Emila trudged deeper into Whirwood with all the grace of a soggy turnip, her cats trailing behind.
That morning, before venturing into the woods, Em did what any well-meaning, semi-curious, possibly doomed girl would do—she poked around the market for information. About him. The fae. Lucien.
Apparently, villagers had noticed him. For several nights now. A tall, red-haired mystery gliding in and out of the tavern like it was his second home. And apparently, everyone agreed on one thing: he wasn't human.
But as per village tradition, they collectively chose the safest course of action. Pretend it wasn't happening. They whispered, stared, crossed the street when they saw him coming, but no one dared to ask why a fae was haunting their humble mortal village.
Theories ran wild, of course. Maybe he was on a mission, tracking someone. Or something. Or worse, hunting it down to kill it. Maybe he'd been punished. Maybe he'd been exiled. Banished forever from the shiny fae world and dumped here like an overripe squash.
"Maybe he's here to steal babies," Scruff had declared as Em picked up her cats from the alley kids who occasionally "borrowed" them when she was busy trying to find coins, food, or a roof. "And suck their blood," he added cheerfully.
Despite the rumors, most of them sinister, Em still set off. Hair braided tightly. Pants under her skirt, for climbing. Boot laces knotted twice. She might have to chase him through a ravine, or, if fate was feeling cruel, fall off a cliff. But she could not afford to lose her only pair of boots. Priorities.
She squatted near the forest path, the one she and Lucien had taken nights ago, and inspected the ground, acting like a seasoned tracker. Their footprints were still there. Untouched. Not even the wind had dared disturb them. No new tracks either. Which meant... he hadn't come back. Not through here.
She also waited at the tavern until Maura shooed her away, still grumbling about her stubbornness. Then she waited by the passage. Fell asleep. Woke up to Goldie chewing on her hair, demanding a feast.
What if he'd already left Gladeport? The thought made her shoulders sag.
She sniffed the air dramatically, because obviously that's what good spies do. Train their noses. Hone their senses. Smell the clues.
But alas, all she caught was her own smell and the forest's usual perfume: moss, bark and animal droppings.
Goldie meowed pitifully beside her. Beans yawned.
"I know," Em said, voice wobbly. One hand wiping at her nose, the other gripping a battered satchel stuffed with questionable tools like: two quills—one new, one bent and gasping— a pouch of dried mushrooms, and her trusty spoon. "But I need answers. We need to find that fae's hideout."
Sunlight filtered through the leaves and branches above, bathing the forest floor with a yellowish glow. She approached the vine curtain she had smacked into nights before, scowled at it and immediately attempted to climb the tree beside it.
"I will infiltrate this leafy fortress," she muttered, dragging herself up one gnarled limb at a time.
She reached a fork in the branches and tried to swing around for a better view. Her foot snagged a vine. Then another. A second later, her legs were tangled, her arms flailed and she was upside down, dangling helplessly like some tragic fruit. Her skirt flipped, her braid flopped, and a startled shriek tore through the woods.
"Oh fungus and cat piss!" she cursed. "Beans! Goldie! Help me quick—"
"Well," drawled a voice below.
Em's pulse quickened. It's him. He's still in Gladeport!
Lucien Vanserra stepped out from the shadows like the forest just spit him out. Cloak draped perfectly, red hair catching glints of sunlight, mechanical eye gleaming with clear, cold amusement.
"If it isn't my favorite uninvited prowler. Back again. And this time with a full circus." He tilted his head, letting the silence stretch just long enough for her to feel stupid. "Glad to see you took my advice," he said smoothly. "Your face is clean now. A miracle. Did the alley mice force you into hygiene?"
"Let me down," Emila grumbled, dangling like a wind chime in distress. "Please?"
"Oh, I don't know," Lucien mused, stepping closer. His face stopped inches from hers, and his smirk sharpened. "You're surprisingly tolerable like this. Quiet. Inconvenienced. And not scribbling about my fangs."
Goldie leapt out with a ferocious hiss and batted at Lucien's boot, claws out.
"Ah," he said dryly, "so this explains the lingering scent of cat piss."
Beans, meanwhile, had scaled a nearby vine and was gnawing at it halfheartedly. Then he gave up and started grooming his paw.
Lucien arched a brow. "That one's given up already. Must be the brains of the operation."
"You leave them alone," Em huffed, twisting helplessly.
Lucien reached down and plucked Goldie off the ground like an angry loaf. The cat went rigid, then hissed again, claws swiping at his cloak.
"I should feed this demon to my pet goblin," Lucien said mildly, lifting Goldie eye-level. "He's been craving something chunky and orange."
"Don't you dare!" Em shrieked.
Goldie hissed at Lucien's hair but otherwise made no attempt to flee. Beans flopped dramatically on a branch above.
Emila twisted, glad she wore pants under her skirt that day. "Come on, Beans! Bite the vines. Help me. You can't let me hanging here like a bat."
Beans chose that moment to act like a deaf cat.
Lucien chuckled. Then with a casual flick of his wrist, he snapped the vine holding her up. Em yelped and crashed to the forest floor in a heap of limbs, leaves, and cat hair. She groaned, face in the dirt, skirt askew, braid twisted into what resembled a bird's nest.
Lucien looked down at her, nostrils flaring. "Elegant," he deadpanned, the sarcasm so dry it might ignite.
Then he turned, her cat still in his arm.
"Drop Goldie this instant!" she commanded, scrambling to her feet. "Vanserra—"
She didn't even see the root.
One second she was charging through the undergrowth, hot on Lucien's trail, heart pounding, limbs flailing. The next, her boot caught, and she flew forward and landed face-first in something warm and velvety.
Lucien's cloak.
With a pained grunt, she peeled her face off it just as her satchel burst open beside her. Parchments, scribbles, cat food, and quills exploded across the forest floor.
Lucien turned slowly, already smirking before he looked down. His mechanical eye gleamed as he crouched, plucked one of her pages, and read it aloud.
" Target: Fae male. Eye color: Aotum wrath. Smile: non-existent. Possible monster slayer, possible tree lover. " He barked out a laugh and held up the contract. "And what's this? A guild document? Gods. They really are scraping the bottom of the barrel."
"I—give me that!" Em lunged, but he smoothly stepped out of reach.
"Let me guess. One gold per report? Five reports and a free dagger?" He tucked the contract under his arm, plucked her favorite quill from the dirt, and twirled it between his fingers. "Gullible doesn't even begin to cover it."
Then, with the lazy grace of someone who absolutely meant to do it, he flicked her quill toward the nearest tree. It landed perfectly in the crook of a high branch. Em's mouth hung open, aghast. No, no. He did not just chuck her new quill. He did not—
"I'm keeping the cat," he added as Goldie purred in his arm, clearly having no regrets about betrayal.
"You insufferable piece of shit!" Em snarled, scrabbling to her feet again, leaves and dirt stuck to her cheek. "May a flock of crows mistake your eye for a shiny pebble and peck it out!"
Lucien paused mid-turn, a slow smile creeping onto his face. "Say that again, imp."
"Don't call me that! My name is Emila!"
"Ah," he drawled, stepping closer. "Emila. So... human." He loomed over her now, his face unreadable in the shadows. "You do realize I could kill you right here? No one would know. The forest is excellent at keeping secrets."
Em raised her chin. "My cats will avenge me."
He snorted. "Avenge? This one is already in love with me." He nuzzled Goldie's head. The orange traitor closed her eyes and purred. "And the black one—" he gestured to the tree above them, "—hasn't moved in ten minutes."
Beans, indeed, was sprawled on a branch like an exhibit, licking his paw without a care in the world.
"Now tell me," Lucien said, voice suspiciously soft, "how would you like to die today?"
Em sighed, slumping back to the ground. "If I must, can you at least bury me properly? Flowers would be nice. Maybe write something on the headstone. Here lies Emila Castor, a dignified spy and a loving servant to Goldie and Beans. And feed the cats, please. They like fish and rabbit meat. Also string beans. Don't ask me why. Also, don't stress Beans. He eats grass when he's anxious and throws up afterward. And please tell Maura, the tavern maid, that she was right. I will die doing this."
Lucien blinked. "Cauldron's balls. You're dumping your entire estate plan on me."
"I'm just being responsible."
Lucien groaned and looked to the sky as though asking for the gods to rescue him.
They did not.
"Anything else? Want me to knit your cats sweaters and sing lullabies under the full moon too?"
"Yes, actually," Em sniffed. "Goldie likes red. And Beans prefer wool. Soft wool."
He groaned like she had physically wounded him. "You're deranged."
"And you're a half-rotted beet with split ends!"
That earned her a real reaction. A flash of amusement flickered in his mismatched eyes before he leaned forward, obviously trying to intimidate her. Still holding Goldie like a warm hostage, his mouth curved into a smirk, cruelly and slowly.
"You have dirt on your teeth."
She clamped her mouth shut immediately.
Lucien leaned in, his nose wrinkling like he'd caught a whiff of something rotten.
Was it… her?
She had bathed—well, dipped—in the stream yesterday. Even chewed on a few sage leaves this morning.
No, it couldn't be that.
It must be his own soul he was smelling.
"Do you always monologue about your impending death?"
Em perked up with a huff, brushing leaves off her skirt. "You asked me how I want to die. I answered. I was trying to be polite."
"Polite?" he scoffed. "You called me a piece of shit and wished for birds to gouge out my eye."
"You deserved it."
He stood again, cat still content in his arms, and made a show of brushing imaginary dust off his cloak. "You're not going to get that contract back. Or your quill. Or your cat."
She scrambled to her feet, pointing an accusing finger. "You're heartless."
"Correct."
"Evil."
He grinned. "Also true."
He turned and walked deeper into the trees, Goldie still purring traitorously in his arms. She blinked and just like that, the red haired fae and her cat were gone.
Em groaned, scooped up her spilled satchel contents, and glared at Beans, who was now chewing on some twigs.
"Let's go get your sister before Grumpy Foxface feeds her to the goblins." Or the other way around. Or maybe Goldie will end up eating Lucien. And the goblins.
Beans blinked slowly. Then threw up a blade of grass.