"Where do you think you're going?" Maura asked, narrowing her eyes as Em quickly stuffed the last of the parchments inside her satchel.
"Fox fae is calling to me."
Maura's eyebrows shot up. "Calling to you? Are you insane? He glared at you. Glared at your doodle. He knows you're observing him."
"The guild will give me one gold for every intel I send them. I just need five reports, and then I'll stop."
"Five reports? You won't even finish your first report! That's a fae, Emila. And not just any fae. Whispers said he's a Vanserra. A high fae or something."
She'd heard of the faes, of course. Everyone in Gladeport's seen something —a shadow passing too fast, a creature that didn't quite look human. Tall folks, sinister. The rule there? It's simple: " You didn't see it. You didn't hear it. Go home."
But merchants and travelers gossip about them all the time. High faes. Powerful royalties, dangerous beings, the sort who might rip her throat out for looking at them wrong.
Let alone tail them.
But if she kept relying on truffle trading, she and her cats would end up dead somewhere, cold and hungry. The taverns hadn't taken her in, either, not after Madame Lessa kept yapping about the kitchen incident. When she saw a post about a guild looking for aspiring assassins, Em had sent in her application on a whim. To her surprise, she passed—yes, even she couldn't believe it—and called it destiny.
Maybe this was it. Maybe she was born for this. Adventures, secrets, the art of looking suspicious in corners. A spy. A member of that guild and their creaky tower. She'd wear soft leathers for covert missions. Black. Dramatic. Maybe a cloak. Definitely a cloak. One that swooshed when she turned sharply. And a mask. With fur. Or feathers. Whatever.
Em blinked, pausing from adjusting the strap of her satchel. "What's a Vanserra? Is that a disease?
Maura threw her hands up in exasperation. "Ugh, Emila, you're hopeless. You know what? Go ahead. I changed my mind. I won't mourn you if you end up dead somewhere."
Em grinned and patted Maura's hand. "I'll lend you some gold once I complete this mission. See you later!"
With that, she dashed out of the tavern, her heart pounding with the thrill of it. Outside, the street was nearly deserted. Oil lamps casted a dim, flickering glow, stretching shadows into long, dark shapes across the ground. The shop windows and stalls stood silent and dark. The whole world had settled into a hush but Em's night wasn't over yet.
She spotted one of the street kids, her informant named Scruff, who flashed her a grin and pointed toward the left. His hand shot out, expectantly, waiting for his payment.
Em tossed him a silver, gave him a quick wave, and followed the direction he indicated.
Her footsteps echoed off the cobblestones as she walked, eyes scanning the area. Her heart raced in anticipation. She was close.
And then, there he was. A tall figure passing a corner ahead. The hood of his cloak was down, and for a brief moment, she caught a glimpse of his autumn hair.
She followed at a steady pace, keeping just far enough behind. He crossed over the wooden bridge and passed the brothels, the mini park now occupied by courtesans and their customers. Em overheard a woman say something to him, but he didn't stop.
As she drew closer to the group of women, one of them caught her eye and called out, "What are you up to, truffle girl?"
Em pressed a finger to her lips. "Shhh. I'm chasing treasure."
The woman smirked, "You mean danger?" But Em quickened her pace, nerves tightening. She couldn't afford to lose him now.
He reached the edge of Whirwood, where the cobblestone road stopped, and the trees began. His figure merged with the shadows beneath the canopy, and Em hesitated for a moment. The forest was familiar to her as she'd spent many sleepless nights there with Goldie and Beans, foraging for herbs and mushrooms.
What will he do inside the forest at this hour?
"Well, he's a fae," she muttered under her breath. "He must live in trees. Or holes?" She could not be sure.
Em pressed forward, her steps slowing as the trees grew denser around her. The forest felt alive tonight, breathing with its own pulse. The air was thick with the earthy scent of damp leaves and moss, and a faint breeze rustled the branches above. The further she went, the darker it became. Shadows stretched like fingers, and the occasional screech of a distant bird just made the night eerie.
As she followed him deeper, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. Her heart pounded louder with every step, the quiet of the woods wrapping around her thickly. Then, ahead, she saw it: a curtain of vines, so thick it looked like a wall of green. Her target stopped in front of it, his form disappearing as he pushed the vines aside.
Her pulse quickened. What was this place? She'd spent thousands of hours in Whirwood before, but she had never seen anything like this.
She moved closer, slipping through the trees as quietly as she could. Her breath caught in her throat when she reached the curtain of vines and realized there was a hidden passage beyond it, something she had never known about, despite her many nights in this forest.
Curiosity pulled her forward. She followed, stepping carefully over the roots that seemed to shift underfoot. The passage narrowed, and the air grew colder, thicker, the scent of damp earth almost overwhelming.
She couldn't hear the fae anymore. But she knew he was there, somewhere just ahead, around the corner, or maybe behind her, or maybe—
She didn't even get to blink.
A hand grabbed her from behind, rough, fast, very real, and yanked her off her feet.
"Ow—hey—!"
Cold stone slammed into her back. The breath shot out of her lungs and for a second, all she saw were stars and regret. Mostly regret.
Then his face appeared, half hidden by the shadow. He leaned in close, too close, that she caught the warm brush of his breath on her cheek. Smelled like ale and ancient forest and possibly murder.
Emila's breath hitched. Her heart slammed against her ribs like a hammer on stone. She hadn't even heard him approach!
"That—that hurts!" she hissed.
His face didn't move. She could feel the weight of his stare. Judging. Probably thinking about how easy she was to tackle. She was thinking about how to escape without looking like she was about to pass out.
Then came his voice, low and dangerously smooth. "Tell me," he said, "are you following me because you're brave… or just incredibly stupid?"
Em tried twisting away, but he didn't budge. Didn't even break a sweat.
"Answer me, human," he barked. "Because I don't particularly enjoy being stalked through the woods by something that looks like a disgruntled raccoon… and smells of ink, dehydration, and gods forbid, is that cat piss?"
Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me— raccoon ?"
His hold didn't loosen.
"I—uh… I'm lost?" she tried, voice pathetic even to her own ears. "I live here. Somewhere. Not too far."
He sniffed. Loudly. She caught the glint of his mechanical eye in the moonlight and the outline of a nose. Yes, the one she likes—proud and refined, straight and pointed as a quill's tip.
"Don't lie to me." His voice dropped. "I can smell your deceit. It's dripping off you."
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. "You can smell it?" Incredible.
She made a mental note to add it to his profile. Sense of smell: extraordinary. Height: tall as a tree. Scent: crushed leaves with a hint of sorrow. Hands: warm, calloused, illegal.
"Charming, aren't I?" he muttered dryly, as if reading her mind. And maybe he could? He was a high fae, after all. Gods knows what these being were capable of.
He let out a rough sigh. Then, just like that, he stepped back and released her. Her knees buckled but she caught herself, her palm scraping the moss covered stone behind her.
"Go home," he said. "Wash your face. Stop following fae, or any man, into the woods at night."
"But I need to send reports to the guild," she mumbled, brushing her palm on her skirt. "I have questions—"
"I'm not answering them."
He turned his back to her, cloak swaying with each step as he headed to the second curtain of vines deeper in the passage. He parted them with a hand and disappeared beyond.
Em sprinted forward, panic rising. "Wait—"
She slammed face-first into the vines.
Her teeth clicked painfully, her chest thudded. The curtain was solid now, like hitting a wall of knotted roots and bark. She stumbled back, dazed.
"What—how?" she muttered, hands clawing at the greenery. It wouldn't budge.
"Go home, little raccoon," came his muffled voice from the other side. "Before I feed you to the squirrels."
"The squirrels love me!" she shouted. "Wait! Don't leave me here! Lushon? Alovera?!"
A groan. "For Cauldron's sake. The name is Lucien Vanserra. If you're going to tail someone, get the name right."
Vanserra. It's his last name? Not some fae disease?
His footsteps retreated into the dark, leaving her standing there alone in the hush of Whirwood, breath fogging in the cool air. Somewhere overhead, an owl hooted. The vines remained like stone beneath her palms.
Is this... fae magic?
He hadn't just moved the vines. He'd commanded them. They writhed and wove together at his will, forming a living barrier that pulsed gently beneath her palm, warm and humming with power.
"Gods," she whispered. This was truly amazing. And utterly terrifying.
Of course someone like him—a fae—could do this. Magic. Enchantments. The old tales said so. But knowing was different from feeling it. From standing close enough to touch it. The stories hadn't said it would feel...alive.
Maura had been right.
He wasn't just a fae. He was something more . Something she should be scared of.
And still, despite the shiver crawling up her spine and the frantic voice in her head screaming to run, she muttered: "And I'm not just any human." She's desperate. And incredibly stupid.
She was not backing out.
She reached into her braid and pulled out her trusted spoon, worn from use and slightly bent at the tip. She dropped to her knees and began digging at the base of the wall.
If she had to tunnel her way through, then so be it.
But as her spoon scraped the earth, something shiny caught her eye.
Mushrooms.
"Oh-ho, jackpot," she whispered, plucking them with practiced hands and slipping them into her satchel. "I'm not done with you yet, faeling. I'll climb a tree like the raccoon you said I was. Just watch me."