish campaign? What makes you think I would even allow it to continue?”

  “But you saw the bird. You are one with us. How can you bear to watch Dewer summon his vile demons and do nothing?”

  Vanth’s face twisted into an incredulous sneer.

  “Do you know what he has his druids do?” Gwin tried again. “The terrible creatures he has raised?”

  “No, I do not. But I’m fairly certain if there was a horde of demonic creatures rampaging through the city, it would have drawn my attention.”

  “I’ve seen one of Dewer’s abominations,” Gwin insisted. “They are attracted to magick and to those who wield it. The druids know how to protect themselves but my people were ignorant of what has been happening beneath Armoria. We spent too many centuries in seclusion and were unprepared when the creature attacked. The ice was soaked with our blood.” She faltered. “It was soaked with my brother’s blood. With my mother’s. My ears rang with their agony.”

  Vanth was unmoved. “Why do you think Lord Dewer was responsible for your tragedy?”

  “We have ways of divining truth when we need to know it. Our seers spent many weeks drawing down the power required to show us the reason for our slaughter. Many of them died in the attempt, weakening our numbers further, but they saw the truth eventually, illuminated by the great lights that blaze in the sky above the ice. They saw Lord Dewer, surrounded by an army of wretched monsters. We can only imagine he plots to rule all of Joria. We cannot allow that. We cannot allow such reckless use of magick to remain unchecked. These beasts do not belong in our world.”

  Gwin waited, trying to gauge Vanth’s reaction. Her expression was blank but her eyes flashed as if she were arguing with herself.

  “Will you help me?” Gwin pleaded. “You are positioned close to Lord Dewer, you would be a great asset in determining what his plans are.”

  Vanth stood. “I won’t help you.” Her voice was almost a growl. “I don’t want to see you again. If I do, I will arrest you and you will spend the rest of your days in a cell below sea level. That’s if Lord Dewer is merciful.”

  She turned and strode from the tavern without a backwards glance.

  Gwin slumped in her seat, feeling exhausted. To her right, the leafling began rapping lightly on the bars of her cage, reminding Gwin of her presence. She turned and regarded the tiny creature.

  “That was not the reaction I was hoping for,” she confided.

  The leafling stared at her with large, mournful eyes, as though empathising with her. Gwin thought of her brother, of his broken body bleeding into the snow. She forcefully pushed the image away and thought instead about how bravely he had fought that day, how selflessly he threw himself into the fray in a desperate attempt to protect his family. Gwin was still alive because of him.

  “My brother would not have given up after one setback.”

  The leafling nodded understanding.

  “And he would have hated to see you in this prison.”

  Glancing around the room to make sure she was still alone, Gwin quickly flipped back the latch on the cage and held her hand out for the leafling to step on to. The creature looked unsure, afraid Gwin was playing a trick on her.

  “Come, little one. You are not their pet, you shouldn’t be in a cage.”

  The leafling edged out of the open door, tentatively stepping on to Gwin’s hand and holding tight to her thumb.

  “We shall find our way together,” Gwin promised, opening her cloak and guiding the leafling to an inside compartment. The sprite smiled up at her, light green hands folded neatly over the top of the pocket.

  Gwin carefully closed her cloak and exited the tavern, grateful to feel the breeze blowing in from the waterfront after the near claustrophobic gloom and boiled meat smells of the Leafling’s Half.

  The harbour lay spread before her, caught between long miles of solid stone seawall that curved like the colossal pinchers of an attacking crab. Thrusting from the ocean between these vast bulwarks was the giant serpentine statue of Thetia. Gwin tipped a curt nod in the goddess’s direction as she hurried along the wall, disappearing amongst day-drunk sailors and the salty reek of emptied crab pots.

  A single pair of eyes followed Gwin from the tavern, shrouded in a deep hood. The changeling leaned forward from the shadowy corner where she had remained undetected despite the near preternatural sharpness of the Salt Sword’s eyes. She watched Gwin through a window as she made her way back along the seawall towards the city, then slipped out from behind her table and hurried for the door.