The next day as she scouted ahead, the clouds darkened, the air thickened, and all the hair stood up on the back of her neck. Cursing, she pulled out the whistle arrow and fired it back towards the main party to signal them to stop and prepare for danger before rushing back as quickly as she could. She barely crossed the line of soldiers and shouted, “Surge!” before the first moss weasels threw themselves at the nearby Guard. They crowded together, the lord at the center of their huddle of shields, while the hunters in the middle focused on bringing down any feybeasts that made it past the Guard. It was the best strategy they could do, though by the look of terror on the faces of the Guard and knights, they had not expected the ferocity of the feybeasts throwing themselves at the shield line.

  Squirt took a moment to get her bearings once she made it into the circle, figuring out which direction the beasts were primarily coming from before darting that way. She ignored the gasps and angry calls of those holding the line as she ducked between them, instead focusing her efforts on darting far enough ahead to toss out a blazing ant bomb. The feybeasts scattered, diverted in their stampede with some deciding to turn tail and leave.

  Not nearly enough though.

  Moss weasels and moonwings were soon followed by umberwolves and thorn badgers, then further up into the evolutionary scale. The beasts were relentless, and no one remained completely unscathed. Even his lordship picked up wounds from the razorwings and ganoks, littering him in small scratches and punctures that sluggishly bled down his arms and chest. Despite the chaos, he remained unflappable, calmly swiping his sword across the airborne beasts flying directly at him and calling out occasional commands to keep the morale of his soldiers from breaking.

  The battle was exhausting and seemingly never ending. A swarm like this would likely last hours, pushing each fey there to the limits of their capabilities. The three groups worked together with better cohesion than they’d had all week, facing their first true crucible together.

  Squirt never stopped firing, darting out and back in, shooting between legs, flinging out nets to catch the fliers, or simply shouting out crucial information when it was needed. It became abundantly clear just how much she brought to the battle by the end of the first hour.

  It was towards the end of the second hour when the hair stood up on the back of her neck. In the distance a familiar hiss sounded, and all the blood drained from her face. A basilisk was on its way, one driven mad by the surge in the air.

  All it would take was one drop. One drop of venom on their wounds, and they would die an agonizing death.

  She screamed, “Basilisk!” just before the snake creature struck, the screams of the two it had snatched in its jaws drilling its way into Squirt’s head. Gritting her teeth and knowing they were lost, her eyes flittered around as she tried to come up with a strategy on the fly that would get as few people killed as possible.

  Then lightning came from the lord’s palms, striking the basilisk that hissed and thrashed in pain. The move only succeeded in aggravating the creature. Squirt cursed as it stopped thrashing, eyeing his lordship and rearing back into a strike pose while the venom dripped out of its jaws.

  Even if it missed, it would drop venom over every soldier there.

  Damnit, didn’t he know it was a spring beast?

  There wasn’t enough time for second thoughts or hesitation. No time to shout a warning. The beast was about to strike.

  She moved, and years later she would not be able to explain the split-second decision she made other than that she wasn’t thinking at all.

  Her wings opened, giving her just enough buoyancy to jump onto one of the upper shields, her hands clasped around hilt of her short sword while she used the shield to launch herself at the snake just as it launched its own strike. Using her wings wrenched the muscles in her back, but she managed to divert her course just enough to thrust her short sword into its eye with a scream of rage, dropping her wings as she made contact. It reared back as her weight dragged it down to the side, ruining the attempted trajectory and dragging it down. Distantly, she heard Tobias shout, “The venom! Deadly on open wounds!” as the thing thrashed again, attempting to dislodge her. She held on for dear life as it smashed her against the trunk of a nearby tree hard enough to crack ribs.

  Screaming out her rage, she twisted the blade horizontally, pushing off the trunk of the tree with her feet to add every ounce of strength in her body to the blade. Even with the enchantment on it to increase sharpness, the toughness of basilisk scales was legendary, and it took every ounce of raw power to make a dent.

  Then black tentacles wrapped around her arms, adding power as the shadowfell Zhadin wrapped their arms around hers, helping her with the blade. Strength bloomed in her as Zhadin’s magic naturally opened to hers, lending itself to her. Between the two of them, they managed to finish the slice of the sword through the creature’s skull.

  It poofed into a giant feystone that sank into the shadows of the forest floor.

  For a brief moment of peace in the felling of the giant beast, Squirt stared blankly down where the feystone had disappeared into, gasping in air. Then a manic laugh bubbled out of her throat, and she went limp against the shadowfell before hissing in pain, one arm wrapped around her middle.

  In a quiet rasp, they said, “Yes. Fierce, indeed.”

  She laughed tiredly, in too much pain to care that she was relaxing in the hold of a damn shadowfell. Hoarse with exhaustion, she managed, “I think you mean desperate.”

  Then the moment was over. She straightened, her eyes focused on the world around her as she gritted her teeth and shifted her grip on her sword.

  “Wait—"

  She didn’t, launching herself down onto a chameleon leopard on its third evolution and driving her blade through the back of its skull.

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  The circle of shields was dwindling in size. Some were too badly injured to continue, while the others started a shift to try and rest the exhausted soldiers. It was another hour before the surge slowed enough that Jul was able to create a wall of flames to keep the stragglers at bay without bringing more beasts down upon them.

  They lost six soldiers all told. The pixie hunter trainee who had come with them was one, as he’d not made it to the circle of safety in time.

  Lord Everwinter called out, “We camp here. Tend to the wounded and set up as comfortably as possible.

  Close to a hundred of them were in the rather cramped space. There was no room for individual tents. Even the lord declined his own tent being set up, directing those still able to move to instead set up a larger medical tent for the worst of the wounded. They had brought healing potions, but that would be for those who couldn’t fall into a healing sleep.

  Like Squirt.

  “I’m fine,” she rasped out, her throat scratched to shit from the hours of chaos.

  “Athereon, you cannot fall into a healing sleep any more than you can hide those cracked ribs from me.” It grated on her that he was so unreasonably calm, making her want to refuse out of sheer spite.

  He raised a brow as she scowled down at the ground. A full minute of silence passed between them when her shoulders drooped in defeat, and she held out a hand while muttering, “As you wish.”

  He handed her the healing potion, and she downed it without another word, bowing to him politely in appreciation when she finished. Then she turned on her heel.

  “Where do you think you’re going, Athereon?”

  She stopped. Her shoulders rigid, she hissed out the required answer. “To scout, my lord.”

  “I forbid it.”

  She spun on her heel and her jaw dropped in shock. “Excuse me?”

  He glared at her. “Athereon, this is an order—you will stay here and rest until tomorrow even if I have to tie you down myself.”

  She bit her tongue to prevent the furious retort, knowing she couldn’t disobey a direct order in front of his people. Instead, she stiffly dropped her head in a subservient bow, choking out, “As you wish, my lord.”

  Only now she was left with a problem as he turned and stalked away. The fighting had long since trampled any ground cover. They had found as open a space as possible, meaning there were no trees in their circle. There would not be enough room for personal tents. Besides, putting one up when the lord of the land had not put his up would be enough of a metaphorical slap to his face that she’d be gutted before she even finished setting it up.

  There was no safe corner.

  Tobias stepped up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders and steering her away from the center of the circle. Instead, he brought her to the back of the one tent they were setting up for the wounded, between it and the wall of fire Jul was maintaining for them.

  There, at the back of the tent, was a pile of furs next to a couple of crates.

  Tobias took an exhausted seat on the ground, leaning back against the crate and drinking heavily from his waterskin. He gave her a tired smile, then nodded to the furs and murmured, “I’ll keep watch.”

  He softened at the visible emotion in her eyes that she made every effort to quash, and she bared her teeth in a grimace as she attempted to rid herself of the tears.

  Then he put his hand on her head, quietly casting a cleansing spell while barely looking at her, and her lower lip trembled.

  Dropping her head to hide her face, she wordlessly dove into the pile of furs to hide the burst of appreciation for the wolf and buried herself in them. Hiding herself.

  Within minutes, she was asleep.

  ***

  The rest split into two groups. The hunters started up dinners using their little cooking stoves, taking turns with each other as they traded off between cooking and napping as a group.

  The guards and knights sat opposite as they served themselves a quiet dinner, exhausted and processing the horrors of the last three hours, each grappling with the experience in their own way. They sat crowded together in a scattered group, with no rhyme or pattern to their arrangements. It was the Captain of the Guard, Lady Evense, who broke the muted silence with a single thought spoken out loud to no one in particular.

  “She hasn’t even given the lord her name.”

  It took several fey several long minutes to figure out what the ogress was getting at before they understood who she was even talking about.

  Someone else helped the process along by asking quietly, “Did… did anyone else… see those wings?”

  Someone snorted. “Which ones? So many of the beasties had them.”

  “No, I mean… the huntress. Hers.”

  Another, gruffer, older voice chimed in with derision in their tone, “I was a bit too busy to notice, actually. What’s so special about hers?”

  “They looked shredded.”

  A brief silence followed before another said in an equally thoughtful tone, “Yeah, they did. Big old scars all over them. Like someone had tried to cut them off.”

  A snort, followed by another muttering, “More like they tortured her.”

  One of the pixies crossed his arms over his chest and shivered. “Gods. What kind of villain…”

  Another voice answered in a ghostly whisper, “… what kind of villain would hurt a greenling, you mean?”

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  The one who brought up her wings broke the oppressive air by asking the captain, “She’s… truly not given him her name?”

  The ogress, not one for thinking, nodded solemnly. “She has not. He says she is under no orders except to lead us to the hotspots, and even that, she does freely.”

  More silence.

  “… she got dinner, right?”

  “Where is she? I don’t see her with the hunters.”

  Someone bitterly muttered, “Probably off sucking wolf cock.”

  “You could always suck mine, Lyser.”

  “Only if you suck mine first.”

  “Do you think she’d suck mine?”

  “Piss off, man.”

  “Yeah, Dwin, I wouldn’t wish you on my worst enemy—”

  “Shut up. That was one time—”

  Someone chortled, “Gods, he’s not good enough for her. Imagine that, Dwin, you’re not good enough for a greenling.”

  It was followed by a few more chortles before silence fell again.

  Then, “I mean, who is?”

  “Who is what, sucking cock?”

  “No, I mean… is anyone good enough for her? I don’t know about you, but at this point I personally owe her three life-debts.”

  Dead silence.

  “… we’re not counting, right? I mean, she’s just doing her job—”

  “No, no she’s not,” said another in a gasp of dawning realization. “She’s… she’s not titled. She under no bargain. She hasn’t even given him her name.”

  “Is she even getting paid—”

  “She’s getting paid the standard Guard rate. I checked last week.”

  Silence.

  “… shit, I guess I owe her a life-debt or three, too.”

  “Is there anyone here who doesn’t?”

  More silence.

  As they continued to grapple with their new understanding of the huntress, Bartos smirked to himself. His plan was working. Frankly, it was a bit of a blessing she insisted on not beholding herself to him or giving her name, because now he’d trapped all of her most staunch opposition with the bounds of ancient fey law.

  It was something not all fey followed, and many picked and chose what to follow. But her most adamant opposition had argued for the sanctity of those laws governing the hierarchies based on raw magical ability, and now they were forced to accept they owed her a life-debt if they wanted to use those laws in their arguments. He had the ammunition he needed.

  And based on their conversations, only one or two of them still opposed her. The rest? Falling like dominos.

  Still, he was careful to keep the audio barrier between the two groups, or the comments between the knights said in jest would end up with the redcap gutting them. Qzi was fairly reasonable for a redcap, but she stirred instincts of possession on a deep level in even himself. He had no doubt the redcap had it worse.

  The conversations faded back into tired rest as those around the camp bedded down and took turns resting off their injuries, and he turned back into the medical tent to lend his assistance there where he could.